“Chris Mullin, a member of the NBA’s 2011 Hall of Fame class, is set to have his #17 jersey retired by the Golden State Warriors.

The NBA great, known for his sharp-shooting, will have his number retired in a ceremony on January 20th during the Warriors’ home game against the Indiana Pacers.”

Via “NBA Great Chris Mullin To Have Number Retired By Golden State Warriors” by Randall Stevens

Great news from the Bay Area! Hopefully, the season will have started by then for Mullin to have one more moment of glory. However, there are  many players at the moment who should be in Mullin’s holding pattern predicament of hoping the lockout ends in time for a jersey retirement ceremony. Some of these players, frankly, have no shot because they’ve either been retired for so long that the generation that grew up admiring their play are themselves all retired. Then there’s the also the problem of franchises having pulled up stakes and refusing to acknowledge their past heroes in other locales.

Just within the Warriors franchise there’s the twin examples of Joe Fulks and Paul Arizin. Both are Hall of Famers who revolutionized the game, but did so during the 1940s and 1950s when the Warriors were in Philadelphia. Their particular stories will have to wait for another day. However, I’ve selected 5 primetime candidates for jersey retirement from the last 35 years who have varying degrees of hope but all are universally qualified, in my opinion to have their numbers hanging from their respective rafters.

 

Mark Aguirre – #24 Dallas Mavericks

It’s been said many times, but in pretty much the same way: the 1980s was a bonanza for scoring forwards. One of the most prolific was the barrel-chested Aguirre. Spending 7+ seasons with the Mavericks he was the dynamo that spurred the franchise from expansion push over to perennial playoff participant culminating in the 1988 Western Conference Finals where Dallas lost in 7 games to the Lakers. Upon leaving the Mavs in a trade to Detroit in 1989, Aguirre was the all-time leading scorer in franchise history and is still 3^rd with 13,930 points behind running mate Rolando Blackman and Dirk Nowitzki.

Aguirre is however still the all-time leader in points per game at 24.6, ahead of Dirk’s 23. He’s also in the Mavs Top 10 in games (7^th), minutes (6^th), FG% (7^th), rebounds (6^th), assists (9^th), and steals (8^th).

Usurpers to the number: Jim Jackson, Hubert Davis, and Pavel Podkolzin

Derek Harper – #12 Dallas Mavericks

Initially splitting backcourt duties with Brad Davis (who in the big scheme of things was slightly worse but still has his number retired by Dallas), Derek Harper eventually became the lead PG general for those 80s Mavericks that were one tough cookie every season. In his 10+ seasons in Dallas, Harper just like Aguirre managed to get all over the Mavericks leader board. He’s #1 in assists and steals by a mile, is 3^rd in games and minutes played and 4^th in points scored. In addition, Harper was one tough son of a gun on defense. There’s a reason Pat Riley traded for him to bolster the Knicks in the mid-90s.

Usurpers to the number: none. De facto retirement mayhaps?

Jeff Mullins – #23 Golden State Warriors

A useful secondary scorer, SG/SF Mullins stepped to forefront when Warriors star Rick Barry bolted for the ABA in the late 60s. 4x averaging 20+ points and a 3x all-star Mullins along with Nate Thurmond kept the Warriors afloat and competitive until Barry regained his senses and rejoined the team for the 1973 season. By the time Golden State won the title in 1975, Mullins was on his last legs, but they had a lot of good miles on them after 10 seasons of play for the Warriors. Mullins is top ten in games (3^rd), minutes played (5^th), points (6^th) and assists (5^th). Truly a forgotten Warrior.

Usurpers to the number: Mitch Richmond, Scott Burrell, Tim Legler, Jason Richardson, CJ Watson, Al Thornton

Nick Anderson – #25 Orlando Magic

His Magic career will forever be reduced to four missed free throws and that’s a shame. Surely, that’s the most memorable moment (in no small part because Orlando fans were just merciless in its aftermath) but it shouldn’t obscure the fact that the Magic wouldn’t have been in a situation for Nick to choke without Nick in the first place. He was the franchise’s first draft pick ever in 1989. Initially a 6^th man over his first two years, Nick blossomed into a solid scorer and threat from downtown with back-to-back 19.9 ppg campaigns in 1992 and 1993. With the arrival of Shaq and later Penny Hardaway, Anderson’s offensive role reduced but he stepped up his defensive game becoming the Magic’s best perimeter defender on their way to the 1995 Finals. He was the last of the original Magic and spent 10 years with the franchise.

