It’s been a dramatic 100 hours for DeMarcus Cousins. After blowing up at his coach during the first half and halftime of Thursday’s game against the Clippers, Cousins was benched for the rest of the game, and told to stay in the locker room. The next day, the team suspended Cousins “indefinitely” for “unprofessional behavior”. The team played one game without him; a spirited 108-96 victory against the Portland Trailblazers. Then, on Christmas Eve, the team reinstated Cousins, just in time for him to have a heated exchange with assistant coach Clifford Ray while working on conditioning after practice. Yesterday we learned that DeMarcus, though no longer suspended, was not invited to join the team on their road trip. Tonight, without his dour demeanor, but also without his scoring and rebounding, the Kings dropped a 109-91 grudge match to the Blazers.
Now, DeMarcus Cousins (or, DMC) is known for his behavior problems. This is not his first transgression; indeed, this is the latest step in a career than has been defined more by his immaturity issues than his impressive skill-set as one of the league’s best young big men. More often than not, DMC is labeled a “crybaby” or a “child”. And its hard not to agree — his body language projects pouting, and his face is consistently screwed up in disgust and frustration. Unsurprisingly, his behavior reminds me of many of my clients from both the past and the present. In this case, I am reminded of one of my more challenging cases, a young woman we’ll call “V”.
Some background. In the not too distant past, I worked as a behavior specialist at a wonderful public school in a suburb of Seattle. As a behavior specialist, my job was to work with students whose behavior issues were impeding their abilities to succeed, their classmates’ abilities to learn, and their teacher’s ability to instruct and manage the class room. In most cases, the student I worked with would have either a developmental/cognitive disability or an emotional disability (though the two certainly were not mutually exclusive), as well as other socioeconomic and independent-living issues that would impede learning and behaving throughout their school day. As such, I worked in special education departments in elementary and middle schools, with some pretty heady young men and women.
Though it got a bit real at times, it was a great job. Everyday I’d come into a classroom and help implement existing behavior intervention plans, and ensure their short and long-term success through rapport-building with the student, direct dialogue with their parents, and direct hands-on work with the teacher, other members of the classroom, and the school’s administrative staff. I got to help kids in every facet of their day, and built some fantastic relationships with students and staff alike. It really was a fantastic job. I miss aspects of it a lot, though the lessons and experiences garnered working one-on-one with some tough kids I got while working as a behavior specialist are part of the proverbial toolbox I dig through everyday in my current job as a behavior consultant and case manager.
But I digress. My most memorable case involved a young woman who we’ll just call “V”. V was in the primary class in this particular school’s special education department (the “intermediate” class was comprised of mostly 4th-6th graders). The class itself was filled with very smart, generally well-behaved students, who did not have the same type of behavior issues as V. The teacher was amazing at his job, and was supported by an equally amazing team of paraprofessionals, speech and occupational therapists, school psychologists and campus administrators. It really was a privilege to be part of the team, and working with V became a sort of “trial ground” for the behavior management work that I do currently in rural Northern California.
Now, V was a delightful human being; clearly very smart and talented, but who had a number of barriers that often lead to some very challenging school days. Though V was a capable student — she was good at a number of academic subjects, and frequently surprised us with what she did know — she didn’t always feel like working, and at times liked to have things done her way. Specifically, V had a temper, and could rage in a very real way. Property was often damaged in her tantrums, and both students and staff took some surprisingly effective punches and kicks from the capable personage of V (she was big, for a second grader). As much as everyone loved V, she was risky to be around, and no one could really figure out what would set her off, and how to bring her back.
One of our biggest problems with V was that, when she would get angry, she would essentially “lose her words” and start to express her unhappiness through her behavior. Much of this was due to her disability; she was only partly-verbal, and would express thoughts and desires in incomplete and occasionally indecipherable sentences. But it was also a major communication deficit. Instead of figuring out how to say: “I want the toy that x student is holding”, she would walk up to the student, hit them, then take the toy that had fallen out of now-crying x student’s hands. Indeed, the biggest problem we had was that we couldn’t figure out a way to get her to say: “I don’t like this!” in many different environments, from challenging morning work, to a non-preferred item at lunch time, so a long, boring music class at the end of the day. We just couldn’t figure out how to get her to express her displeasure in a functional, appropriate way.
