• by David Goetzl , March 3, 2011

With his role as an ESPN analyst, look no further than Bob Knight for an example of the pathology of college basketball coaching. Who is this guy? Free of the pressures of winning, he seems to have undergone a personality transplant.

He can't be the referee-bullying, chair-tossing former coach at Indiana, can he? Not the man who allegedly deposited an LSU fan in the trash and choked one of his own players. Certainly not the leader who made a ghastly comment about rape, while referring to his own stress level. Or the egomaniac who ruthlessly intimidated the media.

After all, he's now one of those media lowlifes. Been so ever since retiring from Texas Tech and joining ESPN in 2008.

The tempestuous Knight seems to have morphed into the mellow favorite uncle sitting on the couch at holidays, enjoying the kids running around. On ESPN, he wears a pullover sweater as he did as a coach, which actually would be perfect for the Thanksgiving table.

As a game analyst, the 71-year-old is self-deprecating, sometimes droll and exceedingly mild-manned. Get this: he even praises referees. And when a player blows a play, he might say: hey, mistakes happen, give the kid a break.

That's not to say Knight is particularly compelling in the broadcast booth. He often seems disinterested, his mind wandering -- before snapping back and realizing he's on the air. He speaks in such a monotone, it's hard to believe he ever yelled in the huddle. A tape of Knight calling a game bedside would be more effective against insomnia than Ambien.

Knight can be more animated on a studio set as a commentator. A frequent critic of the NCAA, he said Saturday: "If the NCAA were in charge of the Normandy invasion, we would have landed in Turkey," according to colleague Jay Bilas.

But during games, the character study of Knight, far from ranting and raving, makes him worth watching -- at least a few times, since he can be repetitive. Not to overdo the analogy since Muhammad Ali is in a class by himself, but Knight's seeming congenial reincarnation calls to mind the former boxer becoming a beloved ambassador.

Knight, of course, was never wrong in an argument as a coach, but now there's refreshing humility. "You were awfully good at this long before I screwed things up," he said to partner Brent Musburger on Monday. After Musburger touted Knight's various Hall of Fame inductions, the coach was content with: "I had a lot of good players."

Knight will poke fun at his referee tyranny: "There were rare occasions when I was coaching that I disagreed with the official. That probably surprise(s) you," he told Brent.

Also amusing are his comments hearkening back to yesteryear, referring to "the dunk shot." Or invoking the 1977 war film "A Bridge Too Far" as a metaphor for a bad play. That may not be in the Netflix queue of the young males watching ESPN.

Knight was widely hailed as a brilliant tactician as a coach, and he is best with the X's and O's, breaking down plays, while pointing out the unforeseen. He can get real coachy, though, repeatedly breaking down the niceties of getting one's feet lined up at free-throw line.

Knight gives no indication of harboring any interest in what players or coaches are like off the court. He hardly ever conveys information about their interests or personalities. When he praises a "ball screen," it can make one pine for ESPN's boisterous Dick Vitale overly rhapsodizing about them.

But what is most frustrating about Knight is how he nearly entirely avoids what could make him such an engrossing analyst. Having coached from 1965-2008, he's got reams of anecdotes and tales about former players and opposing coaches, nights on the road and crazy recruiting trips. And, most interestingly, about himself -- how he dealt with triumphs and tragedies.

He's clearly reticent to go in that direction. ESPN should prod him to. After all, he's agreeable and approachable now, so executives shouldn't be afraid.