George Karl recently had an epiphany. Knowing Karl, this can be messy, and you shouldn't try it at home. But it occurred to Karl that he hasn't been coaching the Denver Nuggets as opposed to trying to prevent the basketball version of a head-on collision.
Karl hasn't succeeded particularly well, and if you didn't know better you'd have called EMS during the Nuggets' playoff games last season. Because it seemed Karl, who generally travels more on the sidelines during games than Allen Iverson going to the basket, had gone comatose. Karl sat in his chair, seemingly stunned at the indifference and incompetence of his team. Or he was dead.
I'm happy to report Karl is alive; it's the Nuggets who are dead.
Having apparently noticed this himself, Karl recently told a friend that he was going to be coaching his way now, that his time of acceding to his dysfunctional bunch is over. Actually he said something crude on the order of having done it all just for the money these last few seasons with his uncoachable bunch. We'll not lower ourselves here to that sort of language, though it all puts new meaning to the idea of being out late and walking around the streets.