You have a transcendent MVP and a former Finals MVP, the most feared pair of wings in the NBA. Do you really require Chris Bosh to beat the Indiana Pacers? Shouldn’t that caliber of talent be able to carry a team to the NBA Finals on their broad shoulders without a handful of rebounds and mid-range jumpers? Evidently not, judging by the popular opinion.
Today’s conventional wisdom seems to insist you have to have a bona fide Big 3 to compete in the playoffs, even in round two in the East let alone any final round series. This is flawed, a cop out, excuses. Who is Indiana’s third wheel then? If you can’t beat the Pacers with LeBron James and Dwyane Wade you honestly don’t deserve to sniff the conference finals let alone the promised land.
Not that Chris Bosh wasn’t a valuable piece and a tremendous loss to the cause, but seriously, he was that critical to success? Your entire Finals run, hyped with proud public promises, hinged on Chris Bosh? Chris freaking Bosh?!
Under normal circumstances Bosh’s replacement, Udonis Haslem, would more than cover up the loss of the Boshosaurus, but this season has been anything but usual, and that goes as much for Haslem as anyone. His string of buckets late in a Game 4 win may have seemed out of the norm, but really he was simply due for a progression to the mean after the horrendous season he’s had. Really, he’s been quite a capable mid-range shooter throughout his career until this oddball one, every bit as comparable as Bosh there.
Anomalies abound from 3-23 feet between these two players in the last two seasons, but on average it shakes out pretty close. From 3-9 feet for their careers Bosh is a mere 1.8% better from the floor than Haslem, and it lessens as the floor stretches out in the mid-range, 1.5% difference from 10-15 feet, and only 0.2% apart from 16-23 feet. The effects felt from the loss of Bosh in the mid-range game should be minimal, especially if Haslem does what he’s shown he’s quite capable of from there as he did the other night.
Defensively, of the ten most used lineups on the floor this season, according to BasketballValue, Haslem appears in four of the best five. To Bosh’s credit, he appears in three of those top five as well, and Joel Anthony, who will primarily cover for those minutes at center that Bosh had been, two. So defensively, the loss of Bosh should be negligible as well, at least on paper. Erik Spoelstra’s squads are well known to be stingy on defense, and Bosh’s name rarely comes up in those conversations. Defensive adjustments shouldn’t be a huge factor.
Has Bosh’s value really evolved so much that he went from dinosaur status to missing link status?
For his career, normalized per-36 minutes, Haslem is an 11.4 points/9.5 rebounds guy, clearly not enough to put a couple of future Hall of Famers over the top, as these former championship third wheels show us at BasketballReference.
An absolutely Herculean feat. No one’s done it in the playoffs in the modern era. Chances are, no one will again. LeBron James reminded us why he won his third MVP award this season. He reminded us why he’s compared to Michael Jordan. And Oscar Robertson. And a linebacker. And a freight train. A MONSTAR. A supernova.
He played 44 minutes, and the Heat needed him on the floor every second of that time to stay in the game. They were floundering in the first half. It took them nearly 5 minutes to score their first points of the game (a layup by LeBron), with missed shots and turnovers fueling the Pacers’ offensive fire. The Pacers missed a bunch of open and contested long 2s and 3s, but with Wade only scoring 8 points in the half and the Pacers being up 8 at halftime, it looked liked Indiana was headed back to Miami to close out this series. But then, the second half started.
Thirty. Nine. Six.
For the third time in the playoffs, LeBron James and Dwyane Wade outscored the opposing team after halftime.
Wade woke up in the 2nd half. 22 points on some tough shots (“tough shots” are better known as shots that go in, but as you’re watching you say “there’s no way that… HOLY CRAP!”). James and Wade decided to remind everyone watching why they wanted to team up together in the Summer of 2010. In the end, Miami figured out how to get Indiana’s bigs in foul trouble and abuse the paint. Between LeBron and DWade, they had 22 Free Throw attempts. And really, that’s what makes this Miami team so hard to beat. The top-heavy talent is something to fear and admire, sure. But when it’s a close game, these two guys know how to get to the line. More often than not, they deserve the shots they take. But the important part about their game is that the know how to control the tempo, create the opportunity to get a little banged up, and march up to the line to make (most of) their shots. Gets them some points. Gets guys like Hibbert, West, and Amundson in foul trouble.
Just one more thing…
LeBron accounted for 16 of those 22 FT attempts. He sacrificed his body this game, playing out of position down low to bring down 18 rebounds and draw 14 fouls. So if LeBron HADN’T scored 12 points at the FT line. And if he hadn’t scored 40 points himself. And if he hadn’t assisted on 22 points. And created six second-chance opportunities. And taken only two two-minute rests the whole game. And if Wade hadn’t woken up from his Indianapolis-induced slumber of the past 3 halves of basketball, then where would the Heat be?
