Weakside Putback

Commenter Luc Longley posted an interesting counter-argument to the earlier post about the relative success of Greg Oden:

“usually I am struck dumb by the brilliance of the new enthusiast’s analysis, but in this case I have a couple of thoughts. The question isn’t just whether oden will grown into a slightly-above-average center, it’s whether the blazers were right to draft him ahead of durant, right? Excluding pre-1992 big men who aren’t “true” centers makes Oden look like a better pick than he is, because it doesn’t account for how the position has changed…

In the late 80s/early 90s, almost all the top big men were true centers: ewing, parrish, robinson (with “the dream” being a notable exception). shaq and zo aren’t anomalies as much as they are the last/best of a dying breed. In the late 1990s/early oughts, versatile F/C’s like nowitzki, duncan, camby, gasol, and esp. garnett started to face the basket and play outside and created very tough defensive match-ups for traditional centers. And then in 2001 zone defense was legalized, which spread the floor and made centers even less important on both ends. I’d argue “true” centers have slowly become obsolete.

So if oden is a back-to-the-basket post player whose utility is (arguably) limited in today’s NBA, why do you draft him #1 overall? You don’t, you take durant and build around him instead. The blazers front office has essentially bet that parrish would be a dominant center if he played today.

Which brings me to my main argument: oden and robert parrish are actually the same person. seriously, look at pictures of them side-by-side. pretty much open-and-shut…”

A lot of good points are raised in there that deserve some closer inspection. First, yes agreed, the analysis was sloppy and probably too cavalierly back-of-the-envelope. The point wasn’t to make a conclusive argument for or against Oden, just to give his performance to date a little–and I do mean little–context.

Second, at least half of The New Enthusiast campaigned in favor of the Blazers selecting Kevin Durant at the time, though blogs hadn’t been invented in 2007 so there’s no recorded evidence of this. But, while the Blazers can’t redo the pick, it’s still worth considering what Oden’s career might look like, even if Durant is and will likely always be the better player. Oden can still be a good pick even if he wasn’t the “right” pick.

Also, Robert Parish was really good. If Oden matches the Chief’s 10-year peak of around 18ppg/11rpg, the Blazers would probably consider his selection a success–especially if in Brandon Roy they have someone whose career approximates Durant’s.

The central presumption of Luc’s post–that “true centers” of the 80s/90s vintage are obsolete–is what I’m interested in. It seems anecdotally true. Garnett, Duncan, Nowitzki–the league is filled with versatile, face-up big men, with Hakeem probably serving as the hybrid link between these two eras. But there are still a number of back-to-the-basket goliaths who produce at a pretty high–and efficient–rate. Yao and Big Z come to mind. I doubt anyone would prefer them over the previously mentioned hybrid big guys, but I wonder if this is purely because the hybrids are better (which, ok yeah, those used in the above example admittedly are), or if there isn’t some amount of bias against them at play because they don’t fit the current NBA zeitgeist.

How did we arrive at this place where we consider a certain style of player better than another? Does it matter that a hypothetical  Kevin Garnett  gets his 20 and 10 facing the basket, while the hypothetical Yao gets his turned the other way? I bet there are some actual on-court differences–like, maybe KG’s high-post position spreads the defense for Ray Allen and Paul Pierce or something–that someone smarter than me could demonstrate. Maybe it’s that KG presents a match-up problem for Yao, but then why shouldn’t Yao also present a match-up problem for KG?

In baseball, positional requirements are pretty rigid. A catcher has to possess a necessary skillset in order to successfully field his position–a skillset so rare and important that it’s excusable if the catcher can’t really hit. Other positions have easier requirements, which means that players filling those slots have to offer something valuable above and beyond the basic skillset. This is why first basemen are so often hypertrophic home run hulks–since anyone else could field their position while they couldn’t field anyone else’s, they have to do something no one else can do, i.e. jack a lot of dongers.

