My Brain Is Not My Friend
OR: Throwin' Chairs & Takin' Names
I have a Google doc called Album The Fourth that acts as a dumping ground for any thoughts I have about my next album. Things I want to keep track of and don’t want to forget. Production or personnel ideas. Potential artwork moodboard stuff. There’s a list of potential songs I’ve written or am working on, subcategorized into three buckets—For Sure, Hopefully, and Maybe—that indicate my personal, unscientifically soothsaying estimation of their likelihood of ending up on the finished album. There’s a to-do list. There’s a list of Thank Yous for the liner notes, outlining some people/things that have inspired me through this writing cycle. And there’s a list of Possible Album Titles. Currently that list contains around seven album title candidates, not one of which—not unlike American political candidates—is all that promising.
There was a title option I liked a lot. But it got deleted as soon as I saw it as a song title on the new album (out today!) by one of my favorite bands1, The National. The phrase had come up in sessions with my therapist. She had made me write it down in big block letters. It was:
My brain is not my friend.
The underlying idea being that our brains can (and do) actually work against us. Especially when its chemicals and experiential weighting are miscalibrated2. My brain was/is telling me all kinds of things that were/are beyond just “not helpful”, they were/are/can be positively corrosive, eroding, toxic, sandblasting stuff. It was an insight that, from a mental health perspective, was extremely helpful. From a personal and artistic perspective, it felt like a vivid capture of some of the themes and epiphanies of my latest family of songs. A flag for the nation of these new songs. A topic sentence, so to speak, for the rest of the book. I suppose it’s encouraging that an artist I admire like The National also found the idea compelling? (Theirs is called “Your Mind Is Not Your Friend.”)
I learned recently that not everyone’s brain features an inner monologue chatting them up all day. One article reported that only 30-50% of humans have an inner monologue. So… 50-70% of the world walks around, chilling, without some maybe-friendly, maybe-not-friendly brain voice chiming in3? Sounds kind of nice.
If you are in that 50-70%, you can skip today’s writing. Go outside, get some fresh air, bask in your enviable inner quietude.
But I’ve got a question for the rest of you:
Does the voice inside your head have a personality? A voice? You know, like the way you can customize the voice on your GPS or GoogleMaps to sound like, I dunno, Kevin Hart or Arnold Schwarzenegger, or maybe Stuart Smalley?
The voice in my head? Bobby Knight.
It doesn’t sound—tone or timbre or cadence or whatever—like Bobby Knight’s actual voice. But everything else? Textbook Bobby Knight, right down to the chair-tossing and toddler-tantrumming and relentless criticizing. It’s pretty un-awesome as far as voices-in-heads go, I’ll tell you that. I’ve been reading a book called Soundtracks by Jon Acuff that’s intended to help us shift how we talk/think to ourselves. It’s made me realize just how deeply embedded (and perpetually ready with hot takes) my cranial Bobby Knight is.
In therapy (and in Acuff’s book), the idea is to reframe your self-talk. To challenge Bobby Knight’s hot takes. For instance, let’s say I lose my cool and yell at one of my kids (it happens, believe it or not). Bobby Knight might then pipe up, “You’re the world’s worst dad. Your kids despise you and will write scathing, fiery memoirs about your putrid and shameful parenting that will result in your house being toilet-papered by strangers using used toilet paper every weekend, twice on holiday weekends. Later, Carrot Top’s grandson will star as you in a made-for-TV movie about awful parents that will get the lowest Rotten Tomatoes score in history and will feature a soundtrack of nothing but songs by Train4.”
Therapy’s reframing is not designed to excuse behaviors, so it doesn’t say “it’s all fine; you’re the best parent.”5 What therapy’s reframing does say is something like, “It’s true: I blew that one. I need to apologize to my kids. I love them a lot and sometimes my anxiety/depression/lack of composure get the best of me. AND (not But) I do a lot of good things that my anxiety/depression are hiding from me right now. AND (not BUT) ultimately, my kids know I love them and all of us will benefit from me being transparent about my struggles.”
Still, even with all the mindful reframing and therapy and Jon Acuff soundtracking, Bobby Knight yells really loud. He’s got a megaphone and he makes (expletive) sure I know, in full expletive-drenched detail, when I have dribbled the ball off my (expletive) foot or missed a defensive rotation or LOST THE GAME FOR EVERYONE AND LET THE WHOLE (EXPLETIVE) WORLD (EXPLETIVE) DOWN. Say what you want about his questionable delivery mechanisms, but Bobby really has a knack for noticing. It’s because he cares, we say.
