Book of Basketball

by Simmons Bill

  Whatever. That’s not what turned me against him for life. During the ’05 season, a disenchanted Vince tanked so hellaciously in Toronto—killing his trade value for reasons that remain unclear—that the Raptors were forced to settle for Jersey’s offer of Alonzo Mourning (who had to be bought out), Eric Williams, Aaron Williams and two nonlottery picks. You could have predicted when it happened (and by the way, I did) that Toronto damaged its future by not clearing cap space or getting any quality youngsters or picks back.34 But that’s how desperate they were. Rarely has a professional athlete shown more callousness toward his fans. Here’s what I wrote after watching Vince tank a Raps-Clippers game weeks before the trade:

  During the pregame “Everyone bunch into a circle and jump up and down” ritual, Chris Bosh accidentally bumped Vince in the head, so Vince dramatically took three steps back to make sure he was OK, then rejoined the circle with a sarcastic frown. He made his first five jumpers, banged his shooting hand on a collision with Maggette, then spent the rest of the game touching the hand, examining it and swearing to himself … only he would not-so-coincidentally forget to do this every time he made a basket. When he was angry after not getting the ball before one timeout, he stormed towards the bench and brushed off a high-five from Donyell Marshall. It went on and on. Forget about the fact that Vince doesn’t play defense; that he doesn’t bother to box out; that he’s shooting pretty much every time he gets the ball (23 shots in 26 minutes against the Clips); that he avoids contact even on drives. His moodiness affected everyone on that team. He’s clearly trying to get himself traded—playing just hard enough so nobody thinks he’s dogging it, but acting up just enough so everyone knows he’s unhappy. At one point, I honestly thought Rafer Alston was going to punch him.

  Three months later, Vince hooked himself up to the Juvenation Machine in Jersey and admitted that he had stopped trying for Toronto —no joke, he admitted this— presumably to force a trade, which had to have been one of the most depressing revelations in recent sports history. 35 Anyway, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to write this book: fifty years from now, we wouldn’t want an NBA fan to flip through some NBA guide and decide that Vince Carter was a worthy basketball star. He wasn’t. Instead, he’s the guy who prompted me to write the following in 2004:

  Now that the Sox have won the World Series, here’s my new sports wish for 2004: Just once in my lifetime, when this situation unfolds like with Vince and the Raptors, I want to see the team say, “You know what? Screw you. You signed a contract to become our franchise player, and now you don’t want to live up to that obligation? Fine. You’re sitting on the bench. Don’t worry, we’ll pay you. You’ll get your checks. You’re just getting a DNP for the next five years. We’re making an example out of you. You will never play for us again. And you won’t play anywhere else, either.” Imagine that. Vince banished to the bench, game after game, month after month, until he shapes up and stops bitching about playing for Toronto. It would be the sports equivalent of sending a prisoner to the hole. Like every NBA fan wouldn’t be rooting for the Raptors after that?

  There’s a happy ending to this story. Every time Vince plays in Toronto, they boo him like it’s Bernie Madoff returning to ring the bell of the NYSE. They boo him for the whole game. They never stop booing. For whatever reason, this brings out the best in Vince—he plays with passion and pride and even sank a few game-winners against them. It’s the perfect epitaph for his career—the guy who could only get inspired by a fan base that actively detests him—along with the fact that Vince got an enormous amount of respect from other players, not for what he delivered but for his gifts themselves. Of anyone in the league over the past fifteen years, his peers felt like Vince Carter was the one who could do anything. Well, except give a shit on a consistent basis. You will regret what happened one day, Vince. You will. 36

  82. CHRIS MULLIN

  Resume: 16 years, 8 quality, 5 All-Stars … top 5 (’92), top 10 (’89, ’91), top 15 (’90) … 4-year peak: 26–5–4 (52% FG, 88% FT) … 2-year Playoffs peak: 27–7–4, 54% FG (16 G) … league leader: minutes (2x), 3FG% (1x) … member of ’92 Dream Team

  After throwing away his first three NBA years because of a drinking/weight problem, a postrehab Mullin shaved his hair into a military flattop, got himself into sick shape and embarked on a rollicking five-year peak before a variety of injuries sidetracked him. Even though he crested a little late, few modern players were more entertaining or intelligent on the offensive end; he was like a left-handed, miniature version of Larry Bird, only with worse hair, paler skin and an accent that made him sound like a cross between Bruce Springsteen and Mike Francesa. You couldn’t hide him defensively, but at least he wreaked havoc from the blind side and jumped passing lanes like Bird, averaging 2-plus steals three different times. He’s also on the all-time team of Modern Guys Who Seemed Like They Were the Most Fun to Play a Game of Basketball With (along with Bird, Magic, Nash, Walton, Duncan, Kidd, Pippen, Stockton, Horry, Bobby Jones and C-Webb). 37