LeBron’s performance was one for the ages. But he’s not supposed to be playing like this. He can do it, obviously, but not all the time. Nor should he try to. Wade HAS to be a part of this process, too. Every time. It cannot be the LeBron show. The desire to spread the responsibility, above all other things, is why he left Cleveland. The Cleveland teams from 2007 onward were successful. They weren’t title-winners, but they were certainly contenders. And why? Because they were LeBron + a ton of role players suited to his strengths. And now? It’s LeBron + one potentially-amazing closer (Wade) + one guy who gets left open and makes everything (Bosh) + leftover role players that had to be scraped together because of salary cap constraints. So far, we’ve seen highlight-reel plays from this team, but little else in the way of excelling beyond the potential of LeBron’s Cavalier teams. LeBron’s giving us all a show. But he shouldn’t.
As much as we love watching him perform like this, our expectations are higher for the collective. The stakes are higher. The pressure is higher. Above all else, we expected something different than just watching a bunch of warm-weather Cavs games. This team was supposed to be different than LeBron’s past teams, but I don’t see it.
This Heat/Pacers series has been a great one so far. Lots of chippiness. Lots of great defense. Lots of ties and lead changes and late game heroics. These are two great teams playing well above everyone’s expectations. People figured the Pacers would be good, but THIS good? No way. And the Heat. Yeah, sure, title favorites blah blah. But when Bosh went down with an injury, everyone figured they were too thin to go on. And here we are, a great series, with two great teams, and one standout superstar in LeBron. It makes for some exciting and close basketball games, but we were promised something different.
As the 2012 NBA Playoffs finally move beyond the first round, the real fun begins. Individual matchup become more compelling, the stakes continue to rise and the quality of basketball ascends as lesser teams make their fishing plans. I’ve hit on all my predicted winners except the injury-ravaged Chicago Bulls in the first-round, and you can check out those picks and my deeper analysis of the full field on Hardwood Paroxysm here for the Eastern Conference and here for the Western Conference. Now here’s my look at the second-round Eastern Conference matchup between the Miami Heat and the Indiana Pacers.
A New Lineup Analysis Tool (.GIF File On 20-Second Intervals)
As you might expect, the Miami Heat are the superior team. LeBron James and Dwyane Wade are the two best players in the series, and it isn’t even close. Shocking, right? Anyways, here is my attempt at creating a lineup analysis tool where players are compared to the average values at their position (20+ min/gm positional averages are used). For example, say Player X has an Assist Rate of 20.43, while the average NBA SF (20+ min) has an AR of 17.8. I express the value as it relates to the positional average, so Player X’s Assist Rate is 14.7% better than average (which would point up 14.7 on the graph). Here is how Miami Heat players compare to their counterparts on the Indiana Pacers and NBA averages from 2011-12:
Danny Granger and Paul George certainly have the physical tools to slow down LeBron James and Dwyane Wade, but according to NBA.com/Stats the Pacers were a net -16.1 points per 100 possessions (93.9 Off Eff, 110.0 Def Eff) with LeBron on the court in their four regular season matchups and a net -10.7 with Wade on the court. Something tells me Indiana is going to see a lot of both of those guys in this series, so I’m going to treat those stats as a harbinger of death for the Pacers.
One thing that gives me pause about predicting a six-game series win for Miami (aside from the fact that their role players are so weak), is that the Pacers actually had terrific success with their most-used lineup against Miami this season – Collison| George | Granger | Hibbert | West — as that quintet dominated the offensive glass (35.7% offensive rebound rate) and produced a net rating of +9.1 pts / 100 poss in 74 minutes against Miami in the regular season. As you can see above, Hibbert has a clear advantage on the offensive glass against Haslem, and West is slightly better than Bosh in that respect, but James and Wade more than cancel out anything George and Granger bring to the table. Without knowing the exact matchups for that seemingly magical Pacers lineup, I can still tell you that they shot an absurd 48 percent from beyond the arc while on the floor. That feels like fool’s gold to me. One thing that will throw Indy off their game is that Udonis Haslem and Joel Anthony will bother Hibbert in the post, disrupting spacing on the arc — Hibbert posted up on 51.9% of his plays this year (0.89 ppp), but Haslem only allowed 0.78 ppp and Anthony limited opponents to 0.75 ppp, according to Synergy Sports.
