George Karl, Hall of Fame coach, wonders: Does his voice still matter to the NBA?

DENVER – George Karl hopped on his electric bicycle, put it in second gear and set off to ride away his blues.

Last summer, the Hall of Fame basketball coach logged more than 1,300 miles on his bike. He finds the rides therapeutic. Being in the sun energizes him, and exercise helps clear his airway and makes him feel like an athlete again.

His 74th birthday is approaching and Karl no longer looks or sounds like the barrel-chested, tornado of energy who stormed the sideline for 27 seasons while becoming the NBA’s sixth-winningest coach. Three bouts of cancer have withered his body, and his voice is raspy and weak.

His nights are torture. He often awakens in a panic, fearful he is suffocating. Chronic mucus clogs his throat and lungs, a side effect from seven weeks of radiation treatments in 2009 to rid his head and neck of cancer. He has to suction the mucus out, much like a dental assistant, before returning to his pillow.

In February, he was hospitalized with pneumonia. His epiglottis — a flap in the neck that directs food to the stomach and air to the lungs — doesn’t always shut completely, another complication of the radiation. When the epiglottis doesn’t close, food and/or water can leak into his lungs, making him susceptible to pneumonia. His recent case was not his first bout, but this time a urinary tract infection complicated his condition.

In 2004, he was treated for prostate cancer. In 2017, he had more radiation treatment for ocular melanoma. He can’t see well. Hear well. Or speak well. He meditates to ease the anxiety of suffocating and admits that most days he fears dying. “But being a meditative guy, the Buddhist always believed the greatest evolution is dying,” Karl said.

Cancer is not his only fight. Karl, nine years since leaving the NBA, wrestles almost daily with what he calls the love of his life. His struggle with basketball is twofold. He is concerned about the direction of the game, and haunted by his painful and controversial past.

All of this — cancer, basketball, deep wounds from his past — were balancing under his orange helmet as he embarked on a ride through his Crestmoor neighborhood on a sunny Tuesday in April. He barely slept the night before after watching the NCAA Championship game, disappointed that Houston and its coach, Kelvin Sampson, fell to Florida in excruciating fashion. Throughout the tournament, Karl identified with the 69-year-old Sampson, seeking his first NCAA title decades into the profession, as well as the way his team played: Hard, disciplined, gritty and with heart. It was, to Karl, in direct contrast to what he calls “AAU basketball.”

His insomnia went deeper than style beating substance. He couldn’t help but see himself. For all of Karl’s fame, fortune and friendships gained throughout his playing and coaching career, he is haunted by the thought he is a failure. He won 1,175 games and was brilliant and innovative enough to advance to the game’s brightest stages. Yet, he never won the biggest game.

As a starting guard at North Carolina, he lost in the 1972 Final Four. As a coach in Seattle, he lost in the 1996 NBA Finals, which came two years after perhaps his best SuperSonics team lost to Denver in the first round, the first time a top-seeded NBA team lost to an eight-seed. He lost in the conference finals with Seattle, Milwaukee and Denver and even lost twice in the finals of the now-defunct minor league Continental Basketball Association as coach of the Montana Golden Nuggets.

“I’ve been a part of greatness, but I’ve never been a champion,” Karl said. “I’ve been the guy that lost.”

The final six words come out through lips that quiver and with eyes that well. They are slow and deliberate, the last word exhaled more than spoken.

“That’s why I had a sleepless night because of Kelvin, because I know that window might never open up again for him,” Karl said. “And he was close. Really, really close. And I’ve been in that moment … and I can remember at times thinking I’m a loser because I’ve never won it.”

George Karl rides his bike near his Denver home. (Kevin Mohatt for The Athletic)

Shortly before he mounted his bike, Karl learned the Denver Nuggets had fired title-winning head coach Michael Malone with three games left in the season and a 47-32 record. Malone’s shocking dismissal followed the stunning ouster of Memphis coach Taylor Jenkins 11 days earlier.

The firings picked at a scab. Karl was dismissed in Cleveland, Golden State, Seattle, Milwaukee, Denver and Sacramento, and believes coaches have long been scapegoats for a team’s troubles. Each year, his suspicion that coaches are being phased out of the NBA power structure is confirmed.