He’s the all-time leader in points, steals, games, minutes, FGs made, and FGs attempted. He’s also 5^th in blocks and assists, 3^rd in rebounds, and 2^nd in 3-pointers made.

Usurpers to the number: Chris Gatling and Chris Duhon

Charles Oakley – #34 New York Knicks

Saving the best for the last. Oakley gave the Knicks the 10 most bad ass years from any player over the last 25 years. A muscular force of intimidation and rebounding, Oakley was the heart and soul of the Knicks teams that battled the Bulls and Pacers for Eastern Conference supremacy. That fearless demeanor on the court translates off it as well for Oakley and it may very well be preventing his jersey retirement. He’s been an unabashed critic of Knicks owner James Dolan for years. But if he had to kiss James’s boots for the ceremony, I say let the injustice continue.

Oak  is currently 6^th in games played, 3^rd in minutes and rebounds and 2^nd in steals. And of course 1^st in eraser flat tops.

 

Javie, rated as one of the league’s top officials during the past 15 years, is retiring because of an arthritic right knee… The injury forced him to miss the end of the 2009-2010 season, but he returned last fall with the hope of making it to the 25-year mark as an NBA referee.

…

Bob Delaney, who also reached the 25-year milestone last season, is retiring as well, a decision he announced at the start of last season.

Via “Steve Javie retiring as NBA referee” by Ric Bucher

As much as complaints are lodged against NBA refs, the men and woman who regulate the hardwood jungle really do a good job, all things considered. The pace and flow of NBA games is insanely fast. What at first glance may appear to be a charge, flop or tipped ball off one man’s fingertips often turns out to be incorrect and we quickly rail against the ref’s blind eye. Of course, we come to this conclusion many times only after having seen a replay of the controversial call umpteen times on TV.

Referees don’t have that luxury. It’s quick as a flash and until recently, they had no recourse to replay. Something happens and in a split second the ref must judge who’s the offender and assess the penalty. Anything that a human is asked to judge in snapshot fashion is bound to be rife with errors.

With that in mind, 50 combined years of NBA refereeing are turning in their whistles. Bob DeLaney and Steve Javie are calling it quits after a quarter-century a piece of maintaining law & order on the mean parquets of the NBA. And they were two of the best. Javie’s only true fault was that he was kind of quick to shoot first and ask questions later (a.k.a. give out technicals). For Bob DeLany there was no such fault, maybe because he knew what real irritation was from his law enforcement days. To ply a trade so well for 25 years is a noble accomplishment and a lot has changed in those 25 years…

When these two men entered the NBA, Larry Bird was in the midst of winning three straight MVP awards. Patrick Ewing was Rookie of the Year. The previous year’s ROY, Michael Jordan, was sidelined most of the year with a foot injury, but came back in time for the playoffs to hang 63 points on Bird’s Celtics. The Heat, Magic, Timberwolves, Raptors, Grizzlies, Hornets and Bobcats were but shimmers on the horizon.

The Kings had just moved from Kansas City to Sacramento. Washington’s basketball team was still speeding up the court as the Bullets. Stockton and Malone were just beginning their pick and roll machine. But it was another promising dynamic duo, Hakeem Olajuwon and Ralph Sampson, that captured the NBA’s attention as they dethroned the L.A. Lakers in the Western Conference.

Elsewhere, the first PC virus was unleashed. The Mir Space Station was launched beginning its reign of space debris terror. Apartheid was still in South Africa and the USSR spanned Eurasia, although both would not be around for much longer. Lady Gaga, Rafa Nadal and Gerald Green were welcomed into the world. Georgia O’Keefe, Perry Ellis, and Hank Greenberg all departed it.

And so the big wheel keeps on turning. Javie and DeLaney are leaving. Two new referees will step in to the void. However, they will merely replace the role not the unique spirit in how it was handled. If you haven’t do so before, properly consider the work that these men  have done. Complain less about errant calls, or at least understand that when you screw up at least thousands at minimum and million at most aren’t watching. Send them a fruit basket. Or send them a cupcake. Most of all, just appreciate.

Canada came so close — one spot away — from earning a ticket to next summer’s final Olympic qualifier. They finished sixth, when a fifth-place spot was needed to move on.

