duncan228
02-15-2010, 04:38 PM
Maybe the Dunk, Not Just the Dunk Contest, Is Losing Its Luster (http://sports.yahoo.com/nba/news?slug=tsn-maybethedunknotjustt&prov=tsn&type=lgns)
SportingNews
After Saturday’s awful historical reenactment of an early-’90s dunk contest (http://www.sportingnews.com/blog/The_Baseline/entry/view/55751/dunk_contest_sets_new_record_for_boredom), the Internet was set aflame with arguments for how to save the event. Should David Stern force LeBron to do it? Should they allow all manner of props, including live sharks and polar bears? Should it take place on the moon?
Maybe, though, the dunk contest’s woes don’t have anything to do with its specific format or participants, but rather with the underlying premise. What if the showboating dunk is no longer a compelling play in itself?
Now, before you send me to basketball Amish country with the people who want to raise the rim to 11 feet, let me explain. Aerial artists have become so talented that what was once incredible is now commonplace. When Isaiah Rider pulled off the through-the-legs "East Bay Funk Dunk (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bEhVqvi7V2w)" in 1994, the entire arena exploded, and Charles Barkley called it the best dunk he’d ever seen. On Saturday, DeMar DeRozan executed a more difficult version of the same dunk and received a score of 42. The problem isn’t that dunkers are worse—it’s that we’ve already seen most every kind of dunk that can be done. The only things left are a flip, or a windmill with each hand at the same time, or jumping through a ring of fire like the Suns’ Gorilla. We are jaded viewers.
This problem extends to real games, too, where breakaway jams are becoming more and more perfunctory. These days, a windmill is only slightly more exciting than an easy layup. What really excites fans these days is the defensive play or outlet pass that led to the basket.
That’s an important difference to note, because it’s indicative of a shift in the way basketball fans view the game. New stats and more comprehensive blog coverage have uncovered previously neglected aspects of the game like solid help defense, and fan viewing habits have followed suit. The crowd may not erupt with glee after a quality defensive rotation, but they pay greater attention to detail and are generally more willing to champion a less noticeable contribution in addition to the highlight-reel plays. A dunk is still nice, but it’s no longer the end-all be-all of on-court excitement. There are other kinds of plays just as worthy of our gaze.
However, there is one kind of dunk that still excites on the same level of dunks of old: dunking on someone. The excitement around Shannon Brown’s inclusion in the dunk contest arose from his several fantastic slams on bigger players this season, and his disappointing performance on Saturday shocked many. But the dunks that made Brown’s reputation have very little to do what happens in a dunk contest. In games, his throwdowns over and on defenders are about reorienting time and space to fit his needs. A contest dunk is about defying expectations of what can be done, but it also depends on near-limitless imagination from the dunker. To put it another way, in games, the dunking Brown is thrown into an ever-shrinking box with one small opening and told to crawl out of it. On Saturday, he had to define the dimensions of the box and throw every other competitor inside it. One task is fit for a human overcoming difficult obstacles—the other is about his transformation into godhood.
More often that not, it’s the latter that excites us on the court: Steve Nash creates an opening for a pass that didn’t exist before, Kobe Bryant hits a shot over three people, Dwyane Wade bullies his way to the foul line, etc. In these cases, players are given situations (i.e. restrictions) and told to do their best. Their creativity involves exploiting gaps that a regular player cannot see.
What we expect of our dunkers is far different and much less attainable. For a contest or open-court dunk to excite, there must be a continual push toward the horizon, constant innovation and progress. It’s a play without defining circumstances, dependent on nothing but the personal creativity and athleticism of the dunker. As more and more dunks are attempted and completed, it becomes increasingly difficult for anyone to truly shock us.
That’s ultimately the reason why so many people clamor for LeBron’s inclusion in the dunk contest. He’s the only player in today’s league who we can conceive of as capable of redefining what it means to dunk. We need a new god to reshape the play itself, not athletic mortals who can only offer adjustments on what has come before.
SportingNews
After Saturday’s awful historical reenactment of an early-’90s dunk contest (http://www.sportingnews.com/blog/The_Baseline/entry/view/55751/dunk_contest_sets_new_record_for_boredom), the Internet was set aflame with arguments for how to save the event. Should David Stern force LeBron to do it? Should they allow all manner of props, including live sharks and polar bears? Should it take place on the moon?
Maybe, though, the dunk contest’s woes don’t have anything to do with its specific format or participants, but rather with the underlying premise. What if the showboating dunk is no longer a compelling play in itself?
Now, before you send me to basketball Amish country with the people who want to raise the rim to 11 feet, let me explain. Aerial artists have become so talented that what was once incredible is now commonplace. When Isaiah Rider pulled off the through-the-legs "East Bay Funk Dunk (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bEhVqvi7V2w)" in 1994, the entire arena exploded, and Charles Barkley called it the best dunk he’d ever seen. On Saturday, DeMar DeRozan executed a more difficult version of the same dunk and received a score of 42. The problem isn’t that dunkers are worse—it’s that we’ve already seen most every kind of dunk that can be done. The only things left are a flip, or a windmill with each hand at the same time, or jumping through a ring of fire like the Suns’ Gorilla. We are jaded viewers.
This problem extends to real games, too, where breakaway jams are becoming more and more perfunctory. These days, a windmill is only slightly more exciting than an easy layup. What really excites fans these days is the defensive play or outlet pass that led to the basket.
That’s an important difference to note, because it’s indicative of a shift in the way basketball fans view the game. New stats and more comprehensive blog coverage have uncovered previously neglected aspects of the game like solid help defense, and fan viewing habits have followed suit. The crowd may not erupt with glee after a quality defensive rotation, but they pay greater attention to detail and are generally more willing to champion a less noticeable contribution in addition to the highlight-reel plays. A dunk is still nice, but it’s no longer the end-all be-all of on-court excitement. There are other kinds of plays just as worthy of our gaze.
However, there is one kind of dunk that still excites on the same level of dunks of old: dunking on someone. The excitement around Shannon Brown’s inclusion in the dunk contest arose from his several fantastic slams on bigger players this season, and his disappointing performance on Saturday shocked many. But the dunks that made Brown’s reputation have very little to do what happens in a dunk contest. In games, his throwdowns over and on defenders are about reorienting time and space to fit his needs. A contest dunk is about defying expectations of what can be done, but it also depends on near-limitless imagination from the dunker. To put it another way, in games, the dunking Brown is thrown into an ever-shrinking box with one small opening and told to crawl out of it. On Saturday, he had to define the dimensions of the box and throw every other competitor inside it. One task is fit for a human overcoming difficult obstacles—the other is about his transformation into godhood.
More often that not, it’s the latter that excites us on the court: Steve Nash creates an opening for a pass that didn’t exist before, Kobe Bryant hits a shot over three people, Dwyane Wade bullies his way to the foul line, etc. In these cases, players are given situations (i.e. restrictions) and told to do their best. Their creativity involves exploiting gaps that a regular player cannot see.
What we expect of our dunkers is far different and much less attainable. For a contest or open-court dunk to excite, there must be a continual push toward the horizon, constant innovation and progress. It’s a play without defining circumstances, dependent on nothing but the personal creativity and athleticism of the dunker. As more and more dunks are attempted and completed, it becomes increasingly difficult for anyone to truly shock us.
That’s ultimately the reason why so many people clamor for LeBron’s inclusion in the dunk contest. He’s the only player in today’s league who we can conceive of as capable of redefining what it means to dunk. We need a new god to reshape the play itself, not athletic mortals who can only offer adjustments on what has come before.