The other big problem was the behavior itself. As stated before, V was a big kid. With some younger kids with behavior issues — especially those who hit, kick, bite, and generally use physical violence to attempt to get a message across — its easy enough to just physically redirect that child to a safe and secure area, and provide minimal supervision while they either calm down, or get moved to a different area in the school. V wasn’t so easy. When she’d get angry, she’d get angry. Her screams could pierce walls and disturb kids in other classes; you always knew, wherever you were in the school, that V was angry. When she decided she didn’t want to do work anymore, she’d sweep her arms across the table, sending papers, pencils, plastic bins and coffee cups flying everywhere. She’d hurl trays of food that she didn’t want to eat across the cafeteria, showering everyone with chocolate milk, turkey and gravy, and peas on mashed potatoes. She’d scratch, punch, kick, bite, and claw her way to what she wanted, or away from what she wanted to postpone. Her tantrums would last for quite a while, and would require the attention of just about everyone. We had to figure out how to reduce the frequency and intensity of her blow-ups, and ensure the safety of students, staff, and most importantly, V herself.
Our early inclination was to bring the hammer down each time V went off her rocker; put her on time-out, take away recess and other preferred activities, prevent her from getting on the computer and blocking her access to stand-bys nickjr.com and pbskids.org, and just sort of scare her into submission. We quickly discovered that that tactic wasn’t going to work; she would rage violently, endangering everyone around her, including herself. She still took up a lot of time, attention and energy. There were a few exhausting days where V would cry and scream for hours, while we tried desperately to find a way, any way, to make her happy. It was frustrating, but we, as a team, kept working at it to find a solution.
Over time we discovered that the most effective strategy with V was to allow her as many breaks as needed to get her through a non-preferred activity. Whether it was morning circle, afternoon recess, or late-day one-on-one work (consistently her least favorite activity), V was prompted to ask for a break whenever she needed to calm down and collect herself before completing an undesired task. Most breaks were honored at first, and she was given a list of break-specific activities she could do while she postponed the activity. After a given amount of time (usually five minutes or so), we would go get V, and transition her. V was proficient with the Picture Exchange Communication system (PECS), so she was able to request a break either verbally or visually. If she didn’t immediately ask for a break we would prompt her to do so (“You seem upset V, time to take a five minute break”) and help her go to a break area. When she was calm, we would help her get back to work, doing whatever she was previously having a hard time doing.
It was hit or miss at first, but as we continued our programs of frequent breaks, we noted that V’s tantrums were reducing, both in intensity and frequency. Once we discovered some activities that V could do during break to calm down, but then be easily convinced to leave in order to complete a given task, the break system started to work itself. Soon V was verbally requesting breaks before she got too agitated; a behavior that would receive praise and reinforcement from the team, and prompt high-fives and thumbs up amongst ourselves. Moreover, V was getting her work done, and showing herself to be a fairly high achiever. There was a lot to like about her increasing self-regulation and coping skills.
So, what’s this have to do with DeMarcus Cousins? Well, I guess I’m struck by how similar the plan we designed for V is to the plan the Kings, apparently, have designed for DMC. This past weekend, after DMC’s much-hyped dustup with head coach Keith Smart, he was benched for the rest of that game, then suspended “indefinitely” afterwards. The Kings played one game without him — a 108-96 victory against the Portland Trailblazers — before re-instating him the next day. In essence, they told him to “take a break”. When he didn’t take one himself, they prompted him to do so, and have kept him on break until they feel he’s ready to contribute to the team in a productive way that goes beyond the points he scores, or the rebounds he grabs.
