I don’t know if that is definitely Phil Jackson or just some tall, sad looking doppelganger that just happens to have a “James Dolan was my boss the last three years” expression on his face. But if it is, Phil needs an intervention. Have some fucking respect for yourself, Zen Master. I believe in not letting money change you and being one with the common folk. Seeing those “Celebrities, Just Like Us!” pictures make me feel 1% better about my shitty life. But I don’t feel that way with this picture. You know why?
Because Phil sold his basketball soul to work for James Dolan. He gave his legacy a swift kick to the balls, became a punchline for being an old out of touch coot, broke up with his longtime girlfriend that is basketball royalty, and left the franchise that raised him in shambles. Phil Jackson didn’t take a kajillion dollars from James Dolan’s trust fund to ride the subway and the motherfucking bus like us poor folk. That crazy bag lady I blogged about today would spit all over Phil if she found out he was willfully riding the subway with a net worth of $70 million. Uber that shit, Phillip. If you couldn’t sit in a coach’s chair because of his crippled body, he sure as shit shouldn’t be walking up and down the subway stairs and riding in that rat-infested dungeon.