Book of Basketball

by Simmons Bill

  • Fans and writers would (I hope) argue about which players belong on which levels; it would become the “Jessica Biel vs. Jessica Alba” of sports debates. Is Shaq an L4 or a Pantheon guy? Does Reggie Miller make it past L1? Does Kobe crack L4? Where does Elgin land since he never won a title? What about Oscar, the greatest guard before MJ and Magic? Was Cousy great enough to be an L4? You get the idea.

  • After we decide on the Pyramid guys—remember, we’re dumping some current Hall of Famers into the basement in the “Pioneer,” “Role Player,” and “Comet” exhibits—a special selection committee would reassign levels to every player who made the cut. Let’s say the committee features fifty well-known former players, journalists, and broadcasters. Each would vote on levels for every existing Hall of Fame member from 1 (lowest) to 5

  (highest); the average score for each member (rounded up) would determine his level; and each person would have to vote for twelve players (no more, no less) for the top level of the Pyramid. Makes it a little more interesting, no? Especially when we make the votes public. If you’re the dimwit who kept Scottie Pippen from being an L3 because you voted for him as an L1, everyone needs to know that you’re a dimwit

  • The Pyramid structure would look cool. Besides the aesthetic benefits of a five-story building housing every meaningful nugget of NBA history and resembling an actual Egyptian pyramid, can you imagine climbing each level as the floors get smaller and smaller … and finally reaching the Pantheon? Unbelievable. I’m getting chills just thinking about it. 26 Even if it can never happen, that’s the great thing about pipe dreams… you can still have fun with them, right? 27 So here’s how my levels would break down and why, and if you think this wasn’t a convoluted excuse to rank the best NBA players in reverse order from 96 to 1, well, you don’t know me well enough. These rankings were weighed by the following factors:

  1. How well did he grasp The Secret?

  2. Did he make a difference on good teams? Did he get better when it mattered? If your life depended on one game, would you want him out there trying to win it for you?

  Would you trust him completely and totally in the final two minutes of a do-or-die game? In short, would you want to be in an NBA foxhole with him?

  3. Would he have been not-so-fun, semifun, fun or superfun to play with? We’ll explain this in the Nash section.

  4. Did he get traded at any point in his prime? If so, why? This doesn’t matter as much with Level 1 or Level 2, but I need a really good reason to forgive trading a Level 3, 4

  or 5 guy in his prime.

  5. As a personal preference, I value someone who was great for a short period of time over someone who was good for a long period of time. Give me two transcendent years from Bill Walton over fourteen non-transcendent years from Walt Bellamy. I’m not winning a championship with Bellamy; I’m winning one with a healthy Walton. So I’d rather have two great Walton years and twelve years of patchwork nobodies than fourteen straight Bellamy years, if that makes sense.

  (Note: Bellamy’s career exemplifies why we need the Pyramid. He averaged a 29–17 during his first three seasons—1961–63, before the league changed color and got bigger—and never made another All-Star team after ’64. He’s one of nine players to finish with 20,000 points and 14,000

  rebounds, only Wilt owned him to the degree that the Dipper once shook his hand before an opening tip, promised Bellamy that he would get demolished, destroyed him for an entire half, then told him before the second-half tip, “Okay, now you can score.” His teams never won—in fact, Bellamy’s teams won just two playoff series and dealt him twice in his prime. When the ’68

  Knicks traded Bellamy and Howie Komives for Dave DeBusschere, the deal quickly turned them around and ushered in a six-year run of contention. The great George Kiseda28 even wrote, “Walt Bellamy is the skeleton in the closet of the 20,000-Point Club.” Clearly, Bellamy missed his calling—if he’d come along thirty years later, he would have been revered by fantasy owners and remembered in an entirely different light. Same for Jerry Lucas.) 29

  6. How deceiving were the guy’s stats? Issel’s numbers look fantastic until you remember that he couldn’t have guarded the best guy on a WNBA team. 30 Karl Malone’s gaudy stats don’t reflect how his face looked like he’d been given a monster Botox injection at the end of every big game. You have to factor this stuff in. Statistics are extremely helpful, they fill in a lot of holes, but that’s it. Beyond that, how much did the guy’s era affect his stats? Remember the lessons from the “How the Hell?” section. 7. Did he have at least two memorably remarkable qualities about his game? We’ll explain in the Pippen section.

  8. Was he a great teammate, a decent teammate, a forgettable teammate or a gaping asshole? We’ll explain in the GP section.

