The Diss.

The hard data seems to indicate that there has been a competency shift in the NBA; a perceptible alteration in the balance of power between the coasts. Going into Monday, the Eastern conference — long derided for its inadequacy and unreliability — features 11 teams who have won more than half of their games this year. The West, meanwhile, only features five such teams: the Warriors, Spurs, Mavericks (!), Suns, and Thunder. The Jazz, Clippers and Grizzlies all sit indifferently at (or around) .500, working into the season slowly, looking equal parts determined and dying and as they trudge through Novembers of mild discontent. And perhaps most surprisingly, expected contenders like the Rockets and the Pelicans appear to be dead; crammed together in a horrible mess of contorted limbs and tangled hair with other repeat failures like the Timberwolves, Kings, Nuggets and Lakers. While it is very early in the proceedings — not even a quarter of the regular season has elapsed, let alone the lengthy, arduous postseason — the magical idea of “parity” seems to be washing over the NBA landscape, rendering everything (save for the Warriors and the 76ers) roughly equal, with the teams East of the Mississippi looking slightly better off than their peers a few time-zones to the left.

At this moment, determining the who, what, when, where, why, and how of this teeter-totter power dynamic has been an enjoyably open exercise. Several factors are likely playing a role; player movement among the most important to consider. Over the last calendar year, the Eastern conference welcomed several quality players from the West, most of whom are playing beyond even the most favorable projections of their outputs. There is Nic Batum, looking regal in purple-and-teal, transitioning from a third or fourth option in Portland into a primary consideration for a rejuvenated Hornets offense. There is Reggie Jackson and Isaiah Thomas, former backup guards in the West now transformed into offensive anchors for Detroit and Boston, respectively. There is Robin Lopez and Pau Gasol; providing net positive results in the pivot for a strong Bulls team and a Knicks team looking more fortified with each unexpected victory. The same cannot be said for those who have emigrated to the West, who are struggling to stake claims in harsher lands. Josh Smith, Lance Stephenson and Paul Pierce’s productions have been either uneven or unseen some nights in Staples Center, while Lou Williams, Brandon Bass and Roy Hibbert produce identically insignificant results for the arena’s other more decorated (and dilapidated) outfit. Rajon Rondo (who arrived in the West last season) performs brilliantly for a Kings team that still struggles to win more than lose, and a imperfect bouquet of former Pistons and Cavaliers yield a wilted output for the Thunder. While the lasting effects of imbalanced player movement are hard to specifically pinpoint, the collective 37-32 record the East holds over the West going into Monday’s game provides hints that things are not what they used to be. And, if trends continue (and we can safely bet that they will) we can infer that, for the current period of time, the East has stolen the West’s smug crown of overall dominance, and will continue to exert themselves over the conference’s surprisingly helpless denizens.

But there is an aesthetic element as well, a dimension beyond numbers; something only informed by the much-maligned “eye test” and an unshakable feeling that the West has lost its soul. For the first time in several seasons, it seems the is East playing free and liberated; using as much space as the court will allow. Eastern guards are populated with ball handlers and shot creators; players like John Wall and Bradley Beal who enjoy free range around the court and a mandate to take whatever shot seems most appropriate. Eastern forwards and centers adhere to principles we are familiar with — footwork, head-fakes, up-and-unders and baby hooks — all the while, keeping the ball moving around the court. On the other hand, the West is playing tight. Guards seem bunched up beyond the three point line, limited to a series of lateral moves before an inevitable three point clank. Forwards and centers tend to join in on the act, either changing their skill-sets to extend their bricks out to the three-point line, or serving chiefly as offensive rebounders and tip-in specialists. In many sets, the centers are relegated to simple screen-setting and ball distribution duty; a noble, but not terribly entertaining sight to see. As the ball soars from 22 or more feet away, clanging high off the rim and into the other team’s possession, followed by a jaunty sprint up the court and an attempt at a similar play, I yawn and groan. In the East, the basketball is presented as entertainment. In the West, the basketball is presented as work.