Via “Thanks a lot, Nash!” by Steve Buffery

The FIBA Americas tournament has been ongoing for about a week-and-a-half and has been somewhat painful to watch, to be honest.* Brazil, Argentina and the Dominican Republic entertain no matter the competition, but all the other teams are a situational watch. Except for Team Canada. As a Canadian at heart, I thrillingly got to see the Canadian national team play some hard-fought games, but in the end it was not enough to emerge from the Americas and proceed to the Olympic qualifiers next year.

Now unlike the Toronto Sun’s Buffery, I won’t burst into a diatribe over why Steve Nash should be to blame for this failure. Instead, I will hearten my Canuck affinities by focusing on the out-of-nowhere great play of Kelly Olynyk. Now, when I say “out of nowhere” I mean just for myself. I don’t follow college hoops too much, so Olynyk’s play at Gonzaga was a complete mystery to me. My introduction came when I caught the Argentina-Canada match earlier in the week.

Canada went down, unsurprisingly, to the more talented Argentine squad, but Kelly was there mixing it up as Canada’s big man of the future. For now though, he remains unrefined. But that raw skill still managed 19 points and 12 rebounds against Argentina’s stable of big men including Fabricio Oberto and Luis Scola. Ok, so the awe has to be tempered when considering that Scola and Oberto aren’t exactly all-world defenders and that someone from Canada had to score and rebound, but it was Olynyk and not Joel Anthony who stepped up to the plate.

Olynyk’s play aside, there wasn’t a whole lot to hang Canada’s toque on during the Argentina game. The rebounding was poor, the defense worse and the shooting off-target. Heartbreaking losses to Puerto Rico and, especially, Panama sunk Canada’s chances after an upset victory over the D.R. earlier in the tournament. There is little for Canadians everywhere to do except lick the wounds, pull up the snow boots and move on from Steve Nash (in the case of Buffery). Steve is old and with the chance of him ever participating again in international play effectively obliterated Team Canada can set its sights firmly on developing new talent and wait for Matt Bonner to get his citizenship.

Personally, I await for another day like August 14, 1936 when Canada and the United States squared off for Olympic basketball gold. Unlike the 1936 game though, I hope it isn’t played on an outdoor court in the rain that eventually turns the surface into mud. Hence the 19-8 final. On that future date, I shall root against my citizenship (America) and for my heart (Canada). But there’s a lot of work to be done for that to happen. Let’s get to it, Canada!

 

“Now I think it’s more complicated than that. I’m unsettled by how quickly and naturally I reduced the complexity of the situation—and maybe even to some degree the humanity of the participants, including myself—to just two simple (and fictional) categories: black and white. I’m curious about how and why I did that. I’m curious, to use Steve’s words, about what thinking of myself as white got me in that situation, what it took from me, and most of all, what I gained when the thought fell away.”

Via “How Basketball Helped Me Realize I’m Not White” by Yago Coslas

And if you’re curious, by all means finish reading Yago Colas’s poignant article on his three decades at a St. Louis outdoor court and the community he became a part of there. Inspired by Colas, I’ve reflected on my own recent experiences with pick-up ball over the past year. And really, all of you who play ball should too.

This time last year, I was living in Washington, D.C. and was the Sultan of Swat, the King of Kings, the Lawrence of Arabia of the outdoor courts at American University. Exaggerations aside, this was not so much because I was the best player there. Sure, I was top tier (on the Dennis Rodman level perhaps), but some others were definitely better than myself. But among the court’s elite, I held a special place.

These elite weren’t the high council of the court’s best players, but of its longest-tenured. At a university that means the professors and staff. These middle-aged men were the chords of memory that kept the continuity and history of the court alive. These men had seen me show up as a doughfaced freshman who was there all the time to the alumnus who had to squeeze in a couple of days a week of play due to being an adult.

Over those 6 years, I learned every conceivable piece of knowledge there was about the court. Where to dribble to avoid “court irregularities.” Knowing how to shoot off the misshapen backboard just right to bank in a shot. How to fly in for a layup without knocking myself out on the metal pole holding up the basket. What angles to shoot from at a particular time of day given the sun’s placement. And, of course, knowledge on the players who came to hoop it up.

Sadly, I had to leave that comfort zone behind as I moved back to Texas earlier this year and I went in search of a new basketball home. Remembering a park that was brand new when I left the Lone Star State for college 6 years earlier, I went there to check out the scene. Much like the D.C. court, this one had also built up its own culture and hierarchy.

