Why? Why? Why?

So . . . yesterday Jerry Sloan, head coach of the Utah Jazz basketball team, resigned after 23 years at the helm. You may think from the title of this post and the first line that I am a die-hard Jazz fan and am distraught. Not so. Today I'm writing more about our constant search for the answers to the title question, and how I got a taste of that propensity while reading basketball news yesterday. Why? Why not. Read more after the jump.

As someone for whom answer the question "why" is part of my job, I certainly hate it. What I dislike even more, it seems, is our constant need to try to find out why things happen without actually trying that hard. We come up with quick theories and ideas without the necessary background to be informed about it.

When the news about Sloan broke yesterday there were a slew of articles on why he might have chosen to resign (my favorite, and I mean that sincerely: maybe he just woke up yesterday morning and decided that he didn't want to do this anymore). One columnist pointed out the fact that yesterday was the first day this NBA season that Utah had a less than 50% chance of making the playoffs (according to a statistical projection made by another columnist, no less). When the dust settled the dominant story was that Deron Williams, star player of the Jazz, had a confrontation with Sloan and that precipitated the resignation.

Maybe that's the case, maybe not. It's hard to believe that a coach with 23 years of arguing with players under his belt (the arguing is under his belt, not the players) was driven away by one confrontation. It's hard to believe that he was either forced out or fell on his sword when that player supposedly gave the "him or me" ultimatum to management. Maybe it's true, or maybe it's just the best explanation that the writers have come up with so far.

The point is that it really doesn't matter all that much why he quit; the facts don't change as a result. He is no longer coach, the star is still there, and they have to move forward. Of course there are situations where knowing the "why" might be important (if an action was an indication of a deeper problem; in general, knowing the cause is important if there is a potential future danger), but this isn't one of them.

I face the same thing with my students. I tell them in the first class that if they have to miss a class, that's fine, just let me know; they don't have to give me a reason. Knowing why they aren't there isn't going to change the fact that they aren't there (and on the occasions when students have insisted on giving me the reason, it has been to their detriment, because clearly I don't think that drumming in a battle of the bands is as important as they do). If an assignment is late, I don't care why - the assignment is late.

The interesting thing is that I see the behaviour most strongly in my son, who is in kindergarten. He comes up with backstories and explanations for things without any foundation. He answers the why by filling in the missing information with conjecture. That's fine for a kid; as adults maybe we should be a little more willing to say "I don't know." And maybe we should focus less on the cause and more on the result.

Of course, there is no sports story, nothing to write about, without the why. Without a cause, sports stories amount to statistical reporting. But coming up with "because"s doesn't make them true, even if it makes for a good story. Personally, I'd rather see a few more "therefore"s and fewer "because"s. What is the implication going forward. Then we might be able to do something productive.