In the NBA, positions are much more fluid. There is no one, best way to win, which is part of the ever-renewing drama of the game. Magic Johnson, Lebron James, Seven Seconds or Less–they’re all examples of the constant category-busting that takes place in the NBA. Still, that doesn’t prevent a conventional wisdom about archetypal players from calcifying. Take a look at this chart from upsideandmotor.com*:

This has been rightfully generating a lot of talk on the basketblogs. It’s fun and provocative and true in a way that’s only apparent to those who look closely enough to see the magic behind the numbers. But I think it also points out some of the difficulties in constructing a positional/skill taxonomy that does for basketball what Bill James’s defensive spectrum did for baseball. First off, the categories, while deeply funny and true like only deeply funny things can be (Megalomanical small guard!?!), are often too vague or too specific to be helpful. Also, it can be reduced to something of a tautology–is Chris Paul at the summit of the NBA because he’s in the class “Elite Point Guard,” or is “Elite Point Guard” at the summit of the hierarchy because of Chris Paul?

I think it also demonstrates a line of thought that lurks behind a lot of NBA analysis, a sort of deductive fallacy of converse accident that concludes a general truth based on specific and rare examples. I.e. there are no dominant back-to-the-basket big men because back-to-the-basket big men are obsolete. There are plenty of alternative reasons, though. Being 7’2″ and 300lbs while still having the dexterity to end up like this and not like this is exceedingly rare. So is being 6’10″ with the ability to run the court and knock down elbow-extended jumpers. The simultaneous presence of one and absence of the other may be nothing more than genetic happenstance. It could also be result of the faddish scouting and developing of talent that resembles Kevin Garnett, et al, due to a decade of prominence from such players. It also could simply be a result of rule changes that favor the slightly smaller, more athletic big men, though this strikes me as a little chicken-and-the-egg.

All of which is to say that, yes, Luc Longley is entirely correct in saying Kevin Durant is likely to be more valuable over his career than Greg Oden, and it’s not unthinkable that the Blazers will at some time regret their decision–though I don’t think that time is now. But it’s also possible that there is a True Postman on the horizon who will force us to re-examine our existing archetypes of success in the NBA. Maybe that will be Greg Oden, maybe not. I just don’t think we yet have a firm enough grasp on all the moving parts of success in the NBA to confidently say that any player’s success–or failure–is attributable to something outside of the player’s abilities themselves.

*The Enthusiast is totally and willfully ignorant about all matters having to do with etiquette, especially when it comes to the internet. So if it’s uncool to reporduce images from other sites, let us know.


Dock Ellis in the Country of Baseball

Central to this blog’s fascination with sports–and I’d guess this is true of most ardent sports fans–is the question, “What is it like?” As we’ve mentioned here before, athletes at the pinnacle of exertion attain a level of conspicuous grace that we mere onlookers, in our humble, daily trials, can never truly access. We’re desperate for anything that can make this sort of unfathomable genius discernible to us. Or as David Foster Wallace put it, we’re trying to “get intimate with all that profundity.”

Our inability to understand is matched by the athlete’s inability to explain. Wallace dissects this disconnect in his essay, “How Tracy Austin Broke My Heart.” He suggests that the banal, unenlightening postgame clichés an athlete offers up aren’t evidence of his or her lack of intelligence, but instead are real and deeply true and essential to the athlete’s success in ways we can’t grasp. I think this is echoed by the A.A. members in “Infinite Jest.” For recovering addicts, like top-flight athletes, success is only possible by abandoning oneself and trusting in the mercy of some higher power. “One day/pitch/serve/foul shot/putt at a time,” then, takes on a terrifying, mind-clearing urgency. 

Dock Ellis, former Major Leaguer and recovering addict, died yesterday. He wore curlers in his hair, and once set out to bean every batter in the Cincinnati Reds lineup. He was maced by a stadium security guard who didn’t believe he was who he said he was, and spent his post-baseball years as a drug and alcohol counselor in Los Angeles. He was a man of his time, especially because he and his time didn’t often see eye to eye*. He also threw a no-hitter while tripping on LSD.

Still high from the night before, Ellis woke up the morning of June 12, 1970, in his girlfriend’s Los Angeles apartment. Believing he had the day off, Ellis dropped acid again before one of his companions pointed out that the newspaper listed him as the starting pitcher in game one of that day’s doubleheader. In San Diego.  The no-hitter wasn’t of the Kerry Wood, untouchably dominant sort. Understandably, Dock had trouble locating the strike zone, walking eight batters and–naturally–hitting one. But, c’mon, give him a break. He was really, really high.