Advanced Stat Breakdown
One area that provides some hope for Indy is that the Heat have given up one of the highest percentages of shots from beyond the arc to opponents all season long, which could work well for a Pacers team that finished the year as the sixth-best three-point shooting team in the league. If Indy catches fire from long distance, the complexion of the series could change in a hurry. Interestingly, the Pacers hold an advantage in three of the traditional Four Factors on offense, but the most important factor (by far) is eFG% and the Heat are miles ahead in that respect. Perhaps even more importantly, Miami is a top-five defensive team in the NBA and Indiana gets to the rim even less often than an average NBA squad, so it all comes down to the three-point efficiency. James and Wade know the Pacers are hungry to prove they belong, so I fully expect the dynamic duo to rip Indy’s heart out early in the series to prevent things from getting interesting. That’s what stars do in the NBA Playoffs. Sorry Pacers fans.
In this season premiere installment of Have Ball, Will Travel, we’ll take a closer look at Dwyane Wade’s game-winning bucket from Wednesday night’s contest between the Heat and Bobcats.
UPDATE:Â By way of a rule clarification from the league office and further review of the play, it’s been determined and illustrated that Wade’s move was — contrary to my first analysis — completely legal. Observe:
The crucial determinations here are that of the “gather” and the “first step.” Because Wade gathers the ball while his right foot is on the ground — his “gather” step — he hasn’t officially begun using the two steps he is allotted by NBA rules. Thus, the jump stop he uses to get to the left block is technically the first step of his sequence, allowing him to still utilize a pivot.
Here is the specific wording in the NBA Rulebook that allows for such a play:
A player who comes to a stop on step one when both feet are on the floor or touch the floor simultaneously may pivot using either foot as his pivot. If he jumps with both feet he must release the ball before either foot touches the floor.
If Wade’s right foot had been counted as his first step, the play would indeed have been illegal, and would have resulted in a traveling violation. That wasn’t the case here, though, and though my retraction alone doesn’t mean much, the officials deserve credit for making the right determination on Wade’s gather (which in this case isn’t much of a debatable issue; his foot is clearly planted when Wade collects his dribble) and rightfully allowing the bucket to stand.
Post-jump stop pivot moves are about as easy as travel calls get; while drives through traffic or quick spin moves often require slow motion to fully assess without a reasonable doubt, the jump stop is a clear and distinct action easily differentiated from any illegal steps that follow. Even at full speed, we’re able to see Wade execute a nice jump stop, but negate his move with what should have been a turnover.
It wasn’t. The officiating crew flat-out missed this game-changing call, which should come as little surprise to those who regularly eye the footwork of ball handlers in the waning moments of any close game. Most officials do their best to avoid interventionism at such a crucial juncture, and thus whistles of virtually any kind become a bit harder to come by. Such was the case here, and Wade capitalized by completing the possession with a bucket.
It happens. This isn’t the first time a call was missed, and it won’t be the last. But it’s worth pointing out the violation on Wade’s move toward the rim, if only to shine a spotlight on this commonly used bastardization of the jump stop.
For reference, here is the relevant section of the traveling rule, as described in the 2010-2011 Official NBA Rulebook*
A progressing player who jumps off one foot on the first step may land with both feet simultaneously for the second step. In this situation, the player may not pivot with either foot and if one or both feet leave the floor the ball must be released before either returns to the floor.
*The 2011-2012 version is not publicly available, but modifications to the traveling rule were not included among the announced rule changes or even in the points of officiating emphasis.
This edition of Got Skillz is not, strictly speaking, about the musical pursuits of basketball players. As anybody with a functional Twitter account no doubt is well aware, last night saw the release of Watch the Throne, the hotly anticipated new album from Kanye West and Jay-Z. The track “Gotta Have It†features this line from Kanye: “Ain’t that where the Heat play?/N***as hate ballers these days/Ain’t that like LeBron James?†To which Jay responds: “Ain’t that just like D-Wade?†Rappers name-check ballers all the time, but this one felt strikingly appropriate. An album-length collaboration from Kanye and Hov is more or less equivalent to LeBron and Wade teaming up in Miami, and comes with many of the same questions. Continue Reading…
We’re a little worried about this lockout. We want basketball. But in case we don’t get basketball, we’re going to give ourselves a season.
The following is a work of fiction and no one was harmed in the writing of this story. These works will be based on how we think the 2011-12 season would play out if the lockout ended and the NBA is able to play all 82 games. Every other week, we will have a fictional work until the lockout is over. This is the first. The heart believes it will be a singular work and the NBA will be back in business soon. The head, sadly, realizes that it may not be the case.
BOSTON, June 1, 2012 — Ray Allen sat at his locker with a thin towel draped over his shoulders and another wrapped tight around his still-slim waist, a waist that hasn’t gained an inch over Allen’s professional career. His feet were in Jordan brand sandals, his toes separated by pieces of foam cut to fit. Allen said he learned the trick early in his career from a vet on his first team, the Milwaukee Bucks. The foam prevented the toes from sliding and smashing into the toecap and helped minimize bruising and torn toenails. Combine that with regular pedicures the he received to prevent ingrown toenails and Allen’s feet — the base from which he made an all-time NBA record of 2,703 three-pointers — looked as if they could carry him for another 16 seasons.
