Recently I've been reading, albeit at a snail's pace, FreeDarko's intriguing retrospective of NBA history, The Undisputed Guide to Pro Basketball History.
What this particular guide offers, to reference Shomik's gentlemanly assessment, is a "postmodern" discussion of various NBA players (please see my insufferable thread on facebook for more on the "postmodern"). More specifically, it approaches the history of professional basketball in much the same way that Peter Gay approaches the history of modernism in his excellent new book. Such an approach downplays linearity (without ignoring it altogether, mind, since there are a series of helpful timelines) in order to forefront certain phenomena pertinent to league dynamics, i.e. how was American cultural anxiety of the '70s reflected in the NBA during that particular epoch? It also contains some fantastic illustrations, including one of Charles Barkley that I would someday like to have matted and framed for my office. All in all, the Guide provides a highly refreshing analysis of sport as something beyond box scores, axiomatic philistinisms ("defense wins championships," "they need to get the running game going") and annoying twitter posts.
Two of the book's finest features are its incorporation of sidebars and attention to marginal figures such as Connie Hawkins, Fat Lever, and other fast-fading specters from yesteryear. It also seeks to downplay the mystique of disproportionately lauded demigods like Pete Maravich, highlighting instead Paul Westphal as a great forgotten hero (at least to my generation) of the 1970s. It is therefore through the dissection of misunderstood moments in league history, framed by an insightful cultural climatology, that the Guide offers its most fascinating commentary.
What I'd like to discuss here, though, now that the Heat are in the NBA Finals, is FD's analysis of Michael Jordan's transformation, in the late '80s / early '90s, from a prodigious and irreverent stat-machine into what I'd like to call the NBA's other logo. Since this decade's great superstar is LeBron James, I'd like to ponder the likelihood of our witnessing a similar transformation in the coming weeks.
We have all heard the argument that LeBron lacks that special "something" – the Jordan factor, as it were. I myself have made this argument. My question is whether such an argument will prove, sometime very soon, rather shortsighted. In the '86-'87 season, Jordan averaged 37.1 points per game. This is an astounding total, when one considers that Wilt Chamberlain's ludicrous average of 50 points per game (1961-1962) must be tempered with the knowledge that many teams only started to organize modern-style defenses towards the end of the '60s (Guide 65). Jordan averaged 35 ppg the following season ('87-'88), representing the only proximate competition. Yet, as the writers of FreeDarko are keen to point out, it was only when Jordan stopped scoring by the bushel and learned to embrace Scottie Pippen and those other guys that he emerged as the megalith we know and, possibly, love today (122).
Since LBJ took his talents to South Beach he has been all too eager to emphasize the teamwork angle, and no one can blame him on this account. The Heat have a very solid core of players, and this is probably enough to win numerous championships (barring injuries). As someone who wasn't a huge sports fan during the Jordan years, I leave it to others to draw comparisons between the Bulls of the '90s and the Heat of today. What I would like to call attention to, however briefly, are the comparable stylistic aspects of MJ and LeBron's games.
Bethlehem Shoals, who penned the section on Jordan in FreeDarko's Guide, emphasizes MJ's move towards jump shooting as the signature shift - the major stylistic change that underscored his transition to greatness. That fade-away, which, like Kareem's sky hook, has become something of a metonym for Michael Jordan, helped to re-craft not only his game, but his entire cultural persona as well.
In Shoals' words,
"The greatest dunker the world had ever seen, the man whose logo was himself midflight, competed in (and won) his last dunk contest in 1988. Then Jordan claimed he didn't want to be known as a dunker anymore and went so far as to compete in the three-point contest in 1990 to officially signal a shift in his game. No longer the madman who could level any arena with his dynamism, he was now a shooter" (122).
LeBron James' pull-up jumper is certainly formidable, but can we call him a shooter? I don't think we can just yet. He doesn't excel with the three-ball, doesn't like to play with his back to the basket, and obviously prefers to drive to the hoop or draw the foul over anything else. What I'm getting at here is that until LeBron starts becoming a shooter, he will continue to draw criticism as an athletic freak of nature. Elitism bears heavily on such an assessment. In this view, athleticism amounts to brutish, unenlightened play. A dunk is somewhat salacious, relatively obscene. It's onomatopoeic. Dunk. A jump shot, on the other hand, is the calling card of a great technician, an artist of the game. Its effect is sibilant. Swish. Regardless of their awesome spectacle, dunks seldom beat buzzers. Alternatively, jump shots implement geometry, dexterity, and a superior sense of timing. The body becomes a catapult. In late game situations, fans, at least, put their faith in great shooters. Because a shot is also a prayer.
When Jordan became a shooter, he invited mythos. The ball went to him whenever it could. The frozen image of a Jordan jump shot: you could call it high art. When LeBron starts playing with his back to the basket, draining midrange shots when his team most needs it, then we can begin to compare him with Jordan. The problem is, given his election to play with Wade, and to a lesser extent, Bosh, he may never get the chance to showcase such an ability. The subsequent question is, whether or not he actually cares to showcase such an ability. LeBron seems to like buddies, even as he constantly craves attention for himself. Camaraderie is his deal. He hugs Wade on the court, he choreographs mock photo shoots with teammates on the Cavs. You think Michael or Kobe would do that? No, because they're a particular kind of superstar - shooters. Their style is laconic, meticulous. They are technicians.
Perhaps the most confusing thing about LeBron is that he might be a point guard in a power forward's body. Maybe we shouldn't expect him to become a great shooter. Maybe when he chose the number 23 jersey in his early years he was succumbing to all the Jordan comparisons thrust upon him. Maybe it would be more accurate to compare him to, say, Magic Johnson, also a point guard in a power forward's body. But here, too, LeBron falls short. His creativity as a passer is simply not on that level.
What can be asked is whether or not he is reaching a turning point, now that the "Heatles" have reached the NBA Finals in their very first year playing together. Is LeBron poised for his own metamorphosis? Will the prophecy be fulfilled? Personally, I think it will have to wait at least another year, if only because the Dallas Mavericks will likely come out on top with their rare blend of defense (Chandler), shooting (Terry/Dirk), quickness (Barea), and experience (Kidd/Dirk/Marion). In any case, this should be a fine series for fans.
