H1Man
03-01-2006, 05:42 PM
Thomas, Dumars going different ways ... again
If you're going to build a basketball team in your own image, you better know who you are.
Are you a narcissist who displays "a pattern of traits and behaviors which signify infatuation and obsession with one's self to the exclusion of all others?" Or, are you an altruist, willing to sublimate personal desire for the greater good of the whole?
Were you a superstar at age 13, for whom the game always came quite easily? Or were you a long-underrated grinder who had to work hard for everything you earned? And, perhaps most important, which of these two players do you want on your team when you need a stop with the shot clock winding down in a tight playoff series?
Are you Isiah Thomas, or are you Joe Dumars?
While they once played side by side, Dumars and Thomas now reside at opposite ends of the NBA — the penthouse and the outhouse. And they have each arrived at their respective places by assembling rosters that are largely reflective of their own personal histories.
Thomas was practically born a star, a gifted natural in hoop-crazy Chicago whose road from middle school phenom to a high school powerhouse to big-time college program to NBA Hall of Fame hit nary a speed bump. Dumars played high school basketball at a small-town football school in Natchitoches, La., before enrolling at McNeese State. When Dumars was drafted by the Pistons, it was to back up Thomas, whom he had listed as his favorite player in the McNeese State media guide. Thomas was always, unquestionably "The Man." Dumars was so often referred to as "underrated" as a pro that he took to asking reporters, "How do you get rated?"
Along these different paths, you learn to admire different qualities.
For our purposes, a basketball narcissist would be a me-first player capable of demoralizing his teammates with selfish tendencies on offense and indifferent defense, like, say, Stephon Marbury, Jamal Crawford or Steve Francis.
Though Thomas was a more effective distributor than this three-headed monster he's brought together in New York, it should be remembered that he averaged 16.2 shots per game for his career, which is more than Francis (15.4) and almost as many as Marbury (16.9). Since getting regular minutes beginning in 2003-04 with the Bulls, Crawford has averaged 14.9 shots per game. By comparison to the Knicks' trigger-happy trio, team-first point guard John Stockton averaged just 9.1 shots for his career.
Like Thomas before them, Marbury, Crawford and Francis were stars seemingly upon picking up a basketball.
By middle school, Thomas was already becoming a Chicago hoop legend and he was recruited by hoop power St. Joseph's, where he led the school to a 73-15 record over four years. Drooled over by every major college program, he chose Indiana and led the Hoosiers to the national title in 1981 before bolting to the NBA after his sophomore year as the second overall pick.
Marbury, too, was a star before high school, earning dropped-jaw praise as a 13-year-old in the book The Last Shot. After leading Coney Island's Lincoln High to city and state championships, Marbury swung through Georgia Tech for one year before fulfilling his birthright and signing an NBA contract after being selected fourth overall.
Francis didn't have the stellar high school career that Thomas or Marbury enjoyed. Multiple matriculations from school to school and the death of his mother his senior year contributed to Francis starting only one game in high school. But his individual talent was undeniable and he quickly made up for lost time, dominating at two junior colleges before spending one year at Maryland and then going pro. After being drafted second overall, he shared NBA Rookie of the Year honors with Elton Brand in 2000.
Crawford was a prep star, twice named Washington State Player of the Year, who wanted to turn pro right out of high school. He played only 17 games as a freshman at Michigan, missing 12 due to an NCAA suspension for declaring his intention to enter the NBA draft out of high school, though his letter of declaration to the NBA arrived a day late. After that one abbreviated season in the Big Ten, Crawford was drafted eighth overall by the Bulls.
But in constructing the Knicks in his own image, Thomas hasn't limited himself to perimeter prima donnas of whom nothing difficult — like defense — has ever been asked. He also brought in fellow Chicago schoolboy legend Eddy Curry who was drafted right out of high school by the Bulls with the fourth overall pick in 2001. After dominating high schoolers with his mass, Curry — listed at 6-foot-11, 285 — saw his rebound-per-minute totals decline in each of his first four years in the pros. He's kicked it back up a notch this year, but at 6.3 rebounds a game, he's not going to make Knicks fans forget Willis Reed any time soon.
When you've been coddled with the star treatment ever since the onset of adolescence, it's very hard to develop the qualities that make NBA champions. No one should underestimate the importance of Michael Jordan being cut from his high school team or Bill Russell being offered only one scholarship in forging the greatest competitive spirits in the history of the NBA.
If there were one guiding principal for an NBA general manager to tack up on his wall, it should be: Beware the player for whom it has all come too easily.
Dumars has learned this lesson because he lived it. A prolific scorer at his small college, he made himself into an All-NBA defender. While Isiah was getting most of the ink during those back-to-back championship seasons, Dumars was learning that lots of guys could fill it up — especially if they dominated the ball — but that guys who relished rebounding and defense — and playing without the ball — were harder to find.