This is a great story, great for so many reasons. But one reason, for me, is because it both emphasizes and explodes the divide between athlete and spectator. Asking Ellis what was going through his mind that day would have been absurd, and absurd not in the existentially tragic, Sisyphean way, but absurd in a way that was funny and potentially revealing. What could his response possibly have been? “I don’t know, freaking Yodas and shit?”

Or maybe something more like, “I noticed that there was a hole in a corner of the sky, and through it I had a complete view of the universe and the secrets it contained, and I watched as these secrets leaked through the hole like liquid, and I was filled with the knowledge that we, every one of us, are bathed by this liquid, today and forever.”

And everyone in attendance would have understood him, for once, because that day at Jack Murphy Stadium they had seen the same thing, too.

*For more on Dock’s struggle with race, drugs, and baseball, check out this book, which is also the source of this post’s title.


Read This Blog, Greg Oden

A few things to note from last night’s frenzied, shirtless eruption at the Rose Garden.

One, Brandon Roy is really good. The Enthusiast will probably take some time to construct this argument in a more convincing, statistically-grounded way in the near future, but I think for right not we can all agree that his swagger is prima facie beyond phenomenal, and also that he should probably be currently higher than 9th in All Star voting for Western Conference guards.

Second, what’s up with Steve Nash’s foul line routine? This is from a different game, but like all really, really good free throw shooters, Nash repeats the routine every time he steps to the line. Observe:

After the first attempt, he steps back from the line and hands-out the high-fives*. Then he steps back to the line. All the other players are in place and ready for the next shot. The ref, who appears to be this guy, stands under the basket holding the ball. Next, Nash pantomimes two free throws. Only then does the ref signal the players to get set, give Nash the ball, and step out of the way.

Here’s the thing. Check out the NBA rulebook’s entry on foul shooting:

“A free throw is the privilege given a player to score one point by an unhindered attempt for the goal from a position directly behind the free throw line.This attempt must be made within 10 seconds.”

According to the time-code on that video, Nash–and everyone else–seems to be in the ready-set position for the foul shot at the :06 mark. He takes the shot at the :16. Or, by my count, approximately 10 seconds. It seems like the ref decides to just chill out for a hot second and blithely watch Nash practice his follow through a couple times before, you know, doing what the rules instruct him to do. Shouldn’t those 8 seconds be counted against Nash? It seems like the point of having the 10-second limit is to force the shooter to hurry up and shoot. So why does the ref wait until Nash is ready before starting the countdown?

Third and last, Greg Oden. As predicted by the TNT studio dudes, Shaq seemed to make an extra special point of bullying him in the post and, other than a few sweet dunks in the beginning and a couple of offensive rebounds at the end, Oden mostly watched this one from the bench.

Eventually, the announcing crew got around to debating Oden’s rookie season thus far vs. the expectations surrounding him when he was drafted first overall in 2007. In their estimation Oden sometimes gives off the impression of being too sensitive, psychically fragile even. An anecdote about Oden getting over-the-phone hugz from his old AAU coach didn’t help. Reggie Miller hinted that Oden lacked the killer instinct that he (Reggie) possessed, and that he (back to Greg, now) should stop reading blogs analyzing his performance.

To which I would say, “Have we learned nothing from the trailers for ‘Yes Man’ starring Jim Carrey? You can’t hide from life–you have to attack it head on and go scootering with Zooey Deschanel!” Also, I would say that some blogs analyzing his performance <ahem> might actually offer him some good news and encouragement. Like, thusly.

The case so far: Twenty-one games into what is essentially his rookie season, Oden is posting a line of roughly 8 points and 8 rebounds a game along with 1.4 blocks. He’s shooting .522 from the floor, .640 from the line in just over 22 minutes a game. Solid, but not spectacular. To give this a little context, I compared Greg’s statline with the rookie years of some other heralded centers. To simplify the process, I defined heralded as one of the top 3 draft picks and excluded centers drafted before 1992, the year Shaq and Zo were taken 1, 2, because I was only 11 and not really paying attention before then. For further ease of comparison, I focused only on what I consider true centers–so no Tim Duncan, Kenyon Martin, etc.