The goal of this plan, it seems, is very similar to what we wanted to do with V: to teach DMC how to self-regulate his behavior, and cope with difficult situations that try his patience. This is DMC’s third short suspension of the year — two came from the league, and this one came from the Kings organization — and none have lasted more than two games. When they put him on break, they do so sternly, disappointed with his latest transgression. Yet, like with V, when break is over, DMC is always quickly welcomed back into the fabric of the organization, and his teammates and coaches are always quick to sing his praises, and support him as part of the team. Words like “brother” are used in conjunction with DMC with seeming honesty and sincerity, time after time. And DMC, despite his repeat transgressions, always seems genuinely remorseful about his actions.
The most important question with DMC’s behavior plan is a simple one: will it work? Will DMC eventually learn the skills necessary to get through a day of work without losing his temper, and damaging the professional and personal bonds that need to be strengthened over time in order to ensure long term success? Will he be able to regulate his behavior; learn to let some things slide, and pick his battles more wisely and maturely? Will he develop a work ethic, and learn to come to work with the right mindset in order to learn and grow, and receive promotions, like captaincy, and the designation of “franchise player”?
Simply put: the Kings have to succeed with DeMarcus Cousins. They have no choice. The Kings roster is young and seemingly unbalanced; a mix of streaky shooters and positional tweeners. Though they played spirited ball without their star player, they do not have enough talent to compete on a nightly basis. Furthermore, they would have a difficult time crafting a deal that would net them equal (or greater) value for what they have in DMC — namely, a powerful big man who has the skills to be a dominant offensive and defensive presence, though an attitude that is far beyond “questionable” at this point. As I write, the Kings are getting blown out by the Blazers, being outscored by double digits, and out-rebounded by 20. For all of their heart, they simply do not have the talent to succeed. DMC, for better or worse, has to be a part of the future.
Whatever the Kings do, it has to work. It must.
I know this: the only way the Kings will be successful in keeping him a part of the plan for the present and the future, will be to stay strong, firm and unified, as a team and as an organization. You see, the only way V was going to be able to succeed is if the team that supported her made sure she received thorough but conditional support. I was not going to be able to help V achieve her academic goals by myself; I needed to solicit the support and advice from a much larger team that included one teacher, four paraprofessionals, two occupational therapists, one speech therapist, one school psychologist, one principal, ten classmates, and an elementary school full of boys and girls who all wanted to see V happy, healthy and successful. And damned if we weren’t going to succeed. And if we failed, well, damned if we weren’t going to fail trying. But in exchange for our effort, V had to put in her work. V had to show that she was trying to learn the skills she needed to.
The Kings organization gets a lot of flack, perhaps rightfully so. I can’t claim to understand the roster that Geoff Petrie has put together, filled with guys who can’t play their natural positions with any sort of consistency and who struggle to compete on the defensive end. Sadly, the jury’s still out on Keith Smart, a great guy with a tough locker room and seemingly misguided front office and ownership group. And though his teammates seem committed to seeing DMC through, they play noticeably harder and crisper in his absence, as if they’re proving a bigger point to someone else. In other words, I’m not sure everyone on DMC’s team is on the same page about their mercurial player, friend, and purported “brother”. If they hope to get the most out of DMC, and help rehabilitate his mind and image, along with his game, there needs to be unity of purpose, and a commitment to riding through the good times and the bad, with the hope that the bad won’t get worse, and that the frequency, in general, drops. They absolutely need to be on the same page if they hope to make any lasting progress with DMC.
I’ve been busy in my new job in California, but I get reports from my past now and again. V is still in the same class she was in, at the same school she was at last year, and reportedly is “holding steady”. She’s doing what she needs to do; not without bumps in the road now and again, but on the whole, moving onwards and upwards, growing a little bit everyday. I assume she still asks for breaks when she needs them. I assume she is learning how to regulate her own behavior, and still has that same rock-solid team behind her
Does the same go for DMC? Will he ever “hold steady”, and become the man in Sacramento? I have a feeling we’re about to find out.
