HSAC Blog

Growing up, I always had a special affinity for point guards.  They were the “floor generals,” or the quarterbacks of the basketball team, and were thus in the driver’s seat for every offensive possession.  I was somewhat indifferent to the other positions, as I knew for a fact that the point guard was the most important; but I did have a certain affection for small forwards as well.  How could I not?  These guys were generally the most versatile on the court: they could pass, shoot, dribble and rebound, and use their length and athleticism to play impressive defense (Scottie Pippen was one of the best one-on-one defenders in NBA history, and seemingly did everything else well too.  Tayshaun Prince and Ron Artest are more recent ones who fit this mold as well).  In other words, these guys were special, and knew how to fill up a stat sheet like no one else.  But what does this mean?  Were my assumptions as a child correct?  As long as your center could rebound and play good defense (think Dikembe Mutombo), and your shooting guard could hit an open jumper and 3 (think Reggie Miller), you should be in good shape, I reasoned, since it was the point guard controlling the offense anyway.  It’s not like you would be relying on the center or shooting guard to control the ball.  Was it right to examine a team from the point guard position up and weight the positions like so?  If you think it was, then you must have a different definition of success in basketball than I do.
 
I don’t think it is a coincidence that NBA champions have something in common and their losers do, too.  Instead of explicitly saying what that is, let’s look at some NBA finals history, going back to 1990, and see what we find.  In the 21st century thus far, the champions have been the Spurs (3), Lakers (3), Heat (1) and Pistons (1).  All three Spurs teams were led by Tim Duncan.  Tony Parker was helpful, but, much to the dismay of Parker fans, we simply cannot say he was the “man” of this team.  We probably could say that, without Parker, they might have won the championship anyway.  In fact, in 1999, a Parker-less Spurs marched through the postseason, going 15-2 and taking the title.  Their point guard was none other than Avery Johnson, a decent player but certainly unspectacular and not even clearly above the league average.  But back to the 21st century.  The other big winner was the Los Angeles Lakers, led by Shaquille O’Neal and Kobe Bryant.  Their point guard production came from Derek Fisher and Ron Harper, again, two competent players but guys who wouldn’t even start on at least 10 teams in the league today (or then).  The other winners were the Heat and the Pistons.  The Heat were led by Wade and O’Neal.  Their “quarterback” was Jason Williams, who has a career field goal percentage of just under 40% and, to say the least, is a little bit inconsistent.  The Pistons team was much different.  Their best player was probably Chauncey Billups, three-time NBA all-star, but their success was more attributable to the team as a whole than to him specifically.
 
What does the above tell us?  Of the eight championships, seven were won by either Tim Duncan, Shaquille O’Neal, Kobe Bryant, or Dwyane Wade.  What do they have in common?  They are all outstanding big men (defined specifically as an outstanding center, NOT an outstanding 6’9 player—more on this in a bit), or outstanding shooting guards.  In addition, did Duncan, Shaq, Kobe, or Wade have the luxury of playing with a truly great point guard?  No.  This probably is not a coincidence.  This is NOT to say that the better your point guard is, the worse chance you have of winning the championship—only that, when your best player is your point guard (in other words, isn’t your center or shooting guard), unless he truly is a different breed, you are probably in trouble.
 
But let’s look a little deeper.  I said we’d go back to 1990, so let’s do that: the 10 championships in this decade were won by the Bulls (6), Rockets (2), Spurs (1) Pistons (1).  We all know that the Bulls’ best player was a shooting guard, so let’s not waste much time discussing them.  The Bulls probably would have won eight straight if it weren’t for Jordan’s attempt to switch careers, but I thank him for that, because it adds to my bank of evidence: the two championships won in between the Bulls’ three-peats were due to the Rockets’ center, “Hakeem the Dream” Olajuwon.  His signature move was the “Dream Shake,” and he was one of the most dominant players to ever play the game.  There isn’t much to say about the Spurs, only to note, again, that their ring was due to Tim Duncan, and Tony Parker was NOT on this team.  This team did include David Robinson (also a center), but by now it was surely Duncan’s team, as Robinson’s minutes were falling and Duncan was making his way to stardom.  The first champion of this decade was the Detroit Pistons.  As they were in 2004, the 1990 Pistons team is a bit different from the other champions described above.  Their win was really a team effort here as well: they had five scorers in double-digits, with their fifth leading-scorer being Bill Laimbeer, a four-time NBA all-star.
 