By my count, that produces 11 rough comps for Oden: Andrew Bogut in 05, Dwight Howard and Emeka Okafor in 04, Yao in 02, Kwame Brown and Tyson Chandler in 01, Olowokandi in 98, Camby in 96, Bradley in 93, and Shaw and Zo in 92. Here are there splits in their rookie years, along with their age during that season.

Bogut (21): 9.4  7.0  0.8  .533  .629  28.6

Howard (19): 12.0  10.0  1.7  .520  .671  32.6

Okafor (22): 15.1  10.9  1.7  .447  .609  35.6

Yao (22): 13.5  8.2  1.8  .498  .811  29.1

Brown (19): 4.5  3.5  .5  .387  .707  14.4

Chandler (19): 6.1  4.8  1.3  .497  .604  19.6

Olowokandi (23): 8.9  7.9  1.2 .431  .483    28.4

Camby (22):  14.8  6.3  2.1  .482  .693   30.1

Bradley (21):  10.3  6.2  3.0  .409  .607  28.3

Shaq (20):  23.4  13.9  .562  .592  3.5  37.9 

Zo (22):  21.0  10.3  .511  .781  3.5  33.9  

A couple of things to notice before bringing Oden into the mix. Shaq and Zo are pretty clearly heads and shoulders above this group, and Shaq is even significantly ahead of Zo. They are super-duper franchise mecha-centers, each once-in-a-generation Monstars who somehow came out in the same draft. Brown, Bradley, and Olowokandi are on the other end of the spectrum. Bradley’s shotblocking made him more of a serviceable backup than an outright bust, but one thing these stiffs all had in common right from the start was inexcusably low FG% for an NBA big man.

Of the remaining six, Yao and Howard developed into dominant forces on both ends of the floor, and though Oden could reach that level, it’s hard to predict that kind of leap. The others settled into valuable defense and rebounding post presences. Of this group, Camby has been the most succesful, with Bogut slightly above average for the position. 

How does Oden compare? One area he is lagging behind in is playing time. Other than Chandler, Oden is on the court for significantly less time than comparable players were their rookie seasons. Considering that he is coming off knee-surgery and that his back-up is one of the best in the league, this isn’t all that surprising. But, let’s say he was logging something more like 30 mpg. His line would look something like 11, 11, and 2. This would put him squarely in the middle of the Camby-Bogut range, and closer to the Camby end due to his shot blocking. 

Now obviously this is a highly unscientific approach to evaluating Greg Oden’s career to date. My calculations are not actually, you know, precise. Also, Oden might be most comparable to big men I excluded from the list because they were unheralded in the way I defined it, like Andrew Bynum or Chris Kaman. Additionally, though Oden and Camby could end up having statistically similar careers, they would accumulate the stats in totally different ways: Oden is a back-to-the-basket post player, Camby is a weak-side vulture and face-up shooter.

Still, Reggie Miller’s courtside psychoanalysis notwithstanding, in the first twenty one games of his career, Greg Oden production suggests that a career of something like 15/12/2 is easily within reach. Or, essentially, a more defensive-minded, equally rickety-looking Moses Malone. And that ain’t bad.

*I love this.


Coach Class

Reggie Theus is no longer the handsomest man in the NBA.

Don’t worry–he’s still handsome. But he joins Mo Cheeks, P.J. Carlesimo, Eddie Jordan, Sam Mitchell, and Randy Wittman as coaches who find themselves teamless one third of the way into the NBA season. That’s six coaching changes so far, after eight last year.

Former coach/mythic imp Jeff Van Gundy drops some insights on the matter in this NYT article. As JVG points out, underperforming teams are quick to replace coaches, but are much less* likely to do the same for players or general managers. Theus was let go after only 1 1/2 seasons, 2/3 of which were spent squeezing a surprising 38 wins out of a 2007 Kings team that saw Orien Green battling Quincy Douby for serious minutes.  Which is to say, ie., not bad coaching. Plus, ok fine yeah the Kings are pretty much not what anyone would consider good this season thus far, but they are missing their two best players from last year–Kevin Martin (injured) and Ron Artest (crazed). So, it’s not like there’s indisputable visual evidence that Reggie Theus is a bad coach.