  According to Cameron Stauth’s underrated Golden Boys, after Chuck Daly was selected to coach the Dream Team, his wish list for a roster looked like this (in order): Jordan, Magic, Robinson, Ewing, Pippen, Malone, Mullin. So the NBA’s top coach at the time ranked Mullin behind Jordan and Pippen as the third-best perimeter player during the deepest run of talent in NBA history. The selection committee eventually sent out eight initial invites: Bird/Magic/MJ (locks to launch the team as a threesome), Pippen, Robinson, Malone, Ewing and Barkley. Mullin received the ninth invite. John Stockton was tenth. (Drexler and Christian Laettner 38 weren’t added until the following spring.) Here’s the point: Chris Mullin was really freaking good.

  81. DAVE BING

  Resume: 12 years, 8 quality, 7 All-Stars … ’67 Rookie of the Year … top 5 (’68, ’71), top 10

  (’74) … 4-year peak: 25–5–6 … leader: scoring (1x) … never won a Playoff series

  Bing rode the ABA/expansion statistical surge and put up impressive numbers during his offensive peak (’67 to ’73), when he played with the likes of Dave DeBusschere and Bob Lanier and only made the Playoffs once. Following his eighth season (19.0 PPG, 7.7 APG in ’75), Detroit traded him to Washington along with a future first-rounder for Kevin Porter. Kevin Porter? How good a player could Bing have been? And how could he possibly make the NBA’s 50 at 50 in 1996 over nos. 53, 57, 58, 63, 64, and 65 on this list? Because he was a good guy.39 Call it the Bob Lanier Corollary: if someone is loved and respected as a person by fellow players and media members, his actual talents rarely match the way he’s evaluated. Bing’s two first-team All-NBA’s help his historical cause more than anything, but both were dubious: in ’68, Bing slipped in because Jerry West missed 31 games; in ’71, Bing made it over Walt Frazier, who only tossed up a 21–7–7 on a 52-win Knicks team and doubled as the league’s best defensive guard. Given a choice between Bing in his absolute prime (playing on a fifth-seeded team in the West), versus Clyde in his absolute prime (playing on a number one seed in the East) … the voters chose Bing. Absurd. Was Bing even better than Sweet Lou Hudson? They both peaked from ’67 to ’76 and finished with similar career numbers (a 20–4–3 with 49% FG for Hudson, a 20–4–6 with 44% FG for Bing), but Hudson played for seven straight teams that made the Playoffs (’67–’ 73) and Bing made the Playoffs once in that stretch. Who was more effective? I couldn’t tell you because I wasn’t there. I just know that Bing shouldn’t have made the top fifty. 40

  80. BAILEY HOWELL

  Resume: 12 years, 10 quality, 6 All-Stars … top 10 (’63) … 4-year peak: 22–12–2 … started for 2 champs (’68 and ’69 Celts)

  79. BOBBY DANDRIDGE

  Resume: 13 years, 9 quality, 4 All-Stars … top 10 (’79) … 5-year peak: 20–7–3 … 2-year Playoffs peak: 22–7–5 (38 G) … 2nd-best player on 1 champ (’78 Bullets) and 2 runner-ups (’74 Bucks, ’79 Bullets), 3rd-best player on 1 champ (’71 Bucks) … career Playoffs: 21–8–4

  (98 G)


  Dandridge remains my favorite “lost great” from the seventies, a small forward who played bigger than his size, lacked any holes and drew the following compliment from SI’s Curry Kirkpatrick in 1979: “All Dandridge is—a fact known to his peers for a couple of years now—is the best all-round player at his position.” You could call Bobby D. a cross between Caron Butler and Big Shot Brob, someone who did all the little things, drifted between three positions, defended every type of forward (famously outdueling Julius Erving in the ’78 Playoffs) and routinely drained monster shots (like the game-winner against a triple-team in Game 7 of the ’79 Spurs series, which happened after he had been switched to a scalding-hot George Gervin and shut Ice down for the final few minutes). Unquestionably, he was the fourth-best small forward of the seventies behind Erving, Rick Barry and John Havlicek, as well as one of the signature greats from an all-black college who made it big in the pros. 41 The late Ralph Wiley wrote that while Hayes and Unseld were widely remembered for winning Washington the ’78 title, “it was the sweet j of Sweet Bobby D. true aficionados recall,” calling him a “grizzled, bearded, incommunicado jazz soloist” and adding that Bobby D.’s “sweet j ranks with Sam Jones, Dave Bing, Lou Hudson, Jerry West and Joe Dumars.” I’m guessing that Ralph would have had Bobby D. in his top seventy-five.