Showing up in my customary high socks and wrist bands, I had to wait a couple games to see my first action. I was less than spectacular due to rustiness from a month off from hoops. Instead of being looked upon with respect, I was viewed as the guy who couldn’t shoot and as dead weight. One mouthy individual even chided his teammate for going out to guard me. Not my finest hour, but it did get thinking on how we perceive fresh faces on the courts now that for the first time in years, I was one.

The most noticeable prejudice on this pick-up court was, unsurprisingly, race. Black players were hesitant to pick up white players, especially unknown white players. I’ve seen usually nonchalant players who take their sweet time between games by smoking cigarettes and pot, hastily call for the next game to get going to preclude a group of white players from having next. Another occasion a couple of Indian players were offhandedly dismissed with an “Oh, they’re not playing” from one black player to another. Surely, though man’s mind has conceived of other ways to harshly distinguish his brother. Stylistic prejudice for instance. It took months for me to gain any respect for my style of play which is best described as Bobby Jones-meets-Dennis Rodman-meets-Tim Duncan. If you don’t swish home long-range threes or knife through the defense on blitzing drives to the hoop, you’re really not valued highly.

However, that’s just the annoying, borderline bigotry of some players. There are many awesome characters that enliven the court and make it worth coming to. There’s the boyfriend-and-girlfriend hooping duo that everyone likens to the characters in Love & Basketball. There’s the beefy tall guy who once wore a Thundercats shirt and is now forever known as “Thundercat” no matter what he’s wearing. There’s Pee Wee who gets playful taunts incessantly for his huge outtie belly button. There‘s the chatter that goes on between the old school players (in their 40s and 50s) who rag on 30-somethings when they complain about how old they’re feeling. The topical, flavor of the month comparisons like this past June when everyone was claiming they’d pull a comeback like the Mavs whenever they got down 8-4 in a game.

Most endearingly I’ve regained a sense of community and most charmingly a nickname, the surest sign that you’ve found a home. In D.C., I was “Plastic Man”, not for Stacey Augmon type dunks but for my contortions while shooting and rebounding. Now I’m either “Rodman” to the old school hoopsters or, because of my rail thin physique, “Slim” to the younger crowd. Either way, it’s fine by me. If the game, courts, people and my memory of them are best served with a haze of untarnished aura, then why not myself?

 

Gearing up for the men’s basketball European Championships, an estimated 60,000 Lithuanians flooded streets in cities across the basketball-crazy Baltic EU state Monday in an attempt to set a new Guinness world record for dribbling.

Via “60,000 Lithuanians dribble for new record” by the Associated Foreign Press

Lithuanians clearly know it and surely you do, too: dribbling is an important exercise in the execution of basketball. As you also may have heard, keeping possession of the ball is extremely important as well. For without the ball, how can one score a basket? It is with this mind-blowing question that we find the intersection of dribbling and possession known as ball control. Yes, ball control. Ball control is what separates fancy pants, too-much-mustard-on-the-hot dog dribblers like Rafer Alston from truly competent and adroit floor generals.

This is not to say that turnovers are the sole measure of how competent a point guard is, but it is surely a good indicator when taken into proper context.  Using Basketball-Reference, I was able to narrow down a list of guards who averaged at least 27 minutes per game, 4 turnovers per game.

27 guards show up on that list including such great PGs as Maurice Cheeks, Fat Lever, Doc Rivers, Terrell Brandon and Derek Harper. Leading the group in assists per game however is Muggsy Bogues with an average of 7.6. Burning the oil on both ends, Bogues is also 2nd-lowest in turnovers at 1.6. Clearly Bogues was the master of ball control.

Surely, being only 5’3″ tall was hugely helpful in the turnover department. Opposing players had a devil of a time trying to poke the ball away from Muggsy. But to attribute his poise to merely his height is insulting. After all, there are millions of men who are short in stature but only one has done what Muggsy has. That’s because the height was augmented by Muggsy’s dazzling physique that made him a powerfully lithe body not easily bullied away from the ball.

All of this however, merely explains the low turnovers.  Between 1990 and 1995, Muggsy was second only to John Stockton in assists in the league. How to explain his amazingly high assist total? The eyes. As Muggsy has said himself, he learned how to dribble without needing to look at the ball, so he could constantly be on the lookout for seems, cutters and angles for passing. All of these skills combined to give Muggsy the lowest turnover-to-assist ratio for a starting PG in NBA history. Simply put: No one took care of the ball like Muggsy.