There’s a sentiment in the world today that modern kids are coddled and not tough enough. Maybe there are some pieces of truth in there. But the same accusation comes to every generation6 (It’s a sibling of the ol’ “Nobody wants to work anymore”). Nowadays, that fist-shaking hot take harmonizes well with the MAGA movement—this idea that things were better back when _______. I think dinosaurs like Bobby Knight are often remembered glowingly by an older generation that perceives softness and weakness in the whippersnappers. “He told it like it was!” “He required discipline! And accountability!” “Kids today get away with murder!” The bad faith in that argument, though, is that it’s an either/or proposition. That either you require discipline and accountability in a harsh, cruel, bullying Bobby Knight way OR you are part of the coddling problem. That either “you tell it like it is”, feelings be damned OR you’re just sugarcoating PC talking points. But, there’s a third option: I’ve seen people who demand discipline and accountability AND do so with kindness, even true warmth7. It’s possible. The Bobby Knight Way is not the only path to accountability, results, the promised land, etc.
In fact, it may be worth questioning the Bobby Knight Way’s long-term efficacy.
There are myriad ways to measure success as a college basketball coach. Here are a handful just off the top of my head:
total wins (Knight’s record is 902-371…good for 6th place all-time, along with a truly impressive .709 winning percentage)
championships (3 NCAA championships in 29 seasons at Indiana is not too shabby either)
graduating student-athletes (To Knight’s credit, nearly 80% of his players graduated, far higher than the national average of 42% for Division 1 schools. Commendable.)
valuable contributors to society (not sure how to measure this one; we’ll skip)
successful NBA players (a measure of trajectory, arc, long-term effects)
The last bullet got me thinking:
If Bobby Knight was such an all-time great coach, how many of his players reached their full potential in the NBA? A great coach or mentor should be a cairn on the way to even greater things for those they lead, right? A Hall of Fame coach’s system would spit out Hall of Fame players.
The most notable Indiana University player of all-time is Hall of Fame point guard Isiah Thomas. Nobody but Michael Jordan would dispute his greatness. Depending on who you ask, Thomas is a top 3-5 all-time NBA point guard. I propose we throw him out of our case study as an outlier, as I believe he was going to be great regardless (and I, like Mike, am not an Isiah fan in the least).
Minus Zeke8, here are the most notable Knight-coached players in NBA history. See how many you recognize:
Kent Benson
Quinn Buckner
Scott May and Mike Woodson (not pictured) both played on that same championship-winning Indiana team. Both were drafted and played a respectable 9-ish years in the NBA, averaging around 9 points apiece. Woodson is now head coach of IU mens basketball.
Steve Alford won another championship for Knight in the 80’s. Referring to Alford’s leadership skills, Knight said, “you couldn’t lead a whore into bed.” MOTIVATING, right? Alford’s NBA career was a blip at best.
Alan Henderson averaged 8 points a game in the NBA over 11 seasons.
Calbert Cheaney was the 1993 college Player of the Year under Knight. In the NBA, he averaged 9 points over 13 years with 5 different teams.
I promise I’m not cherry-picking players who went to the NBA and didn’t thrive. These are—minus Isiah—the best Indiana University players in program history.
Someone out there may make the point that Knight coached the 1984 U.S. gold medal team and, thus, coached Michael Jordan. But, c’mon, he didn’t recruit or shape Jordan.
Dean Smith did, though. Just for fun (and for contrast), here’s a list of the most notable Smith-coached players in the NBA9. I suspect you’ll recognize more of these. And you'll note that I didn't include photos (or points-per-game) because, for a lot of them, you won't need them:
Michael Jordan (GOAT, 6x NBA champ, 6x Finals MVP, 5x NBA MVP, 14x All Star)
James Worthy (3x NBA champ, Finals MVP, 7x All Star)
Rasheed Wallace (NBA champ, 4x All Star)
Vince Carter (8x All Star, Rookie of the Year, one of the 3 greatest in-game dunkers of all-time)
Brad Daugherty (5x All Star)
Or look at UCLA’s legendary coach, John Wooden, renowned for both his coaching and mentorship. These Wooden-coached names might ring a bell:
Kareem Abdul Jabbar (until recently the all-time scoring leader, 6x NBA champ, 2x Finals, MVP, 6x NBA MVP, 19x All Star)
Bill Walton (2x NBA champ, Finals MVP, NBA MVP, Sixth Man of the Year)
Gail Goodrich (NBA champ, 5x All Star)
Marques Johnson (5x all star)
No shade to Kent Benson10 or even Calbert Cheaney, but they’re not really measuring up to the NBA careers we see from, just in this small example, UNC and UCLA players. They wouldn't even be a Top 10 (maybe 20) NBA Careers11 for Smith- or Wooden-coached players.
You know who else played for Bobby Knight?
Burgess Neil Reed.
Reed played for Knight for three years, in each of which the team went to the NCAA tournament, one in which he led the conference in free-throw percentage. One day, in frustration, Bobby Knight choked Burgess. Hands to the neck, you know how it goes. Knight righteously denied doing it until video footage leaked and then it was quite clear what had happened. This was way before AI deep fake technology. You gotta figure it happened more than just that one time to that one player the one time video was rolling, too, don’t you?