“All those feelings got stirred up by Malone getting fired,” Karl said. “It’s a sad day for coaching. It’s ridiculously wrong. The people in power seemingly are getting more empowered. Coaches are losing their influence.”

He sees himself as a caretaker of the sport, a descendant of his former college coach and mentor Dean Smith, who lived by a simple motto: Do it the right way. And today, as Karl sees it, basketball is losing its way. Money has clouded the purity and purpose of the sport.

“I worry about the NBA. The money is too big. We have moved from a competitive sport to entertainment,” Karl said. “The game wasn’t made for millionaires. It was made for kids to learn how to recreate, compete and build team structure. The soul of the game is now being flooded by entertainers.”

He has other thoughts on the NBA. Not enough competitive games. Not enough true contenders. Too many of what he calls “average-to-below-average general managers.” And … too many 3-pointers.

“The layup is the best shot in basketball,” Karl said. “And the second-best shot is the free throw. Unfortunately, our players today think the best shot in basketball is the 3.”

But he also sees beauty and brilliance. He thinks Denver’s Nikola Jokić will go down as one of the greatest to ever play. He admires Oklahoma City, particularly general manager Sam Presti and coach Mark Daigneault. He remembers being enthralled by a November game between the Celtics and Warriors because it reminded him of “old-school” basketball (even though it featured 88 3-point attempts). And his favorite time of the year is the NBA playoffs.

Almost a decade after his last NBA job, as coach of the Sacramento Kings, he wonders why nobody is listening to him. No teams are asking him for input. No coaches are picking his brain about the revolutionary offense that led the NBA in pace when he was coaching the Nuggets.

“I don’t want any position of power. I don’t want any position of influence. But if you want to say, ‘We are thinking about making a trade with these guys, go look at them and come back and tell me what you think’ … I’m in,” Karl said.

He believes his opinion should carry weight, even if the radiation treatments have ravaged his voice box to a whisper. He doesn’t want to coach, and he doesn’t want to work full time. He just wants to be heard.

“The league the last five to 10 years kind of runs how we played (in Denver),” Karl said. “And what’s funny is nobody comes to me and asks what the secrets are. And I’m going, ‘Oh, OK. You can figure it out all by yourself, eh?’ And I’m not saying you gotta buy my s—. I’m just saying, you might want to listen to my s—, you know?”

Back home, adorned in a Seattle Kraken pullover, Karl reflected on his ride. During the 20-mile route, he said he often found his thoughts circling back to his 42-year-old son, Coby, a former NBA player who is now an assistant coach with Philadelphia.

“I had the sadness of two coaches who lost their jobs, and probably in a month there will be another five or six — and one or two of them will be successful coaches,” Karl said. “And I was saddened that this continues to be a structure that Coby wants. My son can coach in the NBA. He could be an NBA coach. I know he wants it. But … is it good for him?”

The sun was preparing to set, and Karl couldn’t retire a thought that had long bothered him.

“I feel bad, almost on a weekly basis, that my image in the league … is it stopping Coby from getting a job?” Karl asked. “That worries me.”

He stared at a candle burning in front of his living room window.

“OK,” he said, slapping his thighs as if to break himself out of a trance. “That’s my negative energy for the day.”

He was once full of piss and vinegar, complete with a sonic boom of a voice, a hair-trigger temper and what he called an “addiction” to preparation and competition. More than anything, George Karl spoke his mind.

“I advocate to this day for people to stand tall and be bold,” Karl said.

When he coached Golden State, he challenged 7-foot center Joe Barry Carroll to a fight in the locker room. With Denver, moments after a playoff game when he benched Kenyon Martin, he went chest-to-chest with the power forward in a heated dispute. In Seattle, he routinely exchanged F-bombs with Gary Payton. He clashed with Carmelo Anthony in Denver, Kendall Gill in Seattle and Ray Allen in Milwaukee. He tried to rip urinals off locker room walls, broke clipboards in timeouts, kicked coolers in the locker room and game balls into the stands.