The scoresheet from the Celtics’ epic 99-98 Game 7 overtime loss to the Miami Heat in the Eastern Conference Finals lay between Allen’s pristine feet. The rest of him looked spent. He had just played 51 of the game’s 53 minutes. If he saw his line, it read like this:
The 39 points were the most he scored all season, regular or post. The 51 minutes were easily the most. Allen, a free agent, had no reason to hang his head in what had been his best game of this unusual season.
Yet there it hung and his shoulders sagged. Allen’s elbows rested on his knees and his fingers dangled like branches from a weeping willow. The Celtics locker room was quiet and reporters, who had just been informed that Kevin Garnett and Paul Pierce would be the only Celtics to go to the podium, milled about waiting for that precious eye contact from a player, a signal that he was ready to open up or spout cliches.
Most of the reporters had turned away from Allen. They knew that he never spoke to them just after the locker room opened. In fact, it was rare to see Allen there at that time at all. By the time reporters entered after the cooling off period, Allen was gone to treatment, then the showers. If the local scribes did catch a glimpse of him, it was fleeting, like an apparition. When Allen did emerge from the players’ sanctuary, he strode to his locker in a bespoke suit, put a couple things down, usually the book he was reading and a DVD of the Celtics’ next opponent, and then turned around to face the media.
But in the silence that suffocates a space after a devastating defeat, there was what sounded like a sharp sob coming from the direction of Allen’s locker. Then another. Any murmuring between reporters ceased and their heads turned in Allen’s direction. Allen’s shoulders heaved once, then again. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand and made a small circular motion. There was another sharp sound. The seasoned Boston scribes stood in stunned silence. None of them had ever seen this.
If Allen were upset, it would be understandable. It was the worst season of his 16 year, soon-to-be Hall of Fame career. He missed 41 games after the Pacers’ Danny Granger tripped trailing Allen on a screen and rolled into Allen’s right knee in a game on Jan. 6. Allen feverishly worked his way back from arthroscopic surgery. He was ready to return at the end of February, but suffered a setback as doctors had to go back in for a second surgery.
When Allen finally returned against Utah in late March, he came off the bench for the first time in his career. He couldn’t get his timing and his sturdy legs, which propelled him around picks and provided the springboard for the smoothest jumper in NBA history, were now shaky. So was Allen’s confidence.
“I’m working hard to get my rhythm back,” Allen told the Boston Globe in April. “My knee isn’t responding as I hoped it would. Your legs are so important to your shot.”
Throughout his career, Allen’s work ethic had been well chronicled, almost fetishized by the media. They noted how he arrived at the arena at the same time, ate at the same time and went through his pregame routine at the same time every game day. As a military brat, Allen knew routine as discipline and discipline as order. If there was order in his life, Allen knew success, built on a solid foundation of meticulous work, would follow. It did. He won a Big East tournament title at UConn, won a gold medal with Team USA in the 2000 Sydney games, made 10 All-Star appearances for three different franchises and played Jesus in a Spike Lee movie.
Then there was the crowning achievement in his career, the NBA title he helped the Celtics win in 2008. He had come close to the Finals with the Bucks in 2001 and nowhere near them with the Sonics. An alpha dog in Seattle, Allen subjugated his game to blend in with Pierce and Garnett. The result: the C’s 17th NBA title.
But as Allen struggled in his comeback, Yahoo! reported a Celtics source as saying they weren’t going to re-sign Allen, who wanted a two-year extension with the same player option he had when he re-signed for two seasons in 2010. The source noted Allen would be nearly 39 when the extension ended and that it would be in the C’s best interest to seek a younger option at two guard. Combined with the physical ailments, Allen’s world, which he had so diligently worked to put in order, was now out of whack. For the first time in his career, Allen was coming off the bench, a move Celtics coach Doc Rivers said was necessary to limit the guard’s minutes. Allen averaged 12.6 points per game and shot .332 from three-point range, both career lows for a shooter, who, if his jumper could sing, it would sound like Marvin Gaye.
Allen and that melodious jumper re-emerged in the postseason. He averaged 19.4 points in the first round against the franchise for whom he first played, the Bucks. Against Orlando in the second round, he shot a scintillating .435 from three-point range. In the East finals, Allen averaged 24.3 for the first six games running Dwyane Wade, who missed 26 games this year with shoulder problems, through a series of screens designed to bang Wade around.
