Latest news with #Highway61Revisited
Irish Examiner
21-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Examiner
From Micko to Popovich: the art of coaching and creating space
In the early 1960s, Bob Dylan sang with a raw prophetic voice for the protesters in the intimate venues of Greenwich Village, giving life and music to the mounting social unrest in New York. Now, decades on his legacy ripples through TikTok, where a new generation stages its own revolutions, inspired by Timothée Chalamet's portrayal in A Complete Unknown (2024). At fifteen, buried in my dad's stack of CDs, I unearthed Another Side of Bob Dylan (1964)—an album that would unknowingly soundtrack a coaching philosophy shared by pioneers like Gregg Popovich and Mick O'Dwyer. Dylan's lyric from 'My Back Pages,' I was so much older then; I'm younger than that now, felt like a riddle then. Now, it's a mantra. Coaching begins like art: bound by manuals, memory, and patterns, echoing how coaches were once coached through lines, laps, and lectures—until wisdom whispers: let go. Dylan did it, abandoning protest folk for the electric rebirth of Highway 61 Revisited (1965). True learning starts where patterned certainty ends. In April 2025, Gaelic football lost its grandmaster when Mick O'Dwyer departed the sporting canvas, leaving a Kerry dynasty of eight All-Ireland titles that redefined the game's soul. Now, in May 2025, basketball witnesses its own titan step aside as Gregg Popovich ended his remarkable sideline career with the San Antonio Spurs. The tactical genius—architect of five NBA championships and 1,422 victories—transitions to team president, concluding one of sport's most brilliant coaching chapters. The Language of Space. Mention Ferenc Puskás, Hungary's football icon, and my late grandfather's eyes would light up like floodlights over a Saturday-night pitch, narrating how Puskás rewrote time and space with each touch. Years later, James Gibson's ecological psychology brought those tales back to me. Gibson's 'affordances'—opportunities for action that emerge not from playbooks but from the athlete's relationship with their environment—this mirrored my grandfather's admiration for Puskás and his old friend from Sneem John Egan Sr. Egan wasn't just moving into space; he was conversing with it, orchestrating the game's invisible symphony with teammates Sheehy, Spillane, and Liston during Kerry's Golden Era of the 1970s and 1980s. His six All-Ireland medals reflected this spatial acumen—the ability to see possibilities where others saw obstacles. The Choreography of Creativity. Watching Christopher Nolan's Oppenheimer (2023), I fixated on Niels Bohr's words to a young Oppenheimer: Algebra's like sheet music. The important thing isn't can you read music, it's can you hear it. Can you hear the music, Robert? That's Rick Rubin's philosophy. The legendary producer, who can barely play an instrument, creates psychic, emotional, and artistic space for musicians to find their purest selves. He's a coach, nudging greatness without touching the ball—or, in his case, an instrument. Think of Van Morrison's Astral Weeks (1968), an album less recorded than discovered. Morrison entered the studio with skeletal melodies and no rehearsals—just trust. Jazz bassist Richard Davis hadn't heard the songs before recording. Yet, the result? Timeless. You can't manufacture magic, but you can cultivate conditions where it breathes. That's the coach's job: clear the way for collective improvisation. If I ventured in the slipstream, between the viaducts of your dream. Breaking Free. Mark O'Sullivan, an associate professor of football at the Norwegian School of Sports Science, warns, talent is the graveyard of evidence. Nobody sees the dead bodies. We remember prodigies who survived the system but forget those crushed by its weight. Marvin Gaye's journey illuminates this. Through the 1960s, he churned out Motown hits under Berry Gordy's relentless machine. Then came What's Going On (1971) - an artistic rebellion Gordy tried to bury. When Gaye sidestepped resistance to confront war, poverty, and injustice through 'Mercy Mercy Me,' he didn't just transcend the assembly line—he set it ablaze. Despite local opposition from family and Capitol Records, Brian Wilson of The Beach Boys transcended the breezy escapism of surf-pop, by creating Pet Sounds (1966) - a revolutionary album that replaced radio friendly melodies with introspective lyrics and complex harmonies. These weren't just records, they were albums that redrew the boundaries of what their respective genres could be. For every Marvin, Messi, or Colm Cooper who transformed drills into artistry, how many creative sparks were extinguished by coaches more interested in control than possibility? O'Sullivan's graveyard metaphor haunts us with the unseen casualties. Learning Through Discovery. Invasion sports embody this philosophy. Most players can explain a 2v1 attacking scenario, but how many can improvise mid-play? Have we coached it out of them? True maestros don't recite strategies; they rewrite them. As coaches, our mission isn't to fill heads with data but to awaken an intuitive relationship with the game. That's Bohr's question to Oppenheimer: the textbook knowledge is the barrier to entry, but what's your intuitive understanding? Gibson's distinction between knowledge-about (playbooks, manuals) and knowledge-in (reading the game's patterns in real time) is key. Coaches start with knowledge-about; the magic happens when they blend lived understanding, knowing when to push or ease off, and placing players in environments that mirror the sport they play as often as possible. Phil Jackson and Tex Winter mastered this with the Triangle Offence, a design that empowered players. It yielded six championships with the Chicago Bulls and five with the Los Angeles Lakers. It gave Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant scaffolding to elevate their artistry. Johan Cruyff took it further at Barcelona, treating football like jazz - spontaneity and design in harmony. Mick O'Dwyer transformed Gaelic football with unparalleled vision. Guiding Kerry to eight All-Ireland titles from 1975 to 1986, his teams fused artistry, grit, and relentless athleticism. O'Dwyer tailored strategies to each squad's strengths, maximising their potential. Later, coaching Kildare, Laois, and Wicklow, he innovated with underdog teams, nearly toppling giants by granting players freedom within his dynamic systems. His passing marks the loss of a pioneer who showed how flexibility and trust create pathways to greatness and ultimately coaching the people in front of him. The Art of Reinvention A Micko proved greatness thrives on reinvention. Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, and David Bowie never settled, delighting in their fans catch up to them. Mitchell evolved from the tender folk of Blue (1971) to the bold jazz-fusion of Hejira (1976). Bowie transformed from the eclectic charm of Hunky Dory (1971) to the soulful brilliance of Station to Station (1976). Similarly, Stanley Kubrick's films, from the cosmic vision of 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) to the natural beauty of Barry Lyndon (1975), each forged a personal leap that kept us hooked for what was to come next. Coaches must evolve or risk obsolescence. Bobby Knight's authoritarian approach secured three NCAA titles with Indiana (1976, 1981, 1987), but his inflexibility transformed strength into liability, alienating players and diminishing his legacy. In coaching, innovation is transient; stagnation is fatal. Gregg Popovich has been a master of reinvention with the San Antonio Spurs. Early on, he built a defense-first dynasty around Tim Duncan and David Robinson, securing titles in 1999 and 2003. As the NBA shifted, Popovich pivoted to a fast-paced, space-and-pace offense, empowering Tony Parker and Manu Ginobili for the 2005 and 2007 titles while integrating Kawhi Leonard's two-way brilliance in 2014. He cultivated an unslefish masterpiece of ball movement, showcasing his adaptability. Popovich's legacy, like O'Dwyer's, lies in systems strong yet fluid, empowering players' creativity and decision making. Finding Our Way Home. Coaching is a paradox: the more you control, the less magic you create. The challenge? Trust. Surrender. Let players and artists find their way within the game's choreography. When a player sees the invisible pass, a musician hits the perfect note, or a game unfolds like a symphony, you hear the music. Miles Davis said, It's not the notes you play, it's the notes you don't play. The greatest moments are found, not forced. For coaches, it might be the instruction you don't give, the space you leave for players to self-organise. As we reflect on the legacies of visionaries like O'Dwyer and witness Popovich's continued evolution, their lessons endure: create space, adapt, and let the game sing. My grandfather, a rebel of Douglas Street, saw Puskás and Egan Sr. as kin—free spirits navigating crowded pitches like he did a cluttered pool table cue in hand, turning chaos into art with every shot. I imagine him now, trading stories with Egan, admiring Marlon Brando's gaze in On the Waterfront (1954) or toasting Montgomery Clift's quiet defiance in Red River (1948) They're still nonconforming, still freewheeling, rebels without a cause from Sneem to the stars. *The author is a basketball international and title-winning coach based in Balincollig, Co Cork.
CBS News
12-03-2025
- Entertainment
- CBS News
Bob Dylan's earliest-known recording, other memorabilia up for auctio
Bidding is underway for dozens of Bob Dylan memorabilia items, including his earliest-known demo recording described as "a revelation." New Hampshire-based RR Auction has more than 70 items available through early Wednesday evening, including the original master of the demo Dylan recorded at The Gaslight Café in New York City's Greenwich Village on Sept. 6, 1961. Dylan was 20 at the time and had only arrived in New York from his home state of Minnesota less than eight months earlier. The recording was made by Dylan's first manager, Terri Thal, with the hope of getting him more gigs. As of Wednesday morning, the demo has 23 bids and stands at more than $31,000. The item with the highest estimate — nearly $40,000 — is a handwritten and signed copy of Dylan's lyrics to "All Around the Watchtower." Most of the items are from the collection of Bob Neuwirth, Dylan's friend from his first year in New York who went on to be his musical collaborator and road manager. Neuwirth, who's most famous for co-writing Janis Joplin's "Mercedes Benz," is also featured on the cover of Dylan's "Highway 61 Revisited" album from 1965 — well, the lower half of his body, that is. A shimmering, country-western suit worn by Neuwirth in 1976 during Dylan's epic Rolling Thunder Revue tour is also on the auction block, with bidding up to $20,000 as of Wednesday morning. Other items include a harmonica Dylan played during his divisive 1966 world tour, when he and his backing band first used electric instruments. RR Auction says proceeds from the sales of Neuwirth's collection will go to help fund a documentary on his life and influence. The auction ends Wednesday at 6:30 p.m. CST. Dylan, now 83, was born Robert Zimmerman in Duluth and raised in Hibbing. He studied for a year at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis, where he entrenched himself in folk music. He started performing at a Dinkytown coffee shop and embraced his new moniker before moving out east. The Dylan biopic "A Complete Unknown" was nominated for eight Academy Awards, including Best Actor for Timothée Chalamet, but won zero. Last month, Minnesota lawmakers introduced a bipartisan bill in the state Senate to make Dylan's "Girl from the North Country," and "Purple Rain" by fellow Minnesota luminary Prince, Minnesota's official state songs.