“As a young guy, he was quite full of himself,” said Bob Whitsitt, the general manager who hired Karl from Real Madrid to lead the Sonics in 1992. “He kept ripping ownership, kept ripping management, kept leaking things to the media, fighting with players. He kind of thought he was the show. He burned every bridge there was.”

The final match was lit in 2017, when he published a book with author Curt Sampson. “Furious George: My Forty Years Surviving NBA Divas, Clueless GMs, and Poor Shot Selection” was the talk of the NBA for the wrong reasons. Spicy prepublication excerpts highlighted potshots at former players and general managers. He criticized J.R. Smith as entitled, and suggested Anthony and Martin carried burdens because they didn’t have fathers to “show them how to act like a man.” He said today’s players couldn’t hear his messaging because they had “money in their ears.”

“I thought the book went to print as a celebration, and it came out like I slapped the game of basketball in the face,” Karl said. “And the whole thing comes down to … you have to break some amount of eggs. You can’t make it all celebratory. And I don’t think I broke that many eggs, to be honest with you. I could have gone a lot further. But … people thought I disrespected the game, and that hurt me.”

George Karl called out several of his former players in his book, including Nuggets stars Carmelo Anthony and Kenyon Martin, shown in 2011. (Doug Pensinger/Getty Images)

Many inside NBA circles rolled their eyes. It was another instance of George being George.

“I had no shortage of people calling me, asking me, ‘Does this MFer think he is ever going to get another job after this?!’” Whitsitt said.

Even those who are close to Karl, like former player and current Lakers assistant Nate McMillan, believe Karl’s candor in the book will have lasting implications, particularly when it comes to Coby’s chances to get a head job.

“When you say things like that, it can get under people’s skin. This whole thing is about networking and who you know. If people feel a certain way, or look at you in a certain way, it can make it hard,” McMillan said. “But if it wasn’t for Coby, I don’t think George would have many regrets about what he said. A lot of what he said is real … it’s just things that other people wouldn’t say.”

Karl’s loose lips and don’t-give-a-damn approach made him no stranger to controversy throughout his career, and he said he accepted the consequences. But he abhors the analogy of a burned bridge.

“What’s your definition of a burned bridge?” he snapped. “Standing up for what you believe, or keeping your mouth shut and not doing the right thing? I’m not that guy, if you want me to keep my mouth shut. I’m going to tell you you are full of s— if you are full of s—.”

It was no surprise when Karl surfaced on social media with the same pugnacious, in-your-face style. He has sparred with former players Anthony, Martin and Smith, and television personalities Kendrick Perkins, Mark Jackson and Nick Wright on Twitter/X. The inflammatory posts generated headlines and back-and-forth discussion. The dust-ups went a long way to pushing Karl back into the NBA conversation.

He was once again relevant. He once again had a voice. There was just one problem.

He never wrote the posts.

“I’ve gone on Twitter to find out what somebody said, but I’ve never, ever wrote anything,” Karl said. “I’ve never done that my whole life, but I know it’s out there.”

The man behind the account is Brett Goldberg, Karl’s business partner and manager. Sometimes, Karl will tell Goldberg to post on a subject. Usually, though, it’s Goldberg creating the content.

“It’s like 80 percent Brett,” Karl said. “He wanted me to have more of an online presence … and I don’t understand branding.”

Goldberg and Karl co-founded Truth Plus Media, which produces sports-related podcasts and has an upcoming documentary on the ABA that was purchased by Amazon. The two are close, and Goldberg said he can accurately depict how Karl feels about subjects and events.

“But I’ve lectured him on calming it down,” Karl said. “And, if he is going to say something difficult, to make sure he clears it with me.”

Karl acknowledges that social media fosters negativity. He considered shutting down the X account after it was pointed out to him that having a ghostwriter smacks in the face of his truth-telling brand. But after some reflection, he said he would rather solve the problem of online negativity than avoid it.

Despite all of his accomplishments, George Karl worries that he will be remembered for not winning The Big One. “I can remember at times thinking I’m a loser because I’ve never won it,” he said. (Kevin Mohatt for The Athletic)

“It’s like my relationship with Melo,” he said. “There’s a lot of good stuff there. There’s a lot of good stuff there with Kenyon, a lot of good stuff there with J.R. But if we continue to shoot each other, that good is never going to be felt.”