And so Dumars has built a championship team in Detroit, assembling a group of players whose gifts were often overlooked or unappreciated by others.
He acquired the unloved and undrafted Ben Wallace from Orlando in the Grant Hill deal and made him the anchor of his defense.
He traded the overrated Jerry Stackhouse, who piled up numbers by dominating the ball, for the underrated Richard Hamilton, who became an All-Star by playing brilliantly without the ball.
After four teams had given up on Chauncey Billups, Dumars gave him the reins and watched one of the most remarkable transformations in NBA history. Perhaps Dumars, himself a "tweener" — undersized at shooting guard, yet not really a point guard despite being an excellent passer — empathized with Billups, who has emerged as an MVP candidate this season.
Dumars drafted Tayshaun Prince with the 23rd pick in 2002. To others, he was too skinny, too ungainly and had no real position. To Dumars, he was the kind of guy a right-handed shooter would have nightmares about, a long, 6-foot-9 lefty who could move his feet.
And then Dumars brought in the final piece of the puzzle: the volatile Rasheed Wallace. While many viewed it as a risk and a potentially combustible addition to a stable mix, Dumars took comfort in two things: 1) Rasheed came cheap and 2) through all the technicals, pouting and fits of persecution, the 6-foot-11 forward/center had remained a solid defender.
Having spent his entire career checking Jordan, Dumars appreciates hard-nosed defense above all else. He has built a team in his own image, and it's a good image.
In his outstanding book, The Rivalry: Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain and the Golden Age of Basketball, John Taylor chronicles the difference in the college courtships of Russell and Chamberlain and how it informed their careers.
Everyone wanted Chamberlain, a star at Overbrook High in Philadelphia, and he knew he'd be bestowing a great gift on the college he chose (Kansas). This came to be how Wilt viewed his every moment, a great gift to those lucky enough to share it.
Russell, contrarily, felt deeply indebted to the University of San Francisco and coach Phil Woolpert, repaying them with back-to-back national titles in 1955 and 1956. He never felt entitled to anything on the court; every rebound, every blocked shot, every ounce of respect had to be earned, night in, night out.
Chamberlain and Russell were the original basketball narcissist and altruist.
It's not Isiah's fault that he was idolized too much too young. Nor was it Joe Dumars' fault that he was rebuffed by Louisiana State University.
But if you want to know why one of these guys is going to preside over a 60-loss season while the other is winning another championship, it's all right there in their bios.
http://msn.foxsports.com/nba/story/5358968
If you're going to build a basketball team in your own image, you better know who you are.
Are you a narcissist who displays "a pattern of traits and behaviors which signify infatuation and obsession with one's self to the exclusion of all others?" Or, are you an altruist, willing to sublimate personal desire for the greater good of the whole?
Were you a superstar at age 13, for whom the game always came quite easily? Or were you a long-underrated grinder who had to work hard for everything you earned? And, perhaps most important, which of these two players do you want on your team when you need a stop with the shot clock winding down in a tight playoff series?
Are you Isiah Thomas, or are you Joe Dumars?
While they once played side by side, Dumars and Thomas now reside at opposite ends of the NBA — the penthouse and the outhouse. And they have each arrived at their respective places by assembling rosters that are largely reflective of their own personal histories.
Thomas was practically born a star, a gifted natural in hoop-crazy Chicago whose road from middle school phenom to a high school powerhouse to big-time college program to NBA Hall of Fame hit nary a speed bump. Dumars played high school basketball at a small-town football school in Natchitoches, La., before enrolling at McNeese State. When Dumars was drafted by the Pistons, it was to back up Thomas, whom he had listed as his favorite player in the McNeese State media guide. Thomas was always, unquestionably "The Man." Dumars was so often referred to as "underrated" as a pro that he took to asking reporters, "How do you get rated?"
Along these different paths, you learn to admire different qualities.
For our purposes, a basketball narcissist would be a me-first player capable of demoralizing his teammates with selfish tendencies on offense and indifferent defense, like, say, Stephon Marbury, Jamal Crawford or Steve Francis.
Though Thomas was a more effective distributor than this three-headed monster he's brought together in New York, it should be remembered that he averaged 16.2 shots per game for his career, which is more than Francis (15.4) and almost as many as Marbury (16.9). Since getting regular minutes beginning in 2003-04 with the Bulls, Crawford has averaged 14.9 shots per game. By comparison to the Knicks' trigger-happy trio, team-first point guard John Stockton averaged just 9.1 shots for his career.
Like Thomas before them, Marbury, Crawford and Francis were stars seemingly upon picking up a basketball.
By middle school, Thomas was already becoming a Chicago hoop legend and he was recruited by hoop power St. Joseph's, where he led the school to a 73-15 record over four years. Drooled over by every major college program, he chose Indiana and led the Hoosiers to the national title in 1981 before bolting to the NBA after his sophomore year as the second overall pick.
