Harris should look to emulate Cuban - in certain matters

Joshua Harris can learn a lot from Mark Cuban. Ten years ago - even five years ago - the notion that Cuban could be the model for a prospective NBA owner would have seemed preposterous.

When he bought the Mavericks, Cuban was a brilliant but brash billionaire - a successful businessman who didn't know what he didn't know about basketball. He bristled when challenged and fought (and picked) more fights than was remotely advisable.

Shortly after he took control of the team, I interviewed him for a lengthy profile. I was living in Dallas then and working for the Village Voice Media paper there. We spent a long time talking over several days. Most of the conversations were in his giant, but largely unfurnished, mansion. The story, in the end, was about a bright but eccentric owner, a man who was by turns charming and unnecessarily confrontational.

Cuban didn't exactly love the piece. He dashed off a lengthy e-mail to me. The key line implored me to do untoward things to myself with a cheesesteak. That was Cuban then. No enemy, real or perceived, was too small.

This version of Cuban, the one who last week hoisted the NBA trophy - and later took it to bed with him like a lover long pursued - appears radically different. At the least, he has adapted and learned lessons from his many public mistakes.

Charles Barkley, ever shy, recently said that he doesn't see why people here in Philly are making such a big deal about the reported change of Sixers ownership. He said, and I'm paraphrasing, that owners don't matter, that players and general managers are far more important. And he's right - to a point. Good or great owners don't guarantee championships, but bad or awful owners can scuttle all hope, and quickly. Fred Wilpon, James Dolan, Daniel Snyder - you don't have to search too hard for rich men who tinkered with their toys and broke them in the end.

Cuban did a fair amount of damage in the beginning, warring with referees, with the media, even with commissioner David Stern. During the 2006 Finals, Cuban's hot temper caused him to melt down, and he was fined $250,000 for erupting about almost everything. During these playoffs, though, Cuban remained mute until the last buzzer went off and the trophy was handed over.

The man has evolved. He remains the same passionate, rah-rah, fan-friendly owner/promoter he was in the beginning - a Pat Croce type, only without the facial hair and Harleys - but he's learned to channel that energy, to harness it at the appropriate times. He's also learned to listen to his basketball people.

There was a time when Cuban was closer to Snyder than Jerry Buss. Some thought of him as a meddler. I was in Dallas when he and Don Nelson decided they couldn't work together any longer and parted ways. The Nelsons - Don and his son Donnie - were, of course, the reasons why Dirk Nowitzki ended up in a Mavericks uniform in the first place. They scouted him in Germany as a teenager and fell for his lanky frame and smooth shot like preteens swooning over a new boy band. When the elder Nelson decamped, a lot of people thought Donnie would follow. That was a critical point in Cuban's development as an owner. He somehow convinced Donnie to stick around and serve as team president, and together the two moved all sorts of pieces in and out of Dallas - all sorts, except Nowitzki.

"Donnie and I work together," Cuban said. "He evaluates talent. I kind of manage the checkbook and balance the assets for the short term vs. the long term. What I've learned in these 11 years is you just got to stay focused and just believe in yourself and trust your own ability and judgment. We've come close. We've accomplished a lot. But it's nice to finally get over the hump. A lot of that credit goes to Donnie Nelson, too. He works his ass off."

Joshua Harris ought to pin that quote up on a corkboard somewhere he can see it. If/when the deal to buy the Sixers goes through, Harris will inherit a team with no superstars or big men. That's a problem. He does, however, assume leadership of an organization with several serious assets: Rod Thorn, Ed Stefanski, and Doug Collins. Stefanski struggled on his own, but when combined with Thorn - as well-respected an executive as any in the NBA - the two make an impressive front-office think tank. And Collins is an obviously brilliant basketball mind with a true understanding of talent. The lesson, then, ought to be simple enough for Harris to absorb (particularly because Cuban learned it the hard way): Thorn, Stefanski, and Collins handle the hoops; Harris handles the rest.

There is one more bit of advice that Cuban unwittingly provided to Harris, advice Harris would be wise to internalize:

"I learned chemistry matters. That it's a team game. That you have to have players that believe in each other and trust each other and trust your coach. And that's a process. It doesn't happen overnight," Cuban said. "There's no quick solutions. . . . That's what the Dallas folks have heard me say forever. We're going to be opportunistic and build a team. That's what we tried to do."

And so he did. And now, soon, it will be Harris' turn.