  So what about Howell? Well, he was the Dandridge of the sixties and played a big role on two title teams. It took Howell twenty-seven years to make the Hall of Fame. Dandridge still hasn’t made it. The lesson, as always: the Basketball Hall of Fame sucks.42

  78. PAUL WESTPHAL

  Resume: 12 years, 5 quality, 5 All-Stars … top 5 (’77, ’78, ’80), top 10 (’79) … 5-year peak: 23–3–6, 52% FG … best player on 1 runner-up (’76 Suns), averaged 21–5–3, 51% FG (19 G)

  Red Auerbach was the most successful NBA GM ever, so take the following with a grain of salt because it’s impossible to nail every major roster decision. (Or in Billy King’s case, any of them.) But Red gave away at least one title with two boneheaded decisions: swapping Westphal for Charlie Scott before the ’76 season and replacing Paul Silas with anti-Celtics Sidney Wicks and Curtis Rowe before the ’77 season. Both were financially motivated moves by a stubborn guy who couldn’t accept where the league was headed yet. Had Red kept Silas and Westie, Boston could have won in ’77 and possibly ’78. But here’s why Red was the luckiest bastard ever (and I mean that as a compliment): As the ’77–’ 78 team was self-combusting in Havlicek’s final season, Auerbach swapped Scott for Kermit Washington, Don Chaney and a number one pick. A few months later, Boston had the number six and number eight picks in the ’78 draft. With their own pick (number six), they rolled the dice on a junior-eligible named Larry Bird. With K.C.’s number eight pick, they took a prolific scorer named Freeman Williams to replace Havlicek. 43 Without that extra pick, would Red have “wasted” the number six pick on someone who couldn’t play in Boston for a year? Getting the number eight pick in the Scott trade allowed him to use the number six pick on Bird. Like always with Red from 1950 to 1986, even when something like the Westphal/Scott trade didn’t work out, eventually it worked out. 44

  Westphal would have been just another forgotten great player if not for a heroic performance in the triple-OT game—a game that lives on forever on ESPN Classic and NBA TV—when he single-handedly saved the Suns more than once with a superhuman performance (crazy steals, ludicrous reverses for three-point plays and his trademark 360 banker, when he drove left at breakneck speed, planted about 8 feet from the basket, then did a 360-degree twirl and banked it home as his incredulous defender was twisted in nine different directions). If Havlicek had missed that running banker in the second OT, Phoenix could have clinched the title at home and Westphal could have joined the hallowed list of Best Guys on a Championship Team (and jumped thirty spots on this list). Instead, he’s remembered as the league’s best guard for five years (’76 to ’80), as well as a memorably entertaining All-Star Game performer and the starting two-guard on the White Guys Who Played Like Black Guys team (don’t worry, we’re getting there).

  77. DAN ISSEL

  Resume: 15 years, 13 quality, 7 All-Stars (6 ABA) … top 5 ABA (’72), top 10 ABA (’71, ’73,

  ’74, ’75, ’76) … 3-year peak: 29–11–2 … ABA leader: scoring (1x) … ABA Playoffs: 24–11–2

  (80 G) … 2nd-best player on ABA champ (’75 Colonels) … 25K-10K Club (25K-plus points, 10K-plus rebounds)

  76. ARTIS GILMORE

  Resume: 17 years, 12 quality, 11 All-Stars (5 ABA) … ’72 ABA MVP and Playoffs MVP …

  ’72 ABA Rookie of the Year … top 5 ABA (’72, ’73, ’74, ’75, ’76) … 5-year peak: 22–17–3

  (ABA) … season leader: rebounds (4x), FG% (6x), mins (3x), blocks (2x) … all-time NBA/ABA leader, FG% … best player on two ABA champs (’72 and ’75 Colonels) …

  20K-15K Club

  I couldn’t put Issel ahead of Artis for one reason: After Kentucky won the ’75 ABA title, the Colonels needed to trade a big guy (Gilmore or Issel) to save money. Which one did they keep?