Unsurprisingly, my analysis (or argument, if you disagree with me) is shielded in the impenetrable armor of the 15-0 Warriors. At this moment, West is in the throes of a familiar crisis: the immediate and persistent threat of a transcendent player. It is not revolutionary to state that all of the celestial bodies of the NBA orbit around its brightest stars; the most luminous emissaries of on-and-off-the-court success. Since 1990, some players have been demonstrably better than the tier of All-Stars below them; the players who become considered among the greatest who have played. Within conferences, and among teams that must face these unassailable stars more often, much of the team building seems oriented towards countering that transcendent player. Certainly this was the case in the East during the reigns of Michael Jordan and his Bulls (1991-1993; 1996-1998) and LeBron James and the Cavaliers and Heat (2007-2013). The West has done this as well; with Shaquille O’Neal and Kobe Bryant (2000-2003), Hakeem Olajuwon (1994 and 1995) as well as Tim Duncan and his cast of supporters (odd years throughout the 2000′s and 2014). In the absence of a transcendent player, this type of self-conscious team-building does not seem to occur. Instead of yielding to the indefatigable talents of a single man, the various teams double-down on an ethos and playing style, they go all in on who they feel they are. In those years, odd champions arise — the 2004 Pistons, who ruled a conference for half a decade, or the 2011 Mavericks, who played footloose and fearless while winning their unlikely ring. But more often than not, teams are practicing aggressive flattery on the fly; trying to become the transcendent star’s team without having that exquisite player as an anchor.

In the West, where the threat of Stephen Curry and his maxim gun Warriors is more present and prevalent, there are a slew of rattled teams; outfits who not long ago seemed very sure about who they were, and how they were going to succeed. It is unlikely that any of these teams foresaw what Curry and Golden State would become: a team for which conventional wisdom does not apply, and for whom drastic changes must be considered in order to remain competitive. It is not unreasonable to think that the Warriors may hasten the dismantling of a few teams that thought they might have a better chance at it; teams like the Rockets, Clippers and Grizzlies who continue to mash their feet into the gas pedal while their wheels spin helplessly in the mud. Even the San Antonio Spurs are having a hard time integrating LaMarcus Aldridge, their new weapon, into their impressive arsenal. Perhaps this is what is afflicting the West: the directive to change, without any idea where, exactly, they are going, and how, exactly, they are going to get there.

Admittedly, these are the words of a man who has lost all semblance of objectivity; an individual still basking in the afterglow of it all. I’m no longer interested in seeing teams thrive; I want to see them prostrate in front of my squad, begging for mercy and shaking uncontrollably as the end looms large. For me, it is perfectly acceptable to watch the Warriors joyfully lay waste to every opponent that crosses them. In the moments I wish to view the NBA as it was — a teeming ecosystem of player species, alternatively taking turns eating and being eaten — I am happy the East exists; a section of the league that isn’t worried about being something that they’re not. But in the back of my mind — and in corners of my mouth, turned up in a sinister grin — I cannot wait until they, too, are sucked into the abyss, while thousands of tiny voices wonder how the situation became so deeply helpless.

Maybe it’s all the copycat Warriors stuff I’ve been seeing, but I’ve been falling asleep on the couch a lot this season. Maybe I’ll be more alert this week.

Monday: Memphis Grizzlies at Los Angeles Clippers (10:30 PM EST/7:30 PM PST on League Pass)

We lead off the week with the Grizzlies, sitting blandly at 3-4, looking nothing like a contender to start of the year. Moreover, and perhaps more troubling, they appear to be a team for whom the game has passed them by: they are 29th in the league in offensive efficiency, and 25th in defensive efficiency. The offensive woes aren’t terribly surprising; Memphis has never been considered to be a scoring juggernaut. But the drop-off in defense is new, and could be seen as a troubling symptom preceding a more dire diagnosis. Clippers versus Grizzlies has been one of the more animated rivalries over the past few seasons, and the recent squabbling between avatars on a social media site may serve as an interesting backdrop to make this contest more restive. And, of course, it’s very early in the season. But for the moment, the Grizzlies look like an antiquated experiment — slow, brick-laying, uninspired — trying to figure out whether it’s worth keeping up the effort, or trying something new in order to stay relevant.