(Anthony and Smith did not respond to interview requests for this story.)

“I feel like I’m trying to stop the shooting,” Karl said. “And I will have a conversation with Brett soon about how we evolve from here.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Karl challenged himself to evolve.

In October, Karl stared out into a sun-splashed Puget Sound and sipped his iced tea. He was in Seattle to attend an NBA exhibition game at Climate Pledge Arena and join former players Sam Perkins, Rashard Lewis, Shawn Kemp and Payton in promoting the city’s interest in NBA expansion.

“You know, nobody knows the real George Karl,” he said.

He is no longer the urinal-destroying, player-fighting, management-prodding whirlwind. “That ‘Furious George’ or ‘Angry George’ … that label is so old, so far back,” Karl said. “I mean, they throw away my last 20 years.”

He has walked down the path of self-discovery. He workshopped with author Steven Kotler, who writes about “mental flow,” to understand how the mind works. He is well-versed in the writings of Brené Brown and her research on courage, vulnerability, shame and empathy. He recently finished Brown’s “Braving the Wilderness,” which included a theme that attracted Karl: Having the courage to stand alone.

The shift really began in 2009, when he was diagnosed with head-and-neck cancer. Four years prior, cancer had taken his prostate. Now, it seemed like it wanted all of him. He underwent radiation treatments five times a week for seven weeks. His throat was torched so badly he couldn’t taste and had trouble swallowing. A feeding tube was inserted into his stomach. He was miserable.

“I spent a lot of days in my backyard cussing out everybody,” Karl said. “I was having trouble figuring out how I was ever going to be a human being again. Am I ever going to be an athlete again? I wasn’t going to be who I am … and I was angry.”

As coach of the Nuggets, he let go of the reins, handing his assistants more responsibility and more authority. Off the court, he became immersed in what he calls “the cancer world.” He studied treatments, talked to other patients, and marveled at what an overwhelming and isolating journey cancer can be. Finding a cure for cancer and advocating for cancer patient care has become his mission.

He has donated hundreds of thousands of dollars for research and helped raise even more. On April 12, Karl was honored by St. Jude Children’s Hospital at a 240-person gala held at the Denver Art Museum. He was presented with the 2025 Inspire Award for his fundraising efforts, and the celebration included a video presentation with recorded messages from former players Andre Miller and McMillan and former assistant and current Orlando coach Jamahl Mosley.

Coby also delivered a message via video: “Cancer has been a big part of both of our lives, unfortunately,” he said. “But as you do, you’ve made it into a gift rather than a curse, and you’ve learned from it and grown from it. I thank you for that example.”

When Karl talks to cancer patients, he tells them the journey is not easy. And he tells them there is a reward waiting on the other end. He is a testament. His own fight changed him. He is a stronger, more loving and more graceful person.

“I tell them … most people who get through cancer usually are better because of it,” Karl said.

The night of his induction into the Naismith Hall of Fame in 2022, Karl and a group of about 25 former players, assistant coaches and trainers went to a bar and celebrated. Karl held court. He told stories, busted chops and reminisced about the heartache, triumphs and controversies they all experienced.

From the fringe, Coby observed.

“It was the most at peace I’ve ever seen him,” Coby said. “And it was the happiest I’ve ever seen him.”

They had a complicated relationship when Coby was growing up. Karl’s addiction to work meant time away from Coby and his sister, Kelci. Coby harbored resentment, which became anger when his parents got divorced after Karl was hired in Milwaukee in 1998.

Father and son began to mend their relationship when Coby was diagnosed with thyroid cancer in 2006, two years after George was diagnosed with prostate cancer. “We became cancer buddies,” Karl said.

But that night at the bar, after the Hall of Fame induction, Coby said he began to look at his father differently. The love others had for his father was palpable. He could hear it in their stories, see it in their faces. As he listened to the banter, he began to understand his father and let go of whatever anger or resentment still hovered from his youth.