  Gilmore. So that settles that. Issel thrived for six ABA seasons but only made one NBA All-Star team after the merger. That’s a little telling. Still, there’s something to be said for a perimeter center who never missed games and gave his teams somewhere between a 19–8 and a 25–11 every night, averaging 29.9 points as a rookie in ’71 and 19.8 as a fourteen-year veteran in ’84. You can’t blame Issel for a lack of NBA playoff success because the ’78 Nuggets came within two games of the Finals (losing to Seattle), then fell apart because of David Thompson’s drug problem and one of the single dumbest trades in NBA history: Bobby Jones straight up for George McGinnis. 45 On a personal note, Issel was one of my favorite visiting players because he was missing his front four teeth—every time he walked by us in the Garden tunnel, he looked like a vampire. These are the things that delight you when you’re eight.

  Meanwhile, Artis would have started at center for the Looks Better on Paper All-Stars if not for Bellamy. I’m barely old enough to remember Artis in his NBA prime, when he was a mountain of a man (seven foot two, 300 pounds) with a mustache/goatee combo that made him look like a half-Chinese, half-black count.46 He looked intimidating until the game started and you realized that (a) his reactions were a split second slow (eventually earning him the nickname “Rigor Artis”), (b) he only took shots he could make (dunks, layups, and a lefty jump hook), and (c) it was unclear if he had a pulse (Artis made Kareem look like Kevin Garnett after twenty Red Bulls). Artis grew up so poor in Florida that he wore sneakers two sizes too small in high school, so there was always something beaten-down about him, like his confidence didn’t match his physique. Fans believed he should dominate more than he did and tougher players pounded him with no repercussions. 47 Without any big rivals who could handle him in a quicker ABA, Artis dominated just like the token tall guy dominates an intramural game in college. He never enjoyed the same success in the NBA, but there are worse things than a center giving you a 20–12 every night, clogging the paint, shooting 60 percent and looking like he’s about to film a Dracula movie. If that’s not enough, he appeared in the opening credit sequence of The White Shadow. Top that, Issel.

  75. TRACY MCGRADY

  Resume: 12 years, 7 quality, 7 All-Stars … top 5 (’02, ’03), top 10 (’01, ’04, ’07), Top-15 (’05,

  ’08) … 4-year peak: 28–8–5 … leader: scoring (2x) … ’03 season: 33–7–6 … Playoffs: 29–7–6, 43% FG (38 G) … never won a Playoffs

  A resume jarringly similar to Pete Maravich’s even if McGrady was significantly better defensively. Both were better known by nicknames (“T-Mac” and “Pistol”). Both carried lousy teams for much of their primes. Both were ridiculously gifted offensive players who had unusual weight with their peers, although McGrady was never discussed reverentially like Maravich was and is. Both suffered bad luck at pivotal points of their careers—Pistol not getting Doc as a teammate, T-Mac losing a hobbled Grant Hill
for his entire Orlando tenure. Both were traded in their primes, although Houston underpaid for T-Mac and New Orleans overpaid for Maravich. Both were original prototypes: T-Mac was the first six-foot-eight guard with three-point range (an Evolutionary Gervin crossed with a touch of Dr. J); Pistol was simply unlike any guard before or since. And honestly? Both of them were ten to twelve spots too high on this list until the last stages of this book-writing process, when McGrady tarnished his legacy so badly during the 2008–9

  season that I had to drop him seven spots. Originally I had projected the rest of his career and assumed he would enjoy two or three more quality seasons, even if the words “never won a Playoffs in his prime” stick out more egregiously than Jaye Davidson’s dick in The Crying Game.48 It was hard to imagine anyone ever taking his career that seriously if he never played in a second-round game, right? Then he murdered the ’09 Rockets so completely and totally that he prompted me to craft this one-paragraph drive-by shooting in a February column about the collapsing NBA economy (and I stand by the venom):

  Nobody loves basketball more than me. I mean, nobody. But when an NBA player with two years remaining on his contract for a total of $44 million shows up for the season out of shape, complains most of the year, lets down his teammates and fans again and again, lands in some trade rumors and decides, “Instead of getting traded to a team I don’t like, I’m going to announce that I’m getting microfracture surgery four days before the trade deadline and kill any potential trade, and even better, I’ll be healed by next spring, just in time to showcase myself for another contract,” and successfully pulls this off—with no repercussions from anybody—then yes, the system is broken and needs to be fixed. Because that was disgusting. Tracy McGrady, you are officially indefensible for the rest of eternity. Even your cousin Vince wouldn’t have done that. And that’s saying something.