  9. Did he make at least one first or second All-NBA team in his career? If the answer is no, we need a reason that makes sense, like Nate Thurmond falling short only because Kareem, Wilt, Cowens, Unseld and Reed peaked during his prime. We’ll call this the Bill Laimbeer Corollary because I was looking for any possible reason to keep him out of the Pyramid—after all, he was a world-class douche and that was the best reason that worked. Screw him.31

  10. Did he resonate on a level beyond stats? Did he connect with fans on a spiritual level or an “I’ve never seen anyone in my life like this guy” level? Was he an original prototype? Could he ever be re-created? Think Earl the Pearl.

  11. If it’s a player from 1946 to 1976, how well could his game have translated to the modern era?

  That last question is a biggie. Say we brought ’61 Wilt to 2009 and matched him against a slew of modern athletes with strength and speed. Wouldn’t they handle him or slow him down? He might average a 20–10 or even a 25–14 nowadays, but with superior talent, smarter defenses, complex coaching strategies and unfavorable-for-him rule changes, hell would freeze over before ’62 Wilt scored 100 in a single game. 32 From the tapes I watched, Wilt notched such brow-furrowing numbers mainly because he was a superathletic big man feasting on undersized, overmatched stiffs. You could say he was before his time physically. Do we credit him for that? Do we ignore the fact that 2000 Shaq may have surpassed Wilt’s stats in 1962? Wasn’t Wilt fortunate for not having been born ten years later? Russell had a much better chance of thriving in 2009 because of his competitiveness and defensive instincts, even if he was built like Thaddeus Young. Would he dominate like he did in 1959? Of course not. You can’t forget that twenty-first-century stars are evolutionary versions of the best guys from the fifties and sixties. Take Steve Nash and Bob Cousy. (Note: Let’s make sure that there is a team of doctors surrounding Tommy Heinsohn before he reads these next few lines.) Nash is a much better shooter, he’s in better shape, he plays harder, he tries harder on defense, he’s more technically sound … he’s just better. But he didn’t have anything close to Cousy’s career, nor did he match Cousy’s impact on his generation (as a player, personality, winner, and innovator). So how do we judge which guy mattered more? Really, it’s like comparing an ’09 Porsche with a ’62 Porsche: the ’09 would easily win a race between them, but the ’62 was a more groundbreaking car. So the Nash model wins the “Who were the most talented players ever?” question, but the Cooz model wins the “Who were the most groundbreaking players ever?” question. And both matter.

  That’s why I made the following decision: you can’t effectively compare players from different eras unless both players thrived after 1976, when basketball fully evolved into the sport we’re watching now. A few of the early stars would be effective today, but too many of them would flounder to the degree that it’s difficult to project them being better than eleventh or twelfth men (if that). Take Dolph Schayes, the best player on Syracuse’s ’55 title team and a member of the NBA’s Silver Anniversary Team. Could a slow white guy who played below the rim and lived on a deadly set shot succeed at a high level in 2009? Would Dolph be more useful in 2009 than Steve Novak? Um … I don’t know. I really don’t. A
fter careful deliberation, I bumped nearly every pre-Russell star from the Pyramid for two big reasons. First, basketball didn’t totally become basketball until they created the shot clock in 1954. Second, there was a center in the fifties named Neil Johnston who finished with the following resume:

  Eight years, 6 quality, 6 All-Stars … top 5 NBA (’52, ’53, ’54, ’55), top 10 (’56) …

  second-best player on champ (’56 Sixers), averaged a 20–14 (10 games) … 4-year peak: 21–12

  … season leader: points (3x), rebounds (1x), minutes (2x), FG percentage (3x).

  Pretty good, right? For the league’s first decade, Johnston was its most effective all-around center other than Mikan: a six-foot-eight 210-pounder who thrived as long as everyone played below the rim and you could unleash clumsy hook shots without getting them swatted away. Then Russell showed up and ruined everything. Satch Sanders jokes that Russell terminated the careers of Johnston, Harry Gallatin, Ed Macauley, Charlie Share and every other old-school center (translation: white guy). Sifting through the stories and anecdotes, unleashing Russell in the mid-fifties sounds like what might happen if Dwight Howard joined the WNBA. (By the way, this is the only scenario that would get me watching the WNBA other than my daughter joining the league someday. It’s really those two and that’s it.) Send the likes of David West or Hedo Turkoglu to the early fifties in Doc Brown’s time machine and they’d win four straight MVPs. Sorry, every reader over sixty years old, but it’s true. Also, remember not to get carried away with scoring/rebounding stats from 1959 to 1967, or how they allowed variations of offensive goaltending until 1966. (FYI: When Wilt dropped 73 on the ’62 Knicks, the Dipper got himself an extra 22 points and 13 rebounds just from offensive goaltending and redirecting shots.)33 And all information from 1970 to 1976 (stats, All-Star nods, All-NBA nods) should be taken with three hundred grains of salt, so if you’re wondering why someone like Spencer Haywood (two top fives, two top tens, a five-year peak of 24–12) or Lou Hudson (four-year peak: 25–6–4, 51% FG) didn’t make the cut, or why Bob McAdoo and Tiny Archibald are ranked as L1 guys … well, that’s why. 34