Marbury, too, was a star before high school, earning dropped-jaw praise as a 13-year-old in the book The Last Shot. After leading Coney Island's Lincoln High to city and state championships, Marbury swung through Georgia Tech for one year before fulfilling his birthright and signing an NBA contract after being selected fourth overall.
Francis didn't have the stellar high school career that Thomas or Marbury enjoyed. Multiple matriculations from school to school and the death of his mother his senior year contributed to Francis starting only one game in high school. But his individual talent was undeniable and he quickly made up for lost time, dominating at two junior colleges before spending one year at Maryland and then going pro. After being drafted second overall, he shared NBA Rookie of the Year honors with Elton Brand in 2000.
Crawford was a prep star, twice named Washington State Player of the Year, who wanted to turn pro right out of high school. He played only 17 games as a freshman at Michigan, missing 12 due to an NCAA suspension for declaring his intention to enter the NBA draft out of high school, though his letter of declaration to the NBA arrived a day late. After that one abbreviated season in the Big Ten, Crawford was drafted eighth overall by the Bulls.
But in constructing the Knicks in his own image, Thomas hasn't limited himself to perimeter prima donnas of whom nothing difficult — like defense — has ever been asked. He also brought in fellow Chicago schoolboy legend Eddy Curry who was drafted right out of high school by the Bulls with the fourth overall pick in 2001. After dominating high schoolers with his mass, Curry — listed at 6-foot-11, 285 — saw his rebound-per-minute totals decline in each of his first four years in the pros. He's kicked it back up a notch this year, but at 6.3 rebounds a game, he's not going to make Knicks fans forget Willis Reed any time soon.
When you've been coddled with the star treatment ever since the onset of adolescence, it's very hard to develop the qualities that make NBA champions. No one should underestimate the importance of Michael Jordan being cut from his high school team or Bill Russell being offered only one scholarship in forging the greatest competitive spirits in the history of the NBA.
If there were one guiding principal for an NBA general manager to tack up on his wall, it should be: Beware the player for whom it has all come too easily.
Dumars has learned this lesson because he lived it. A prolific scorer at his small college, he made himself into an All-NBA defender. While Isiah was getting most of the ink during those back-to-back championship seasons, Dumars was learning that lots of guys could fill it up — especially if they dominated the ball — but that guys who relished rebounding and defense — and playing without the ball — were harder to find.
And so Dumars has built a championship team in Detroit, assembling a group of players whose gifts were often overlooked or unappreciated by others.
He acquired the unloved and undrafted Ben Wallace from Orlando in the Grant Hill deal and made him the anchor of his defense.
He traded the overrated Jerry Stackhouse, who piled up numbers by dominating the ball, for the underrated Richard Hamilton, who became an All-Star by playing brilliantly without the ball.
After four teams had given up on Chauncey Billups, Dumars gave him the reins and watched one of the most remarkable transformations in NBA history. Perhaps Dumars, himself a "tweener" — undersized at shooting guard, yet not really a point guard despite being an excellent passer — empathized with Billups, who has emerged as an MVP candidate this season.
Dumars drafted Tayshaun Prince with the 23rd pick in 2002. To others, he was too skinny, too ungainly and had no real position. To Dumars, he was the kind of guy a right-handed shooter would have nightmares about, a long, 6-foot-9 lefty who could move his feet.
And then Dumars brought in the final piece of the puzzle: the volatile Rasheed Wallace. While many viewed it as a risk and a potentially combustible addition to a stable mix, Dumars took comfort in two things: 1) Rasheed came cheap and 2) through all the technicals, pouting and fits of persecution, the 6-foot-11 forward/center had remained a solid defender.
Having spent his entire career checking Jordan, Dumars appreciates hard-nosed defense above all else. He has built a team in his own image, and it's a good image.
In his outstanding book, The Rivalry: Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain and the Golden Age of Basketball, John Taylor chronicles the difference in the college courtships of Russell and Chamberlain and how it informed their careers.
Everyone wanted Chamberlain, a star at Overbrook High in Philadelphia, and he knew he'd be bestowing a great gift on the college he chose (Kansas). This came to be how Wilt viewed his every moment, a great gift to those lucky enough to share it.
Russell, contrarily, felt deeply indebted to the University of San Francisco and coach Phil Woolpert, repaying them with back-to-back national titles in 1955 and 1956. He never felt entitled to anything on the court; every rebound, every blocked shot, every ounce of respect had to be earned, night in, night out.
Chamberlain and Russell were the original basketball narcissist and altruist.
It's not Isiah's fault that he was idolized too much too young. Nor was it Joe Dumars' fault that he was rebuffed by Louisiana State University.
But if you want to know why one of these guys is going to preside over a 60-loss season while the other is winning another championship, it's all right there in their bios.
http://msn.foxsports.com/nba/story/5358968