Does former Net still think Phil Jacksonâ€™s a communist?

As the world turns …

Fascinating that Phil Jackson is back in New York while Lionel Hollins winds up with Brooklyn.

Both are inextricably linked in my mind's attic to the Piscataway Nets of the late 1970s, specifically to the presence of a fascinating character named Mike Newlin.

After eight years with the Rockets as a streak-shooting, barrel-chested, boards-crashing, knee-scraping 6-foot-4 guard from the University of Utah, Newlin joined the Nets in the 1979-80 season.

Newlin was a very different kind of guy, sweet and strange. He had a special relationship with the beat writers because he spent more time interviewing us than us him. In fact, he spent more bus and plane time with us than he did with teammates.

For an NBA veteran, he seemed naïve to the world outside of hotel rooms, airports and arenas. He asked a lot of questions about all sorts of things. Was he a bona fide straight-arrow RFD barnyard animal, or a spy? It hardly mattered; he was a kick to be around. Perhaps because he liked us, we liked him. And he played hard. That counted, too.

Jackson was a player-coach on that 1979-80 Piscataway team of kids — remember Winford Boynes? — and NBA irritants and itinerants such as Ralph Simpson, the late (and he was late when he was alive) "Super" John Williamson and the late Maurice Lucas. At 34-48, that was about right — the Rutgers Athletic Center Piscataway Nets did the best and worst they could.

One late afternoon in Indianapolis, I was on the team bus. Newlin was in the seat across from me, on the aisle. Jackson entered, walked past and sat toward the back. Jackson was wearing one of those fading hippie era Davy Crockett/Daniel Boone light brown leather jackets, with the leather tassels along the sleeves.

Newlin leaned over to me. "What's his story?" he asked, obviously referencing Jackson.

"Whattya mean?" I asked back.

"Is he a Communist?"

I leaned in close to Newlin and whispered, "Card-carrying."

Newlin nodded, as if he understood, then leaned back in his seat.

I figured or hoped that Newlin knew that I was kidding. But I've long — as in 35 years — had my doubts.

Did Mike Newlin believe Phil Jackson is a card-carry member of the Communist Party? Does he still believe that? Did he contact the House Un-American Activities Committee?

Lionel HollinsPhoto: Getty Images

As for Hollins, when he played guard for Portland, then Philadelphia, one could predict he and Newlin would renew their war — predictable as eggs on a breakfast menu.

During the jump ball at center, they collided, then pushing, shoving, slapping, jawing, gesturing, hips, elbows. Theirs was the match within the match. I recall not watching the game to just watch them, away from the ball, going at it.

Not knowing what was meant by "tooth and nail," I surmised that that was it. And they apparently — Hollins turned down a chat request — had been on each other's nerves for years.

And now Jackson runs the Knicks, Hollins coaches the Nets. And on June, 10, 1981, Newlin was traded from the Nets to the Knicks for — ready? — Mike Woodson. As the small world turns.

Spoiler alert: Replay may wreck title games, too

Happy now? As these NFL playoffs so clearly have shown in consecutive Cowboys games, the replay rule, installed to correct egregiously incorrect calls, mostly does no such thing. It's mostly used to reverse plays — big plays and little plays — based on teenie, tiny, maybe, perhaps microscopic evidence.

And if ya'll knew that's the way the replay rule would work in its overwhelming number of applications, how many of you would have demanded it 25-plus years ago?

More than 25 years later, the NFL continues to "iron out the kinks" in its "instant" replay rule. Except the kinks continue to show up as festering, game-mangling flaws. The ever-changing rule continues to swallow the game, whole.

Chances are it will dominate, define and perhaps destroy one or both of today's conference championship games. And it's too late to be careful for what you wish. Paging Dr. Frankenstein.

The saddest book on the sports shelf is the National High School Record Book. It's stuffed with ill-gained, mismatched, bully-boy-and-girl, kick-'em-when-they're-down individual and team achievements as directed by adults with psychiatric issues.

Michael Anderson, coach of the Arroyo Valley H.S. (Calif.) girls basketball team, was suspended by his school for two games following the 161-2 defeat of winless Bloomington (Calif.) H.S. on Jan 5.

Anderson had his girls in a full-court trap defense the entire first half, which ended 104-1. In the second half, he cut Bloomington a break, going with a half-court trap. The game clock was run without stopping throughout the fourth quarter, or who knows?

Then Coach Anderson played stupid.

"I didn't expect them to be that bad," he told the local paper. "I'm not trying to embarrass anybody. And I didn't expect my bench to play that well. I had one [bench] player make eight of nine 3s."

He allowed her to take a second 3-point shot, then seven more?

"People shouldn't feel sorry for my team," Bloomington coach Dale Chung said. "They should feel sorry for his team, which isn't learning the game the right way."

Nine of Arroyo's victories this season have been by at least 50 points, with previous wins by 98, 81, 74, 73 and 67 points.

Question: How will CBS' NFL pregame show, followed by CBS Colts-Patriots telecast, treat the fact that Colts' backup LB and West Point grad Josh McNary will not dress following his indictment in Indianapolis for "rape, criminal confinement with bodily injury and battery resulting in bodily injury"?

Answer: Quickly, if at all.

Mike Francesa had a strong chat going with FOX's Troy Aikman on Thursday, until the inevitable: He tried to tell Aikman/us how smart he is.

Francesa: "Nobody threw on Deion Sanders. Let's be honest."

Aikman: "Well, we did."

Heck, even when Francesa's right, he winds up dead wrong. Francesa can turn a 100-1 shot into a wire-to-wire winner with a dismissive wave of his scepter. He's the ultimate jinx.

Thursday, he claimed Ohio State quarterback Cardale Jones that day would declare his eligibility for the NFL draft. After all, he reasoned, who calls a news conference to declare he's staying in college?