  Last thought: I kept the cutoff at ninety-six for The Book of Basketball, first edition. Why? Because we need to leave spots open for Kevin Durant, Al Jefferson, Yao Ming, Derrick Rose, Carmelo Anthony, Ricky Rubio 35 or whoever else might emerge over these next few years. Which four will sneak in? Who knows? I’m excited. For now, we’re sticking with 96 Pyramid guys and 96 only.

  Also, this pyramid had to be finalized for editing reasons in April 2009, so we weren’t able to account for career-altering moments by Dwight Howard, Ray Allen, LeBron James, and Kobe Bryant in the final order. I did add a few afterthoughts when necessary.

  1. When I’m running ESPN in a few years, I’m going to bring back Roy Firestone’s old half-hour interview show and hire Nancy to host it. The show will be called Up Close and Uncomfortable with Nancy Lieberman. You’re gonna love it.

  2. You know how horse racing always has the best postgame interviews because the reporter has to ride next to the winning jockey? Takes a certain amount of skill to juggle two things at once, right?

  I wish there was a way to incorporate that in the NBA. I also wish we made foreign players live up to the stereotypes of their respective countries. For instance, after Michele Tafoya grabs Tony Parker, he should quickly slip on a beret, start chain-smoking and say rude things to her. 3. The biggest problem this system solves: you won’t lose your fantasy playoffs because someone suffered a dumb injury in April, or because the other guy’s team had 4 more games than you. How is that skill?

  4. Speaking of failed GMs, a Philly reader named Adam had an awesome idea once: “I saw Sixers GM Billy King in a restaurant in Philly recently and thought, ‘Does he order food the same way he signs NBA players?’ If he ordered the steak, if it’s an okay steak but nothing fantastic, does he offer to pay double or triple the market value for it? Maybe there could be a show where Billy King negotiates car prices for people who stand by dumbfounded as he offers $27,000 for a 1987 Toyota Camry with 167,000 miles.”

  5. Douglas’ tournament gave us some of the funniest moments of the last decade: Douglas high-fiving with a grown-up Haley Joel Osment after big putts. They made Tiger’s high-fives with his caddies look smoother than LeBron and Mo Williams celebrating something. 6. Riley’s Knicks went overboard with trash-talking MJ’s Bulls, everyone followed their lead, and Team Stern had to step in before we had the first-ever locker room drive-by shooting. Now players can’t talk shit anymore. So sad. Nearly every problem that plagued the NBA in the past two decades, minor or major, can somehow be traced back to Riley’s Knicks. I am convinced. 7. Interesting note here: when a guy tells a girl, “There’s only two minutes left” (and it’s actually fifteen minutes in real time), that equals the same amount of time as when a girl tells a guy, “I’ll be ready in five minutes” (and it’s really fifteen).

  8. Matt’s response (via email): “We’d only be able to afford a minority share unless there is a foreclosure on the Grizzlies soon. And I’d have to talk Trey into it because he’s more of a football fantatic. Just know that we would be way worse than [Mark] Cuban as far as mouthing off about refereeing and other shit and we’d average 400K a week in fines. There is just no way me and Trey can keep our mouths shut. Good for the league, bad for our wallet. So it probably can’t happen.”

  The good news? I think I just gave them an idea for BASEketball II. 9. The Nets used Piscopo as their PA announcer for a 2002 Finals game, leading to my favorite running streak in sports: no NBA team that ever used Joe Piscopo as an announcer in the Finals has gone on to win the title.

  10. Miami should do this, anyway. Imagine Thomas sitting between Mike Dunleavy and Donnie Walsh at the lottery in a white linen suit with a huge smile on his face. 11. And don’t forget about my Eff You Award. I love that one. The winner of the 2009 Eff You Award was definitely Elton Brand.