So the next time, you get into a discussion about best dribblers the NBA has ever had (a real hellraiser in sports bars, I know), don’t just get stuck on Tim Hardaway’s crossover, Bob Cousy’s Houdini tricks, or Steve Nash’s figure-8s through half-court sets. Remember that stellar dribbling, outstanding handles sometimes involve just taking care of the rock.

 

PS – Jose Calderon is the closest match to Muggsy. Maybe I have to rethink this…

 

“Win it all,” Artest said when asked what will the Lakers do in the 2011-2012 season. “Win the whole thing. That’s a guarantee.”

Yep, that’s Metta World Peace, né Ron Artest, guaranteeing a Los Angeles Lakers championship for the 2012 season. As Mike Medina points out, such a guarantee is fraught with peril. Firstly,the Lakers found themselves swept out of the 2nd Round of the playoffs last season. The team can be championship caliber, but it can just as easily be dismissed by a conference foe. Secondly, there may not even be an NBA season to win in 2012.

Those quibbles aside, the Player Formerly Known As Ron Artest is nonetheless giving just another in a long line of presumptuous guarantees and pronouncements by colorful NBA talents. Here are some others worth remembering…

 

[NOTE: None of the following guarantees were ever made and are purely the figment of my imagination]

 

World B. Free guarantees liberty and justice for all

In December 1981, Lloyd Free legally changed his name to World B. Free as a sign of his dedication to free all of humanity from the shackles of fear, want and bigotry. 1982 proves to be a disaster for Free’s campaign. War breaks out between the United Kingdom and Argentina over the Falkland Islands demonstrating mankind’s cavernous depravity as the islands are nothing more than barren, frigid sheep-breeding rocks. Meanwhile, Lebanon erupts into an orgy of violence as a civil war entangles neighboring states. To cap off the sad procession, Time Magazine abandons all hope for humanity by declaring the computer to be the “Man of the Year”.

Distraught over his failure, World B. delves ever deeper into his obsession with growing a half-fro despite every conceivable fashion dictate to the contrary.

 

Larry Brown guarantees to “play the right way”

Legendary basketball coach Larry Brown once was a solid point guard in the ABA. Appearing thrice in ABA All-Star Games, Brown took home the MVP for the 1968 exhibition and won a title as a member of the Oakland Oaks in 1969. Brown led the league in assists twice as well. Seemingly he had fulfilled his pledge to “play the right way”, but there was a sizable chink in his armor.

Larry just couldn’t stop turning the ball over. He led the ABA in turnovers twice with over 4.3 per game. By his final season in 1972, he’d gained some semblance of control over the problem, but the psychological damage had been done. Larry’s own failure to “play the right way” for all those seasons led him to become an unbearable, domineering presence to all future PGs he coached.

 

Nick Young guarantees to have the lowest assists per 36 min. ever for a SG

Donning an afro reminiscent of the ABA’s halcyon years, Nick Young has also channeled that league’s spirit by running and gunning. In fact, he’s taken the gunning portion to the extreme. Young has guaranteed that under no circumstances will he pass the ball intending to set up a teammate for a basket no matter how easy. Averaging a healthy 19.7 points per 36 minutes but a paltry 1.3  assists, Young effectively made good on his promise last year. This is insanely low even for a shot-first black hole. Glen Rice for example had a career average of 2.2 assists per 36 min. and he was 4x the marksman that Young is.

In a corollary guarantee, Young has also promised to make more 360 layups than any player in history.

 

Yinka Dare guarantees the finest one-game performance of the 1994-95 season

David Robinson. Hakeem Olajuwon. Shaquille O’Neal. Patrick Ewing. These are the titans of the post that 7’0″, 265 pound Yinka Dare was seeking to unseat when in a fit of Cassius Clay styled bravado he proclaimed that he would float like a Nigerian fruit bat and sting like a Sonoran centipede. On Armistice Day, 1994, the New Jersey Nets unleashed Dare’s fury upon the Washington Bullets. For three minutes, Dare delivered two personal fouls, a turnover, one defensive rebound and a missed shot.

Having made his point, Dare asked out of the game and declared he had nothing left to prove for the season. Indeed, if he could torment an over-the-hill Kevin Duckworth, what else was there left of Dare to prove?