The NBA coach of the year gets a cool trophy and a pink slip.

All in all, Nuggets coach George Karl would rather have a slice of pizza.

“Hey, Kiz,” said Karl, addressing me with the enthusiasm usually reserved for a meter maid. “Do you have a vote for coach of the year?”

Heck, no. And I was glad to inform Karl that no ballot was in my possession.

I wouldn’t wish NBA coach of the year on my worst enemy. Truth be known, I would rather ticket and tow Karl’s car than give him a vote for coach of the year.

By the time the regular season concludes April 17, the Nuggets almost certainly will have recorded the most victories in a single season since Denver joined the NBA in 1976.

Kudos to Karl. When I told Karl the achievement certainly qualifies him as a legitimate candidate for coach of the year, he made a face. Not a face that’s aglow from a compliment. More like the face you see on a man awaiting a root canal.

“Coach of the year? I’m not sure I want that legacy,” Karl said Wednesday. “Have you seen what happens to guys who win coach of the year?”

The award is cursed. Ask any of these winners from the past 10 years.

In 2004, Hubie Brown won 50 games with Memphis, but was gone by Thanksgiving of the following season, due to his own poor health or the lousy attitude of his players, take your pick.

In 2005, Mike D’Antoni magically turned Phoenix point guard Steve Nash into the most valuable player. A defenseless D’Antoni, however, got canned in 2008 for a team whose lack of commitment to defense was indefensible.

In 2006, Avery Johnson took Dallas to an NBA Finals remembered for a Mavericks meltdown in reaction to blown calls. Avery was gone within two years.

In 2007, Sam Mitchell allowed the people of Toronto to forget how their hockey team never wins. And what thanks did Mitchell receive? A pink slip in December 2008.

In 2008, Byron Scott was coach of the year for New Orleans. Firing date: November 2009.

In 2009, Mike Brown carried some stiff named LeBron James to the playoffs. Since that time, from Cleveland to Los Angeles, what can Brown do for you? Nothing.

Notice a pattern? Get the picture? Within NBA circles, calling somebody coach of the year is practically an insult.

“Didn’t you call me lazy?” Karl asked.

Never.

To be accurate, in late February I did refer to Karl as Vanna White, veteran “Wheel of Fortune” letter turner. It’s not Karl’s pearly smile that reminded me of White, but the fact he had a cushy NBA job with a solid team, unburdened by championship expectations.

A sensitive soul, Karl bristled at my observation. He grew more active on the Denver bench. His team won 16 of its next 18 games.

“And then,” said Karl, the incredulity causing his voice to rise half an octave, “you tried to take credit.”

You’re most certainly welcome, G.K.

San Antonio coach Gregg Popovich, twice winner of the award and in no danger of being dismissed, agrees Karl deserves to be on the shortlist for coach of the year.

“For good reason,” Popovich said, while standing courtside at the Pepsi Center. “This isn’t disrespect to his players. But LeBron doesn’t play here. Kevin Durant and Kobe Bryant and people like that? (The Nuggets) don’t have superstars. He’s molded them into a group where they all have accepted their role, they execute the system (Karl) has put on the court magnificently, they do it on a consistent basis and you see the results. … That comes from George. He’s done a (heck) of a job.”

Karl did win a coaching honor this week. The Rudy Tomjanovich Award, given for a combination of on-court excellence and cooperation with the media.

We fight like brothers. But Karl has always been cooperative with me.

“That’s how stupid I am,” Karl said.

Then, Karl politely asked if he strangled me, might his Tomjanovich trophy be rescinded?

Despite the temptation, Karl did not choke me.

Instead, when I suggested it would be awesome to see Karl’s lifetime of achievement recognized with being named NBA coach of the year for the first time in his career, Karl offered me two simple words of affection:

Thank you.

Or something like that.

Mark Kiszla: 303-954-1053, mkiszla@denverpost.com or twitter.com/markkiszla