It's called the "second season" in the NBA, and for good reason. After the arduous 82-game regular season has been completed, the next phase begins almost immediately. These are the playoffs ... and this is what really counts to franchises, coaches, players, fans and the media.

	Bill Walton dominated Philly in 1977 to give Dr. Jack his only title as coach.

Other than qualifying for the playoffs, what a team accomplishes in the regular season is relatively insignificant. For playoff teams, once those 82 games are over, nobody thinks about won-loss records or final league standings; and while home court advantage is nice, it guarantees a team absolutely nothing. It's what a team does in the playoffs that determines its worth. The pressure to win is intense, and everybody feels it. But so is the spirit of competition, and everyone revels in that too. It's the best part of the season. So, after a brief interlude, players become somehow refreshed, totally focused and ready for their chance to acquire basketball's Holy Grail ... NBA Championship rings.

For the coach, it's a time of thorough, precise and intense preparation. For the first time in the season, he and his staff can focus on a single opponent -- breaking down video tapes of previous games, noting player and team tendencies, deciding on player matchups and rotations off the bench, and arriving at a playoff game plan.

Each player receives a complete report on his defensive assignment -- detailed printouts and video tapes, highlighting how that player has performed on offense and defense. The coach organizes locker room chalk talks defining the game plan, then implements them with intense sessions on the practice court. My guess is that every coach finishes that last practice feeling that his team is ready to win the opening series. I know that I did.

Coaches also know that the playing field in the NBA playoffs is about as level as it can get -- and that the better team will probably win because each team will have the same amount of rest and preparation time between games. The games will be split almost evenly home and away, and will be worked by the league's best officials. It's squarely up to the coach and his players to be the better team.

But sometimes, in spite of a coach's best preparations, things go awry or their opponent does the unexpected, and adjustments must be made. In my more than 20 years in the NBA, I was involved in many playoff competitions -- two of which ended in championships. The first came as general manager of the Philadelphia 76ers in 1967. The Sixers had a great team, expertly coached by Alex Hannum, and had finished the season 68-13, a league record at the time. The team was comprised of starters Wilt Chamberlain, Luke Jackson and Chet Walker up front, Wally Jones and Hal Greer in the backcourt, and had a strong bench led by Billy Cunningham.

The Sixers' first round opponent was Cincinnati (now Sacramento), which had limped into the playoffs with a 39-42 record. It was assumed by all who followed the NBA that this would be a quick series for Philly before meeting the vaunted Boston Celtics, who had won eight consecutive championships. But the Royals, as they were then known, had other ideas. Led by all-time greats Oscar Robertson and Jerry Lucas, they stunned the Sixers by winning the opening game in Philadelphia.

I was as surprised as anyone, although I had sensed a touch of complacency in the team's practices. But Hannum seemed to take it in stride -- almost as if he welcomed the defeat. He thought his team was looking ahead to the probable matchup with the Celtics and not focusing enough on the Royals. The unexpected loss gave him the opportunity he wanted to bring his team back to reality. Known as "Sarge" because of his task-master mannerisms, Hannum blistered his players about their lack of defensive effort in Game 1. They responded, whipped the Royals the next three games; then went on to dethrone the mighty Celtics (4-1) and beat San Francisco (4-2) for the title. But the championship might not have happened had the Sixers not gotten that early wake-up call from Cincinnati.

I coached Portland when it won it all 10 years later -- against Philadelphia. We were forced to consider changes in our game plans in each series of that championship run. Our first opponent in a best of three series was the Chicago Bulls, who had come on strong at the finish of the season. Their center was 7-2 strongman Artis Gilmore. He was proving himself difficult for Bill Walton to handle because of his great strength. After the Bulls tied the series with a 3-point win at Chicago Stadium -- the loudest arena I ever experienced -- I asked Bill if he could "front" Artis (play between him and the ball) instead of playing him on the side, in an effort to deny him the ball at the post. Bill thought it would be a tough task, but was willing to try. Walton did a magnificent job, kept Gilmore's touches to a minimum, and the Blazers slipped into the next round.

In the second round against Denver, Dave Twardzik, the Blazers' starting point guard, sprained an ankle badly in Game 2, and was unable to play the rest of that series. I was leaning toward Larry Steele, a veteran swingman, as his replacement and sliding Lionel Hollins to the ball-handling role. But after talking with the other starters and hearing their endorsement of rookie Johnny Davis, I went with their opinion and it turned out to be the right call. In the series-ending Game 6, Davis led all scorers with 25 points.

Our opponent in the Conference finals was the Lakers, who had the league's best record, and were led by the great Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. As my assistant Jack McKinney and I watched them play Golden State in a hard-fought seven-game series, it was apparent that the Lakers could be pressured in the backcourt, and that Kareem wasn't as effective working from the right block as he was from the left. Since we had finished our series with Denver early, we had several practice days to work on full court trapping of their guards and forcing the ball away from Kareem's favorite post-up spot.

In the series opener in LA, everything worked for the Blazers and we won by double digits. The remaining games were close as they adjusted to our tactics, but the opening win gave us the confidence to eke out wins in the next three games ... and suddenly, we were in the NBA Finals.

We had to wait for Philadelphia to beat Houston in six games for the Finals to begin -- this time we waited for 9 days -- and it was too long. We were out of sync, the Sixers were on top of their game, and we got blitzed in the opening two games in Philadelphia. On the flight back to Portland, McKinney and I huddled to plan our next step. Should we start Twardzik again, now that he was recovered from his ankle sprain? Our efforts to press the Sixers fell apart when Sixers coach Gene Shue used his center, Caldwell Jones to bring the ball up court. Should we try our zone press on them? A lot of possibilities were available.

After much deliberation, I decided that to change personnel or our game plan would indicate to the players that we couldn't beat Philly with our normal game. But I thought that we could beat them that way ... and I wanted my players to think that way too. So before our next practice, I stressed the need to get back to playing "our game" -- which was strong defense, good rebounding, fast breaking and crisp execution of half-court offense. We also wanted to make Julius Erving work at his defensive end of the floor. I wanted Bob Gross, Erving's matchup, to run the floor at every opportunity, and to be aggressive going after his own shots.

This time, making little or no change worked wonders. We did indeed play our best game, Gross scored better than usual, and Portland won the next two in blow-out fashion. That enabled us to regain our confidence to win Game 5 in Philly, and hang on to win Game 6 by two points back at home ... and earn championship rings.

Reviewing those events makes me realize again that there are few things in life quite as exciting and demanding as coaching a team in the NBA playoffs.