Coach speak. You’ve heard it before. If you watch sports interviews with any frequency, it probably accounts for most of what you’ve heard.

It’s not about who we play, it’s about how well we play them.

They are a talented group that is extremely well coached.

He’s a real team leader. 

Fill in the attribution here, because literally, these words could belong to anyone.

There isn’t a precise definition, but essentially coach speak — which has infiltrated the ranks of players as well — is addressing a question without ever providing a response resembling a discernible answer to what was asked.

Be generic. Be antiseptic. Be boring.

That’s the mandate for coaches and players in the modern sports climate.

But the arena of sport is inherently one of the most exciting in popular culture. No one wants post-game sound bytes and interview answers to sound like some neutered political debate during which every participant is soaked in fear of saying the wrong thing.

It’s counter-intuitive from an entertainment perspective. I’ll take the WWE model. Go the other way and don’t just express genuine thought and feeling, but exaggerate it.

Oh, how I long for the days of then-Arizona Cardinals coach Denny Green embarking on a tirade about the Bears being “…who we thought they were!”

Or Oklahoma State head man Mike Gundy emphatically reminding everyone that he was not only a man, but also 40.

But that’s just a nostalgic pipe dream in the modern era of expanding digital media and the birth of citizen “journalism.”

Not that outbursts of the interesting and genuine don’t inject color into the landscape of sports from time to time. Human emotion will always be volatile, and occasionally, it refuses to be contained.

But for the most part, it’s all about controlling the story from a public relations standpoint. It’s about keeping up appearances; avoiding unwanted attention or criticism.

And in fairness, amid the growing culture of public shaming — fueled by the popularity of anonymous, hateful criticism via digital media — sports figures are condemned by at least a portion of the interested public for almost any thought they voice.

Sort of like what I’m doing right now.

But considering that — and to borrow a sports phrase — why the hell not swing for the fences? If you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t, you might as well just DO, damn it.

In the wake of freshman point guard Nick Noskowiak’s departure from the ISU men’s basketball team, coach Steve Prohm predictably dished out the first of what is guaranteed to be many doses of innocuous, generalized rhetoric during his tenure at Iowa State. 

Noskowiak chose to leave the program after the news broke that he was hit with a felony charge — recklessly endangering safety, a class-F felony in Wisconsin — that stemmed from an issue on Aug. 9.

He was also previously charged with drunk driving after butting heads with the law for the first time in May.

“Nick informed us Friday night of his decision to step away from basketball, and we agree that it is in his best interest and the best interest of Iowa State for us to mutually part,” Prohm said in a press release.

“We appreciate his effort when he was with us and wish him and his family the best in the future.”

There’s nothing offensive in that statement. It is informative, cordial and almost intolerably bland.

It’s also difficult to fathom how forgoing a full-ride scholarship to a high-profile, Division I program is in Noskowiak’s best interest, even if it does afford him the opportunity to get his life in order. 

The political correctness demanded of sports figures at all times and in all contexts comes at the peril of every one of us. It affords me less to write about, and provides fans with less to discuss.

Prohm has assumed the leading role in the second act of a play that opened with the five-year tenure of hometown hero Fred Hoiberg, culminating with back-to-back Big 12 tournament titles. 

Fairly or not, Prohm’s performance will be judged harshly in comparison to his predecessor — a man who worked the transfer market as well or better than any coach in NCAA history and now captains the Chicago Bulls.

Discussing player misconduct months before his first game and losing a scholarship point guard in the process couldn’t have been at the top of Prohm’s wish list, especially considering the pressure of following in Hoiberg’s footsteps. 

In an interview Saturday, the new ISU coach was calm and collected as he expressed his interest in providing support to Noskowiak.

“We’ll just deal with it,” Prohm said. “I want to help Nick, and I want to help his family. That’s our job.”

But less than 24 hours after Prohm uttered those comments, Noskowiak was no longer a member of the team.

According to the statement, that was Noskowiak’s decision. But it was one the team “agreed” with, and a development Prohm characterized as a “mutual” parting of the ways.

It’s not so easy to help a kid who isn’t around.

That doesn’t mean Prohm was being disingenuous when he said he wanted to help Noskowiak. But based on the language of the statement, it isn’t unreasonable to conclude Noskowiak’s departure is also what Prohm wanted.

And if it was, it’s hard to characterize that desire as unfair or erroneous for his part. Prohm had no obligation to stick with Noskowiak, especially with all this trouble accumulating so quickly and only a Cap City League summer session of experience under his freshman belt.

If you’re a proven contributor, you can screw up — to a point — and get more opportunities. If you’re not, you won’t. That’s a logical, acceptable paradigm. It’s cost/benefit, plain and simple.

It’d just be refreshing for it to be acknowledged as the system in place.

Prohm has every right to be upset about the way this situation played out. Whether he’s upset or not, a climate should exist in which he feels comfortable expressing that. 

We are, all of us, complicit in the unseasoned culture that’s been constructed around popular sport, barricading and censoring genuine assessments until the blandness strangles almost any conversation happening off of the field to the brink of irrelevance.

He’d done nothing for us yet. He’s good, but we don’t need him because he never proved to us we needed him. He got in trouble twice in three months, including a felony, and it’s not worth the hassle or my time.

Just one time, I want to hear a coach say something like that.

Because if you’re not actually going to say anything, why say anything at all?