Then came Game 7 and that overtime and those 39 points, the final three of which gave the C’s an 98-96 lead with 3.4 seconds left in OT. Allen was back. The Celtics were on the precipice of their third Finals appearance in five seasons before Mario Chalmers, the Heat’s fourth option, found himself open for a short-corner three right in front of the C’s bench. Swish.
And now, Allen sat at his locker after what was more than likely his last game as a Boston Celtic and he was … crying? Allen let go of his nose, stood and reached for something in his locker, his back to the reporters. When he turned to head to the showers, Allen instantly noted the sympathetic looks on the reporters’ faces and frowned.
“Hiccups,” Allen said in his flat baritone, his eyes dry and jaw set. “Pinch your nose, hold your breath, close your eyes tight and count to 20. Works every time.”
Now, some reporters looked incredulous.
“You all thought I was crying?” Allen said, neither his expression nor his tone changing. “You know me better than that.”
They did. They knew he’d be back in about 15 minutes, freshly showered, freshly dressed, prepared to answer questions for however long it took to ask them. The reporters would pepper him about the game (“Hell of a game. I thought we had it, we just got caught looking at LeBron and Wade.”), quiz him about his knee (“It’s a little sore, but I’m 37. Everything is sore.”) and query him about his future (“I’d love to be here. Celtics green is the best green I’ve worn in my career. It’s where I won a title. It’s important.”)
With that, Allen paused and pinched his fingers to his nose again. A reporter tried levity.
“Hiccups?”
Allen smirked.
“You could say that,” Allen said. “This whole season has been one.”
He looked over the reporters as if to say, “anything else.” One reporter stepped forward to say good luck and thanks. Allen and the man exchanged pleasantries. Allen then grabbed his book — “Collapse” by Jared Diamond — and his coat. He started to walk out of the locker room with the confidence some mistook for arrogance.
“Yep,” Allen said to no one in particular, “a hiccup. Can’t go out like that.”
With that, Ray Allen, turned, smiled and was gone.
The apex of my childhood sports fandom was the 1996 major league baseball season that saw the New York Yankees end an 18-year championship drought. That team played more nauseatingly close games than my pre-adolescent, lightweight stomach could handle, but I always knew if my beloved Bronx Bombers made is past the seventh inning with a lead all was well.
Mariano Rivera pitched the eighth.
John Wetteland handled the ninth.
Game over.
I don’t have the time, nor the energy to go game-by-game to exact the data, but I can say with absolute certainty that the Yankees played an inordinate number of close games that season, but if they led with six outs or fewer to go, that demonic bullpen duo shut the door with all the aplomb of an assassin.
Now, 15 years later in the wake of Game 1 of the NBA Finals, I am reminded of that devastatingly potent late game pair after watching LeBron James and Dwyane Wade finish off the Dallas Mavericks.
The production of Miami’s bench and Dallas’ inability to hit open shots (or the Heat willing them to miss) unquestionably played significant roles in the final outcome, but nothing trumps the competition like a deadly closer. Wade and LeBron were responsible for scoring or creating 14 of the Heat’s final 20 points in the last seven minutes of regulation, at once operating in unison and trading haymakers with devastating resolve. This game serves as the quintessential example of why Miami can not only win this series, but win a handful of NBA championships in the future – if they keep it close watch out.
Some have claimed the Heat offense has underwhelmed in the postseason. Maybe they’re right, but does it matter anymore? It certainly used to when the Fighting Spoelstra’s were searching for a harmonious existence and an identity amidst a season-long media firestorm. Now on the game’s biggest stage, the ends justify the means. During a televised timeout last night the head coach calmly told his bench to grind it out, buckle down and grind it out. Six months ago the thought of a team built around two of the most transcendent athletes of their generation grinding it out just didn’t seem a likely reality. We knew of Wade’s and James’ prodigious ability to get to the line, but certainly with both on the floor forming perhaps the most devastating open court duo in history, Miami would run teams out of the arena.
But having finally put it all together, the reality is the Heat attack doesn’t need to be perfect – far from it. Entering Game 1, Miami was a paltry 3-27 when shooting less than 40% from the floor. They’re now 4-27 because when push comes to shove you simply can’t contain both stars down the stretch. It’s akin to a now Methuselah-like Rivera remaining a dominant closer throwing one pitch that tops out at 90 miles per hour. Every hitter and every fan knows the cut fastball is coming each and every time, but it doesn’t matter. As long as New York gives him a lead, no matter how slim, more often than not he’s going to get the job done.