*Much less?

The unemployed coaches seem to fall into two categories: those whose teams are performing just as bad as last year, and those whose teams are performing worse than last year. Theus is in the second category, as are Jordan, Mitchell, and Cheeks. Carlesimo and Wittman are in the first. Let’s take a look at that one first.

Carlesimo’s Oklahoma City Thunder, née Sonics, are historically inept. Wittman’s Timberwolves aren’t much better. The then SuperSonics finished the 2007-08 season with the second worst record in the league, and then in a totally amicable and orderly way moved to a place rich with basketball tradition. The Wolves managed to outpace the Sonics by two wins, placing them third to last in the league. On the bright side, the greatest player in each franchise’s history did win a championship last year.

Point being, both teams are the suck. Unlike college hoops, pro coaches can’t recruit, and pretty much have to make do with whatever ragtag assemblage of misfits and castoffs the front office supplies them with. And, if that same front office is going to decide things like job tenure based on how many wins a coach produces, then the coaches of OKC and Minnesota probably shouldn’t worry about whether their unused vacation days accrue to next year.

Now think about that  second group of teams–ones that are performing significantly worse than last year. Washington, Philadelphia, and Toronto were all playoff teams in 07-08, but all finished the season with essentially .500 records.  In firing their coaches, the management of these teams is presuming that last year’s records were a true indication of their teams’ ability, and that they are currently underperforming this standard.  

Research of previous years’ records shows that the Wizards have been mostly better than .500 since 04-05, and that this year’s trouble, like that of  the Kings, may be partly attributable to a difference in personnel–though, unlike the Kings, the injured player and the crazed player are the same guy.

The Sixers and Raptors, though, have mostly been well beneath .500. The Raptors, in particular, finished with a .327 winning percentage as recently as 05-06, though they followed that with 47 wins the next year, earning a division title and Coach of the Year award for Sam Mitchell, who they just fired. Which seems so implausibly contradictory, we should all be thankful our government isn’t run that way.

So maybe these teams aren’t underperforming, they’re just regressing to the mean after a season of overperformance. In which case I might argue that, if one is to blame a coach for a team’s theoretical underperformance, one would also then have to credit that same coach for that team’s theoretical overperformance.

But wait! One might then say, “Teams that have midseason coaching changes are known to experience an at the very least modest improvement in winning percentage! See–the Wiz started out 1-10, but once they replaced Eddie Jordan, they roared to 4-18!” Well, that might be true, but consider this–if the Wiz are truly a .500 team, then, just like a flipped coin, it’s not unreasonable that they will have extended winning and losing streaks. Once they play enough games, their actual record will tend to converge with their predicted one–and also since coaching changes tend to be precipitated by losing streaks of unusual length, it’s statistically probable that the Wiz would have won at a better rate for the remainder of the season with or without Eddie Jordan.

So if changing coaches is unlikely to have a significant result on winning, the question arises whether coaches have any affect at all on winning. This Slate article does a nice job rounding up a lot of the current research and addressing the difficulties of answering that question. Is Phil Jackson a great coach, or just lucky to have coached MJ, Shaq, and Kobe? Does Larry Brown’s peripatetic guru shtick actually turn a team’s fortunes around, or does he just get conveniently “restless” before suffering any long-term failure? Among professional sports leagues, NBA coaches have the least in-game decision-making to do–other than substitution patterns, there aren’t many things they have direct influence over. And yet they are the primary escapegoat for any failure.

Which is probably to a large degree exactly what their job is. Here’s a thought: professional sports are predicated on a tacit promise between owners and fans, a promise that business interests will not be pursued to the detriment of winning. On the shadowy southwest corner of the intersection between sports and business is the ever lurksome threat that this promise is just an illusion. Sometimes winning is too expensive, and sometimes losing doesn’t hurt the bottom line. Most fans understand this bargain, and are only really offended by the most egregious breaches of their trust. In return for this understanding, owners must perform ritual upkeep of the illusion–like, for instance, if a team is really in the dumper, somebody’s got to walk the plank, if only to show you care.  It’s not going to be the players–they’re way too valuable commodities, and anyway their contracts are guaranteed by the Collective Bargaining Agreement. It usually can’t be the front office–they aren’t publicly recognizable enough for their dismissal to satisfy the fanbase. So, it’s left to the coaches. Paid a lot for a job of debatable importance, they’re the obvious, expendable option when looking for a public sacrifice.