“When I saw him in that setting, it kind of clicked for me,” Coby said. “I saw that he was this caretaker. I saw how he empowered all these people, protected them. It was like, ‘Oh, all that time I didn’t get to spend with him, this is where he was: taking care of other people, empowering other people, collaborating with other people to find answers.’ It made me feel good.”

Coby also began to appreciate how much his father has let him be his own coach. After a brief NBA playing career (Coby played 24 NBA games over three seasons with the Lakers, Golden State and Cleveland), he became a coach, heading three G League teams. He won the 2023 G League championship, leading the Delaware Blue Coats.

Geore Karl entered the Basketball Hall of Fame in 2022 and is the sixth-winningest coach in NBA history. (Kevin Mohatt for The Athletic)

“Something I’ve sought for a long time is to try and walk outside of his shadow,” Coby said. “And to his credit, he has allowed himself to fall back and let me find that path.”

For Karl, the Hall of Fame weekend remains one of the most important of his life. The Hall of Fame was validation, a quieting of the voices inside that questioned his title-less resume. It soothed the sting of his big losses.

“It was a very peaceful, powerful moment for me,” Karl said. “Because I had never won a championship, and that’s hurt me. I’ve lived with that. A lot. I’ve cried with that. A lot.”

He once again fights off tears. The losing, especially the big games, will forever be embedded in his soul. At the same time, he understands what Coby saw that night.

“In a lot of ways, that night was my way of saying goodbye to the game,” Karl said. “It was me feeling like I don’t need to win another game. I don’t need to be at another training camp. It will always possess me at a high, high level … but it’s not a sickness anymore.”

The hangover from the NCAA title game and the drama of Malone’s firing have passed. Today, Karl is getting back on his bike to find what he calls his “nature flow.” Perhaps he will trek out to Common Ground Golf Course, where he carries a 15 handicap, or maybe he will cruise the Cherry Creek bike path.

His ride today should be void of reminders from his past. He likes to think he has reconciled with the pain of losing and the frustration regarding where the NBA is headed, but he still identifies with the loser of championship games. He can’t remember the last time he watched a title celebration.

“The hurt from the losses: I can’t deny, it lingers,” Karl said. “But I think I have satisfied my heart and my soul that I’m OK with what I’ve done.”

Part of that healing involves letting go. He wishes former players remembered the good times as much as the bad. His living room is practically wallpapered in books, but his own is nowhere to be seen.

George Karl has sparred for former players long after he left the NBA. “I feel like I’m trying to stop the shooting,” he said. (Kevin Mohatt for The Athletic)

Instead, on the left side of his fireplace mantle sits the 2012-13 Red Auerbach Trophy for NBA Coach of the Year he won with the Nuggets. On the right side is his Naismith Hall of Fame trophy. His Hall of Fame ring sits inside a box that rests on the coffee table. They are reminders that titles don’t necessarily define winners.

Karl brags that all three of his kids are smart, driven and competitive. If he isn’t watching Coby coach with the 76ers, he’s traveling to see his grandkids in the Northwest, where Kelci works for the Washington State Department of Health and Human Services. Much of his winter was spent zig-zagging across the country to watch his youngest daughter, Kaci, play soccer for Washington University in St. Louis. He was in attendance in December when Washington won the Division III championship in Las Vegas.

“I think we are all proud to continue his lineage,” Coby said. “We are not afraid to speak up at difficult times. We are not scared to ask the hard questions, and we are not scared to be ourselves. So people can say whatever they want about my father as far as his lack of final success in terms of championships, but I think he has created championship children.”

Karl will celebrate that title with a new smile. He recently had implants installed in his upper jaw. He has plans to complete the look after he strengthens his lower jaw, damaged from the radiation treatments, with hyperbaric oxygen treatments. He finds he has more to smile about when the sun is out, and for the first time in his life, he is considering heading south for the winters.

For now, he is set in Denver. The city is in full bloom, the temperature is comfortable and the NBA playoffs are here. Soon, he will have a steroid injected into his larynx to strengthen his vocal cords. He hopes it will allow his voice to be heard.

(Photos of George Karl in his home by Kevin Mohatt for The Athletic)

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