Miami’s offense was far from great last night, but they kept it close until the critical juncture when they could go to their bullpen. It’d be easy to analyze and break down each critical possession in the closing minutes, but the simple fact is two of the best players in the world are wearing the same jersey and you can’t double-team both. There are dynamic flashes as the end unfolds, James’ buzzer beater to end the third. His usual barrage of confidence shattering dunks, Wade’s geometric bending forays to the rim. Taken in the context of the finished product though, its a steady diet of the same pitch, the same attack, the same result. It’s mind numbing in its effectiveness.
Somewhere in South Beach is a 10-year-old kid who will grow up looking back fondly on the days when he could watch his beloved Heat play, knowing if it was at least close in the 4th quarter, he stood a good chance to see a win.
There’s such a stigma about softness in the NBA. It’s commonplace to idolize those players who embody toughness, who sweat blood, who play through pain, who seek out contact like Eddy Curry seeks out all-you-can-eat buffets, who fear no opponent. Now it’s just as normal to belittle the finesse players — the ones who spare viewers the macho routine, who don’t need to feel dominant to play basketball.
Basketball is a sport of grace, that requires the utmost focus and skill — the greatest player will be a meticulous tactician, a heady player who knows what he’s doing. Basketball is a game of grace and fluidity, but it seems that those qualities can only be appreciated if there’s a ferocity underscoring them.
It’s really not surprising that the embrace of manliness has come to the fore. As the NBA has evolved, the game has become decreasingly physical, metamorphosing from a game primarily defined by bruisers to a game appreciably defined by skill. Many feel a need for sports to be contests of strength and hatred for one’s opponents, so it makes sense that these fans would cling to those aspects of classic basketball and long for more of that style.
In the same way, these same people can’t help but berate those who act counter to their desires. Deviation from that course of aggression and physicality is inherently wrong, and those players who choose that alternate route must be ridiculed relentlessly for their decision. After all, they’re a bunch of sissies, obviously.
Not even getting in to the social concerns with some of these softness labels (words like “woman†and “pussy†come to mind), a trend has developed over the years in which the players coming over from Europe are necessarily soft, for it has to be a product of nationality, not training regiment, amateur-basketball factors, or anything else. (Or maybe it’s just that Americans are intolerant of other cultures and want to flaunt their “superiority.†Either way.) That is why there’s always a slight preoccupation with drafting foreign prospects or giving them a chance on an NBA roster.
It is true that this dubious nature has not just surfaced as a result of neanderthals’ preconceived notions, as European players have not had the greatest track record in the NBA. But the change in the physical nature of the game is only one cause of failure for international prospects. Rule differences, season length, cultural boundaries, and many other adjustments have a hand in the development or lack of development for these players.
Along with the clear division between the tough guys and the “wusses,†let’s say, there’s another duality that develops: the guys who live to hurt and get hurt are the icons of basketball — that is, they’re good. The ninnies? They’re just bad at basketball. There’s no better illustration for this phenomenon than Laker Nation’s treatment of Pau Gasol over the last four seasons.
In 2008, when the Lakers lost, he was a creampuff (an efficient one, at that, but damn me to hell if that matters — they lost!) who was helpless to succeed because he couldn’t handle the grind of the game. In 2009 and 2010, when the Lakers won, he broke free and somehow instantly became tough. This year, they lost again, and Pau was back to playing for the London Silly Nannies.
There’s a statistical correlation between Gasol’s success and the Lakers’ success in those four postseasons, and there’s no way that other factors could’ve possibly had an impact on his vacillating play. There’s no way Bynum’s absence in 2008 hindered him at all. There’s no way the team’s abandonment of the triangle offense limited Gasol’s play in 2011. He’s just too much of a pansy to handle it all.
This is interesting, though: it seems as if choosing whether to call a player soft or not is a matter of convenience. When it helps to excuse a player’s performance as a product of his cotton-candy nature, that’s just fine. When his performance need not be excused, though, his softness is no longer a topic of discussion. So …
What if the NBA had someone who exemplified the qualities of these players that are routinely labeled softies — but managed to use that softness to his advantage to dominate in the NBA? These playoffs have solidified one guy’s nomination for this role. That guy would be Dirk Nowitzki.
When you think soft, Nowitzki isn’t typically someone who comes to mind. After all, he screams, growls at his opponents, and likes to pump up the crowd. But take a look at his game.
This is a guy who has developed his jumper to have a natural fade on it, such that he falls away from opponents when he shoots. He had nine dunks all year. He attempted fewer shots per game at the rim than Tyler Hansbrough. He doesn’t really jump to contest shots. He shoots a lot of free throws, but many of the fouls he takes are slight taps on his arms, not Andrew Bynum-style maulings. You’ll often see him getting knocked off balance by smaller defenders in the post. And you don’t seem him intimidating other teams with hard fouls himself on defense.