To quickly recap: from 1990 to 2008, all of the champions, outside of the two Pistons teams, had one (or two) of the following guys on their team: Duncan, O’Neal, Wade, Bryant, Jordan or Olajuwon.  These are all shooting guards or 7’0 centers.  Is this a coincidence?  Also, aside from the 1990 Pistons team which was led by the great Isiah Thomas (this is not sarcasm—though he isn’t proving to be a great executive, he was a stud on the court), and the more recent Spurs team that had Tony Parker, the other 14 or so champion winners had the likes of Ron Harper or Avery Johnson at the helm.  The Pistons from 2004 didn’t even have a true point guard, as Billups was more of a scorer than a passer and Richard Hamilton certainly was not a ball-handler.  Let’s look at another position though, and the evidence here is just as startling.  Where does the power forward come into play?  Do any of these teams have an effective one?  Do any of these teams have one at all?  The Spurs’ PF last year was played by Francisco Elson, Fabricio Oberto, Robert Horry and Matt Bonner, and some of the other PFs on the other champions look like this: Udonis Haslem, Malik Rose, Robert Horry/Samaki Walker.  These are more hustle players than anything else.  Some of the champions actually had strong PFs, though: Dennis Rodman on the Bulls, Rasheed Wallace on the Pistons, Otis Thorpe on the Rockets.  However, these guys were certainly not the best on their team—the team was dominated by a SG or a C—and about half of the champions didn’t have a guy near this caliber.
 
The above shows that nearly all of the big winners from the 1990s to the 2000s had either an extremely dominant 2-guard or center.  Well, what did all of the big losers have?  Did they have something in common, too?  This question, I think, is even more fascinating than the “winners” one, and the results are just as interesting.  Instead of looking at teams, we should look at individual players.  Probably the most (in?)famous pair of players who have never won a championship are the teammates John Stockton and Karl Malone, two of the best players of all-time.  The previous sentence might not seem to make sense.  If you had never seen an NBA game before, and didn’t know who these guys were, your response to my sentence would probably be: “Wait, one team had TWO of the best players of all-time, yet never won a championship?  Not even 1 championship?  Something must be a mistake here.  Either a) these guys aren’t two of the best players of all-time, or b) one of their careers must have gotten cut short by injury and so prevented them from making several runs.”  The latter is easier for me to dispel than the former: suffice it to say that “Stockton to Malone” existed for 18 seasons, and they were two of the most durable players in history.  The second I can dispel as well, just with slightly more work: Stockton averaged a career double-double, has the most assists and steals of all-time, and played in 10 All-Star games.  Malone has the second most points in NBA history, won the MVP award two times, and, like Stockton, was named by the NBA as one of the 50 greatest players in NBA history.  So what, then, was the problem?
 
I’m still trying to figure it out myself, but I think this analogy may help: first, think of the card game War.  Let’s look at one simple hand.  We have two players, each with a portion of the deck of cards in his hand.  At the count of 3, each person flips over his top card.  Whoever has the higher card wins that round.  You flip over a card.  It is a King.  The Kings are the John Stocktons, Karl Malones, and Charles Barkleys of the world.  They are great, will beat most other cards (or players), and will take you far in the game (or into the postseason).  But they won’t take you the distance.  The Aces are the Michael Jordans and Tim Duncans of the world.  They beat the Kings.  They win the war (and the championship).  That, I think, is the best possible distinction I could make.  The great point guards, small forwards, and power forwards are great: they’ll help you win 53 regular season games and secure the 3rd seed and home court advantage in the first round—but you need the big-time shooting guard or center to go the distance.
 
The above sounds cut and dry, and it isn’t, so I don’t want to end on that note.  More research will not necessarily show more evidence in my favor, and it would be unfair not to mention the 1980s.  The 1980s, for example, were a time of great success for the Celtics (Larry Bird) and the Lakers (Magic Johnson).  Bird and Magic were not shooting guards or centers, so this could be used to oppose my argument.  While this is true, and I do accept this, it should be noted that Magic was playing with Kareem and Bird was playing with Parish, two big men who were certainly invaluable in the championship runs.  
 
Despite Magic and Bird, I do believe that it is the dominant center or shooting guard that pushes you over the top.  While a very good team, or a great small forward or point guard specifically, may get you to the 55-win mark, that generally is not enough to win the ring.  It’s hard to understand why it’s different: why the non-shooting guards and non-centers could influence outcomes of regular season games so much yet generally not win the big game (or series) for you.  Perhaps it’s because, in the postseason, the game slows down a bit and teams tend to rely more on their big man in the post in the half court offense.  Or maybe the games get closer and closer in the post season, and you need to have a shooting guard who is so dominant that he could demand ball in his hands and win the game for you (point guards can’t do this) in the final two minutes.  Whatever it is, I am afraid it exists, and am even more worried that 10 years from now, Jason Kidd, Steve Nash, Dirk Nowitzki, Chris Paul, Deron Williams and Carlos Boozer will join Stockton, Malone, Barkley, Elgin Baylor and Dominique Wilkins as some of the best players in history to have never won a ring.  And what do they have in common?  More specifically, what don’t they have in common?

I can be reached at jwrosenf@fas.harvard.edu
 

Jason is a sophomore living in Currier House. He is most interested in basketball, football and baseball, and has worked as an intern with the Houston Rockets. He is planning to major in Statistics.