Tuesday: Boston Celtics at Milwaukee Bucks (8 PM EST/5 PM PST on League Pass)

This is my first time watching both of these teams this season (I really have to force myself to watch Eastern conference games at this point in my life), and boy, am I excited. It isn’t some sort of elitism that informs my lack of interaction with either of these teams, most of their games just occur while I’m at work or commuting back to the homestead. Whenever I watch two teams, I write down four or five questions to consider as I take in the experience. Here’s my list, for this Tuesday’s game:

1. Does David Lee still play like a minivan would if a minivan played basketball?
2. Will I ever love Isaiah Thomas? Or, will I ever stop hating Isaiah Thomas?
3. How’s the homie Jabari Parker looking? (we are homies this year)
4. Do I still covet Amir Johnson?
5. Does the camera still add 10 wins to Brad Stevens?

Yep, ready to go on this one. Can’t wait for Tuesday!

Wednesday: Los Angeles Clippers at Dallas Mavericks (8 PM EST/5 PM PST on ESPN)

Chug blood and clench your fists with hatred! It’s Revenge Night on ESPN! DeAndre Jordan, who famously hamstrung the Mavericks this past offseason, makes his first trip to Dallas in the first ESPN game, while new Spur LaMarcus Aldridge makes his return to Portland for the first time as a member of the opposite team. Both games should be pretty good, but I’m picking the Clippers vs. Mavs clash on Wednesday. Can’t really say why; I have a hunch that the Mavericks fans will express their displeasure (not just with DeAndre, but with their 3-3 taking-on-water squad) more vociferously. And, additionally, I’m fairly certain that the Clippers are reinforced by attention of any sort; be it positive or negative. That means that their response to the heckling will be more distinct and observable. The Spurs just sorta Spur it up wherever they go; they won’t respond to the bad-Yelp-review-style grumbles of the average Blazers fan. This is pretty good drama for a Wednesday in mid-November.

Thursday: Golden State Warriors at Minnesota Timberwolves (8 PM EST/5 PM PST on TNT)

The Homer Game of the Week features my beloved DEFENDING 2015 NBA CHAMPION GOLDEN STATE WARRIORS versus the Minnesota Timberwolves, who are solidifying themselves as my second favorite team in the entire league, with third place looking on jealously from a distance. Get this: Thursday’s game will feature two of the three teams who haven’t lost a game on the road yet (Atlanta is the other), as well as the second and fourth best defensive teams in the league (at least in terms of defensive efficiency). Warriors fans gleefully snorting the good stuff from the 7-0 start might be surprised by the arsenal the currently 3-2 Wolves have amassed over the last few seasons: Ricky Rubio is making the leap, Karl Anthony-Towns and Andrew Wiggins are going to be in the top five of their positions before very long, and goddammit Kevin Garnett is on the team and playing a role in an elite defense. This is really fun to write, in 2015. But the always-anxious Warriors fan behind the keyboard here clearly remembers the hellish test the Wolves (particularly Wiggins and Zach LaVine) gave his squad last year. This should be a good game, as long as the Warriors take care of their business.

Friday: Philadelphia 76ers at Oklahoma City Thunder (8 PM EST/5 PM PST on League Pass)

I have to do it at some point. I have to watch the Sixers. I have girded myself. I figure this rather meaningless game against the Oklahoma City Thunder are a good chance to take a gander. And let me say, dear reader: I am excited. In the limited (read as: mere seconds) of research I did while preparing this small annotation, I found my feelings about this team — and this game — changing by the moment. I had my ideological holdups about watching the Sixers — fuck The Process; it sounds like a cult mission statement - but they have now amassed the requisite number of (1) players I’m actually interested in watching and (2) spunky, punchy quality that a young team fervently searching for an identity need from me to give them that coveted watch. I’ve heard good things about the Jahlil Okafor and Nerlens Noel combo, and folks seem high on Jerami Grant. I’d take a flyer on Nik Stauskas at shooting guard, I think? I don’t know, I’m just sitting here on the couch. So I’ll watch. But I’ll never trust The Process, Sam Hinkie, you freaky egg-man. I’ll never drink that Kool Aid, bro.