You would attribute a lot of those characteristics to the wuss category, so perhaps it’s not the way that these guys play the game that makes people call them soft. Maybe a player has to be bad in order to be considered soft. Maybe we’re willing to look past finesse play so long as it results in wins.
There is no doubt people looked at Dirk in a different light just five years ago, when Dwyane Wade went off in the 2006 Finals, and the Mavericks crumbled after a confidence-building 2-0 lead in the series. Dirk was seen as soft then. The next year, after the Mavericks embarrassingly bowed out to the Warriors in a 1-8 upset in the first round, Dirk was still soft like ice cream. Now, though, no one’s saying that, even while his game has barely changed.
All this talk has surfaced lately about where Nowitzki ranks among all players in the league’s history, with some endeavoring to contend that he belongs in the all-time top 10. Whether or not that’s accurate, it might make some people realize that one of the greatest players to ever touch the hardwood is someone who has been called a weakling.
Maybe Nowitzki is the guy who can make it cool to be soft, who can break that mold of needing to be tough, who can be that graceful tactician without any underlying support of a grizzly nature.
Here’s to changing the culture of basketball for the better, Dirk.
Taj Gibson and Kirk Gibson are, as far as I can tell, of no relation. Gibson (Taj) is a black 6-foot-9 power forward who plays for the Bulls while Gibson (Kirk) is a white 6-3 former major league baseball player who now manages an MLB team in Arizona that plays in a park with a pool in it.
The only connections the two share are their last name and, either through choice or genetics or a combination of the two, both men are bald.
But after Game 1 of the Eastern Conference finals, the two Gibsons have become connected in another way. Each man proved that people leave games early at their peril. You may miss something spectacular.
Something as spectacular as Gibson’s (Taj) one-handed putback slam.
Now, wasn’t that a thing of athletic beauty? Gibson (Taj) grabs the ball as it is about six inches below the rim and about four feet from the hoop. I’m no sports scientist, but the physics involved with this thunderous slam are exceptional. So is the reaction of the TNT crew of Marv Albert, Steve Kerr and Reggie Miller. From Albert’s simple, “TAJ … GIB-SON!” to Kerr’s “Ohhhhhh!” to Miller laughing, there wasn’t much to say in real time.
(Of course Miller couldn’t resist going over the top with his “I’ve been to the mountaintop,” “analysis” during the replay. I can’t give NBA.com credit for much, but thankfully they excised that from the above highlight.)
Beside the dunk itself and that LeBron James, on the Heat bench, had to stop biting his nails so that his jaw could drop, what’s most interesting to me in the highlight is the gentleman in the gray along the baseline behind the photographers. In real time, he’s walking away just as Gibson (Taj) hammers it home. He turns his head around as soon as Gibson and Bulls fans blow the roof off the barn.
You can also feel for the two team attendants who were folding towels next to the Heat bench. They missed it too, but at least they were doing their job, unlike the man in the gray.
Upon further viewing, you can see the man in the gray was more than likely supposed to be watching. He’s a photographer who leaves his position just as C.J. Watson launches the three that Gibson slams home. Instead of capturing Gibson in mid-flight, he’s been caught in mid-flight. Now, he may have been finished for the night or had a specific assignment that didn’t require him to stay put for the whole 48. Let’s just hope that was the case and that his editor didn’t ask the following: “Did you get Gibson’s putback slam? It symbolizes everything the Bulls did in the second half: offensive rebounds, distinct advantage in the paint, exceptional effort for the whole game. I’d like to use that on A1. You got that, right?”
That’d be tough to explain.
Gibson’s (Taj) putback slam and the photog’s early escape reminded me of another “wish I had been there for that Gibson moment” moment. That would be Kirk Gibson’s game-winning homer off Dennis Eckersley in Game 1 of the 1988 World Series. Most fans remember a gimpy Gibby, Vin Scully’s excellent description (“Talk about a roll of the dice.”) and the drama that followed.
Someone, however, missed that drama. L.A. fans — unlike fans in Chicago — have the reputation of arriving late and leaving early, as if the game is just another stop on their busy SoCal social schedule. To their credit, most fans remained at Dodger Stadium to see if their club could erase a one-run deficit against the game’s best closer.
At 3:53 in this highlight (sorry, MLBAM’s ridiculous restrictions on video continue), you can see a pair of tail lights under the pavilion roof as right fielder Jose Canseco stops between the 370 and 360 signs in right field. Those lights belong to the sucker or suckers who immediately rued the decision to beat traffic and listen to the rest of the game on the radio.
“Hey, you went to the game last night. That was the best. Where were you sitting?”
“In my car. I wanted to beat the traffic out of the stadium”
“They had a man on and Gibson (Kirk) at the plate.”
“But traffic…”
“Idiot.”