  12. I came up with this idea during Tankapalooza 2007 as multiple teams tanked for Durant/Oden. 13. That wasn’t a joke. One of House’s biggest regrets in life: not winning a bid for a Lloyd Daniels game-worn.

  14. That’s a 2-hour drive unless I’m behind the wheel. Ask any of my friends: if they’re 2 hours from a destination, need to arrive in 90 minutes and could pick one friend to drive, they’d pick me. I’m the same guy who once drove from my dad’s old house in Wellesley to my mom’s house in Stamford in 2:04—that’s a 185-mile drive with a toll booth stop and 10 minutes of back roads. I was four minutes away from becoming the Roger Bannister of that drive. By the way, this was my life highlight of 1995 other than sucking face with Lizzie Baker, writing a back-page story for the Boston Herald and buying my first bong. Not a strong year. 15. Before you say “So long to your Springfield book signing,” I am pro-Springfield and my dad’s best friend (superhero lawyer Roy Anderson) lives there. I will always defend Springfield and Worcester. I just think the Hall of Fame needs a fresh start.

  16. And we’re stuck with the WNBA, too.

  17. You know how casinos can only be built in Nevada, in Atlantic City, or on Indian reservations if they’re on land, but you can have gambling as long as there’s water around? In French Lick, they built a casino with a man-made mini lake around it; you go inside by walking over a moat. And you thought people in Indiana were dumb.

  18. We didn’t realize we were inadvertently borrowing Bill James’ plan to redefine Hall of Famers and “weigh them” for importance. Regardless, I’m 100 percent positive that Wally invented the Pyramid concept in that day. I came up with the part where it would look like a mini Luxor. And Gus just did a lot of nodding.

  19. The Luxor pisses me off. How do you turn a sleek Egyptian pyramid into White Trash Central?

  They had the second-best casino concept (topped only by Caesars Palace) and completely fucked it up. Now it’s called “PH” (for Planet Hollywood), or as my friends and I call it, “Phhhhh.”

  20. This is what pisses me off about Pe
te Rose’s ban from Cooperstown. It’s a museum. The goal is to teach people about baseball history. Just put on Rose’s HOF plaque: GAMBLED ON

  BASEBALL WHILE MANAGING THE REDS, DISGRACED OUR SPORT. What’s the big deal?

  21. A few of these players also crack the Pyramid as true Hall of Famers. Stay tuned. 22. Haley created the Overjoyed and Oversupportive High-Fiving Twelfth Man role that became a staple on NBA benches in the 1990s and 2000s, leading to someone deciding that it would be a good idea to make Mark Madsen and Brian Scalabrine multimillionaires. Keep an eye on Boston’s Billy Walker, aka “Black Haley,” the most supportive, gregarious, happy-to-be-there 12th man in Celtic history. During the ’09 playoffs, he would have chest-bumped Ray Allen after a big three even if Allen were covered in radioactive chemicals and raw sewage. 23. I love this idea: anytime a star player or troubled draft pick is suffering from personal problems, we could make “The only way they’re making the Hall of Fame is the Comets section”

  jokes.

  24. I also want dorky teenage video clerks like the ones that work in Blockbuster, only they’ll all be six foot four with oversized appendages, as if they just had a growth spurt the night before. And we’ll make them wear referee uniforms like they’re working at Foot Locker. That’s an essential. 25. Extending the Pantheon to a twelve-man roster and leaving it open means we can add LeBron someday and kick out one of the original twelve like it’s a Bachelor episode. 26. The NBA won’t sell sponsorship banners on my Pyramid because it’s in bad taste. In real life?

  You’d be visiting the Volkswagen Touareg NBA Pyramid or something. Just shoot me. 27. One good thing about pipe dreams: there’s always a 0.0003 percent chance they can come true. In the late ’90s, I forget what sparked this—maybe it was a Friends episode—but every couple in America made their top-five lists for Celebs You’d Let Me Sleep with if I Had the Chance. Tiffani Amber-Thiessen was number one on my list. We moved to L.A. a few years later and my wife befriended a friend of T.A.T’s. For our five-year anniversary, she got me a signed T.A.T. photo that read, “I heard I’m on your list, too bad you’re married.” I called T.A.T. to thank her, one thing led to another and we ended up banging in the back room at Mel’s Diner because it was the closest thing to the Peach Pit. Okay, I made that last part up. The point is, you never know with pipe dreams.