Which isn’t to say that no coaches provide real value to their teams, nor that most of them aren’t devoted in good faith to improving their teams. Nor is it to suggest that, since they are bred to be sacrificed, we shouldn’t mourn their passing. Like, for instance, the honorable, the brave, the sweet Mo Cheeks:


Good, Better, Rudy

While the Blazers’ last-second loss to Orlando last week was certainly heart-breaking, it did feature a moment I’d forgotten to celebrate at the time but would like to now. If you were watching, you probably know what I’m talking about, but if you weren’t then the thing you should know is that Rudy Fernandez, who we’ve maybe discussed briefly on this website, scored a 6-point basket.

I know what you’re probably saying is, “That’s not actually a thing that can happen in an NBA game” and you’re right in one sense: before last week’s game it had never happened. It’s just, in this one case, the referees decided that, on account of the amount of excellence Rudy demonstrated on this one particular shot, that it kinda deserved more points.

If you don’t believe me, look, here’s Fernandez celebrating his accomplishment:

QED, is all I’m sayin.

Moreover, I should add that, while this was unprecedented in an NBA game, it actually wasn’t the first time that Fernandez had been credited with a 6-point basket. Anyone who watched this summer’s Men’s Basketball Olympic Final between the USA and Spain will remember a similar occurrence and a similar (if slightly more frightening) reaction from Fernandez (pictured below).

Note that a similar gesture from Toronto Point Guard Jose Calderon (pictured below)

is not a celebration for the coveted 6-point basket (duh, he’s never scored one), but, in fact, just his way of preparing to make the still important, but slightly less coveted Junior Birdman face (pictured below).


Fame is a Tough Baby

Unless you have no access whatsoever to any kind of media and/or communication, including Pony Express and smoke signals, then you probably already know that The New Enthusiast was shouted out to a couple of days ago by a world famous basketballing nerdbone ubersite. It was bound to happen sooner or later; it just seems like sooner made more sense to the world. Fine with me.

First off, in re our fame, I want to thank Kevin Pelton of Basketball Prospectus for it (ie the fame). Without it, I couldn’t do all of the great things I’m about to do with it (ie, once again, the fame).

Second off, I want to say hello to all my babies’ mamas. (Actually, not really. It’s just, I’ve never really found a context to say that and thought maybe this was it. Turns out, it’s not.)

Third off, I’d like to inform the reader of how I, personally, will use my new-found celebrity in a short piece I’ve decided to call:

HOW CARSON CISTULLI WILL USE HIS NEW-FOUND CELEBRITY

I, Carson Cistulli, will use my new-found celebrity…

  • To release an album I’ve been working on called Cos’ ‘N Effect, which is a whole bunch of clips from this Best of Bill Cosby CD I own sampled over what I like to refer to as “fat beats.”
  • To donate my body to science. Not after I die or anything like that; I mean right now. Oh, and the sort of science I want to donate it to? Reproductive science. Aw yeah, you fill in the blanks.
  • To back a candidate about whom I have no opinion other than “he’s my kind of guy.”
  • To learn about a foreign culture by traveling to it and staying in its most expensive hotels.

And finally, the last way in which I will use my new-found celebrity:

  • To start the sexiest, smartest weblog on the internet. (Oh, I forgot: already did that!)

Um, that’s it, except for today’s trivia question: Can you guess which dirty, disgusting writer is responsible for the quote that is the subject of this post? 100 million dollars to the person who gets it.


La storia dell’arte

Though I’m not exactly what you’d call an art scholar, I know enough about it (i.e. art) to know that one of the interesting things about Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus (below) is the improbable angle at which Venus herself seems to be standing.

It’s my understanding that her posture here – not falling, but rather, seeming to hover with all of her weight to one side – is one peculiar to deities, who are not subject to the physical limitations of the mortals.

Which is why I wasn’t surprised at all to see this photo in my daily paper yestermorning:

rudy

You fill in the blanks, people.


Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.