I guess part of my argument is that a coach like Bobby Knight may very well maximize some players’ potential (because they respond well to his abusive and demeaning tactics) but it’s very interesting how few all-time great players came out of his program(s). Isiah Thomas is it.
Like I said, his methods can get the most out of some personality types. But I believe there’s a ceiling. A bulletproof, shatterproof metal ceiling. I’d even argue that he may chain players a bit, increase gravity’s pull on them. He’s so brutal and acts so unapologetically omniscient that players may lose confidence and believe that only HE knows best, rather than trusting their instincts and experience. He frames himself as the guru on the mountain, with all the wisdom…and they’re just idiots who make so many (expletive) mistakes. As long as they’re all tethered together and they listen to him, it “works.” He got teams to NCAA tournament. A LOT. And he won four championships. That’s kind of the whole goal. And over 40+ years of coaching and those four coveted titles, he coached exactly one player who would be considered above-average in the NBA.
Doesn't that result seem…underwhelming?
Back to “a great coach or mentor should be a cairn on the way to even greater things for those they lead, right?” How good of a mentor are you if your mentees’ peak is with you? Shouldn’t they go on to great things? Greater things, even?
Knight was a bully. A wolverine. A jerk. A controlling despot. A boiling kettle. A steamroller.
And only one of his players ever reached escape velocity to find post-Knight greatness.
So that’s the voice inside my head. I’d say I’m trying to get him to shut up, but what I’m really trying to do is change his (expletive) tone. I’m not above feedback or too sensitive for true candor. I want an inner dialogue that helps me be my best. Just that the delivery mechanism could use some work. So I’m trying to get the voice to lean more towards, I dunno, Steve Kerr or even Coach Taylor? (Ted Lasso may be the more timely reference, but, like Ted Lasso, I like my pop culture references to be about a decade behind12.) Maybe eventually I’ll work my way out of sportsball coaches and into, like, real-life mentors. Baby steps. Just trying to make my brain my friend, I guess.
Just imagine what you could do if you believed in you.
[end of pep talk]
featuring one of my other favorite artists, Phoebe Bridgers, no less.
Pretty sure miscalibrated is not a dictionary-approved word. But it makes sense.
Anaduralia is the inability to form “auditory images” (aka an inner voice) in your head. Aphantasia is difficulty picturing things in your head. Some believe the two are connected.
Train is the worst band. They are. You might say Nickelback or who knows who else. But Train’s music is the most patently offensive, particularly lyrically. Here’s just a few examples:
“You’re so gangster. I’m so thug”
“My heart is bound to beat right out of my untrimmed chest.”
“Oh, I swear to you, I'll be there for you
This is not a drive by
Just a shy guy, looking for a two-ply Hefty bag
To hold my love.
“I used to love the Tenderloin
’Til I made some tender coin,”“I got dance moves like Patrick Swayze,
I’m the leftover turkey for the world’s mayonnaisey.”"Let's skip the 'how you been'
and get down to the 'more than friends'
at last"“Your lipstick stains
On the front lobe of my left side brains”
(Add to all of this the interview I read years ago with lyricist/singer Pat Monahan once where he called Bob Dylan overrated. L to the O to the L.)
I can’t tell you how much I envy people who don’t question their parenting, who genuinely believe they’re doing everything right. Over time, I have come to believe that many of them might actually be the worst parents (great, now I’m judging too! You’re on, Bobby Knight!), but still, imagine how well they sleep at night, snug in their delusion!
Imagine thinking that things were better when, without worry of social workers getting involved, we could let our kids choose between a belt and a branch to whip them with!
I’m not saying it has to be all hugs and warm chocolate milk all the time. Sometimes you have to get serious, get stern. But surely we can all agree that there’s a line between functional, helpful “tough love” and actual abusive behavior, right?
This is Isiah’s actual nickname. And I am too lazy to google why.
I didn’t go deep on UConn’s Jim Calhoun (NBA champ Rip Hamilton, multi-champ Ray Allen), Kansas/UNC’s Roy Williams (NBA champ Paul Pierce, Harrison Barnes), Georgetown’s John Thompson (Defensive legend Dikembe, MVP Iverson, Hall of Famers Patrick Ewing & Alonzo Mourning), or even the storied Coach K (who came from the Bobby Knight coaching tree and coached Grant Hill and a whole lot of guys who were decent-but-not-Hall-of-Fame players; maybe he’s a good analog for Knight?)
I remember rooting for the pasty dude when he was briefly a Jazzman in the twilight of his NBA career.
Just a quick pause to say: winning a college championship and getting to the NBA at all would’ve been the peak of my dreams as a kid, much less having a decade-long career like Benson and Cheaney and the other Indiana players did. This whole essay is not intended to bag on the players. It’s about Knight.
ZING!
You’re right. Train is the worst band.