Using Gibson’s homer as inspiration, a Dodgers team that didn’t have much offense or talent as the A’s, used pitching, defense, hustle and grit to take the series in five. If you squint, you could substitute NBA MVP Derrick Rose for the whole Dodgers pitching staff — in the fact that like a pitcher, Rose has the ball in his hands and he controls the tempo of the game — the Bulls have plenty of defense, hustle and grit.
Gibson’s (Taj) putback slam will never have the historical impact of Gibson’s (Kirk’s) homer. Some could see it as just another blow to the already dead high horse the Heat rode in on. But Gibson’s (Taj) dunk punctuated the message the Bulls were trying to send to the Heat in Game 1, and to NBA fans who didn’t give them much of a chance: “We’ll be here ’til the end. Don’t go anywhere. You may miss something good.”
Power — intoxicating and addictive — is never easily ceded. Not by nations and rarely by champions. It has to be taken. In sports, it’s often taken from the aging or the infirm. In the case of the Boston Celtics, it was both.
If you took one look at the Celtics sideline late on Wednesday night, you would have seen Rajon Rondo and Jermaine O’Neal lying on their aching backs, straining their necks to see the action on the floor. You would have seen Kevin Garnett expending the same amount of energy to do half the things he used to do. Shaquille O’Neal, the future Hall of Famer the Celtics signed to combat the Lakers in The Finals, spent what may be his final NBA game as the largest Big & Tall model in history. And as good as Paul Pierce and Ray Allen are, LeBron James and Dwyane Wade are younger and have more talent.
The Celtics wanted to play, but their bodies betrayed them. Their time has ended. The Lakers too. Three days prior to LeBron and the Heat ending the Celtics’ successful four-year run in the East, the “new old” Mavs — an oxymoron — swept Phil Jackson and the two-time defending champion Lakers, playing like schoolyard chumps, into next season.
If the Celtics or Lakers had forced their series to seven games, we may be able to believe Doc Rivers’ claim that his Celtics team “isn’t done” or Kobe Bryant’s claim that the Lakers will be back as a legit championship force in 2011-12.
But the Heat and the Mavs channeled their inner Anton Chigurh and used their captive bolt pistols to blow a big hole through any notion that the Celtics and the Lakers can remain at a championship level beyond this season. It’s not necessarily age itself, but the changes that come with it. They are like Tommy Lee Jones’ sheriff, who chases the light in his dreams but eventually wakes up before he can catch up to it. Those days are history. Things are different now.
If the Lakers couldn’t set aside their trust issues during the postseason, what makes anyone think that they’ll grow fonder of each other over an 82-game regular season? If the Lakers couldn’t get Phil his fourth three-peat, who thinks they’ll be able to band together for a new coach? Do you think the Celtics’ core will somehow grow any younger over the summer? As much as I like to believe Rivers, one of my favorite basketball people of all time, will return to Boston because he’s “a Celtic,” there have been rumblings for some time about him wanting to take a break. Changes should be coming to both teams.
But based on the history of those two franchises, you’d be inclined to believe they will bounce back. Between them they have 33 NBA championships and 52 combined Finals appearances. Based on what we saw of the two teams, it’s hard to believe that they will be able to dominate foes as they have the past four seasons. The NBA has too much talent on too many different teams. Not only that, that talent is in or close to reaching its prime.
For only the fifth time when both teams have made the postseason in the same year, neither the Lakers nor the Celtics made their respective conference finals series. By not having these specific Celtics or Lakers teams to cheer or jeer in a conference finals is slams shut the door on the post-Michael Jordan era of the NBA.
This will be the first Finals without Shaquille O’Neal, Kobe Bryant or Tim Duncan since 1998. It’s as clear a demarcation point in NBA history as the introduction of the shot clock in 1954 or Bill Russell retiring in 1969 or when Jordan and a hungry Bulls team destroyed an aging Lakers team in 1991.
Consider, too, the men who led them. It will be the first time since 1995 Phil Jackson, Gregg Popovich and Pat Riley won’t roam the sidelines during The Finals. Though, that stat deserves an asterisk considering Riley is the brains behind this current iteration of the Heat. He has the hardware to prove it.
Riley built the Heat in the Celtics’ image using the lure of a homegrown star to attract other stars. LeBron said as much before and after Game 5. Beating the Celtics was the reason he burned every bridge in Cleveland. For LBJ, getting past the Celtics was like MJ finally getting past the Pistons in ’91.
For LeBron, who at times has a loathsome lack of self-awareness, sounded contrite and humble after the Heat’s win. Whether his overall attitude has changed for the better remains to be seen. But one thing we know: the NBA will never be the same. It’s up to the new power generation to shape it to their liking.
