After grabbing a plate of mashed potatoes and some sort of chicken dish, I walk to a table in the back of the Nets media dining room and sit down. Next to me is a table crowded with older gentlemen; one can barely fold his legs under the table. I don't pay much attention until I hear him speak in a familiar raspy baritone. Phil Jackson is hanging out with the regular folks. And you know what? He seems pretty normal himself. He must have left his arrogance in the coaches' dressing room along with his suit jacket. He and his assistant coach Tex Winter were ribbing each other like to old guys playing chess in the park. "Hey Tex, how old are you?" asks Jackson.

"Seventy-nine," replies the assistant.

"You've been 79 for about five years," says another man.

"Yeah, he and Jack Benny," cracks Jax with the table erupting in laughter. A TV is tuned into the 6:30 Sportscenter when the top-10 plays of the week come on. When the countdown hits No. 2, Jackson taps Winter on the arm. "Watch this, watch this," Jackson says excitedly. "This is a good one." A bull pops out of a chute and bucks a rider about 15 feet into the air over a fence. A few minutes later a report on Shaq comes on and Jackson casually turns away from the TV.

Then, former teammate and Nets Senior VP Willis Reed walks up behind Jackson and taps him on the shoulder. "Hey Will, how ya doin' man?" Jackson says in a voice as if he hasn't seen him since the '73 Knicks' championship. "You been huntin' lately? This guy's a hunter, everybody" says Jackson. "I know a great spot in South Africa if you're interested."

The old warriors embrace and Willis pulls up a chair directly next to Jackson's. The two friends sit side by side and slouch down in their chairs as if resting on the bench in a fourth quarter blowout of Wes Unseld and the Baltimore Bullets. I can picture the ice packs on their knees. They talked about player salaries and the way things used to be.

"How's your knee? Can you walk six miles yet?" asks Jackson.

"It feels pretty good," replies Reed. "How's your hip, buddy?"

The conversations on the bench in their playing days were maybe a little different, I think. After they say their goodbyes, Willis gets up and hobbles out. No one claps, but his old friend can't stop smiling.