Saturday: Detroit Pistons at Los Angeles Clippers (3:30 PM EST/12:30 PM PST on League Pass)

I think there’s something wrong with me. This is the third Clippers game I’ve picked this week, and the fifth Clippers game I’ve picked this year. This means that 24% of all of the Game(s) of the Week(s) I’ve selected feature the Clippers, the team I detest the most. What does this say about me? Am I getting soft? Am I losing my edge? Am I slowing down? Are my tastes changing? All of these things are probably true. I’m also just probably wanting to watch Andre Drummond do this thing against DeAndre Jordan (who is averaging 20 and 20, the apocalypse is nigh). All of the above, we’ll say.

Sunday: New Orleans Pelicans at New York Knicks (12 noon EST/9 am PST on League Pass)

I won’t lie: only reason I’m picking this game is the start time. My love of Sunday Morning Hangover Games have been well-chronicled over the past few years. Though I’ll be honest: I don’t have too many hangovers anymore. At my age, one hangover is the equivalent to ten hangovers; a hangover you buy in bulk at Costco. More often now, I find myself awake at 5 am on weekend mornings, despite the fact I don’t have to get up with an alarm. I should rename this game to the Early Bird Special, or something like that, to reflect current consumer tastes, or something to that effect. Perhaps next week. Anyways, Knicks versus Pelicans: a basketball game in the morning. A game for those with too much on their minds to sleep in on a weekend. Perhaps the Pelicans will win a game before then?

This whole thing began as an investigation into why, and how, the venerable hook shot had disappeared, seemingly forever, from the collegiate and professional basketball landscape. Because I had done a lot of work on my hook shot against seven- and eight-year-olds at my daughter’s school (and had been borderline unstoppable), I knew I was ready to believe that the hook shot’s revival was inevitable. I also knew that this post-mortem dissection was going to begin with a 1965 New Yorker article by John McPhee about Bill Bradley called A Sense of Where You Are. In McPhee’s article it’s easy to get a sense of where the hook shot was within the world of competitive basketball. It’s also easy to get a little misty about the hook shot because it was clearly revered, effective and commonplace:

“Bradley’s graceful hook shot is a masterpiece of eclecticism. It consists of the high-lifted knee of the Los Angeles Lakers’ Darrall Imhoff, the arms of Bill Russell, of the Boston Celtics, who extends his idle hand far under his shooting arm and thus magically stabilizes the shot, and the general corporeal form of Kentucky’s Cotton Nash, a rookie this year with the Lakers. Bradley carries his analyses of shots further than merely identifying them with pieces of other people. ‘There are five parts to the hook shot,’ he explains to anyone who asks. As he continues, he picks up a ball and stands about eighteen feet  from a basket. ‘Crouch,’ he says, crouching, and goes on to demonstrate the other moves. ‘Turn your head to look for the basket, step, kick, and follow through with your arms.’”

Crouch.

Look for the basket.

Step.

Kick.

Follow through.

There. That’s it. Five simple steps to basketball immortality, available to absolutely anyone who ever has, or ever will, lace ’em up. It worked for Bill Bradley, Collegiate All-American, Olympic gold medalist, and two-time NBA champion with the New York Knicks. It worked for many others who taught themselves how to use it with both the left and the right hands “back in the day.” And of course it worked for Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, owner of one of the most hallowed record in all of professional sports: the most points in the history of the National Basketball Association.

And yet, in 1988, before Kareem had even retired, the Los Angeles Times published a wistful farewell (an obituary really) to the hook shot, the time-tested teardrop they called “the prettiest two points you’d ever see.” Abdul-Jabbar retired in 1989. By then the hook shot wasn’t just a rapidly aging dinosaur, it was the last of the entire species. More recently there have been a number of articles on the hook shot’s glory days and/or demise. In a 2009 piece for ESPN, “Secrets of the Skyhook,” J.A. Adande goes more or less straight nostalgia, but not without wondering why the hell Kareem’s hook has never been replicated. A 2013 Bleacher Report article gets straight to the point and asks, hopefully it seems, whether or not more current NBA players shouldn’t bring the hook shot back. Another, a 2014 post on TrueHoop’s Bucksketball blog, is incredulous that no one has mastered the most unstoppable shot in the game, comparing the situation to that of a pitcher with an unhittable pitch that nobody else bothers to learn.

In each of these articles there’s an obvious yearning for someone, anyone, to resurrect the hook. The hope is that eventually someone will take the task seriously, seize the mantle as the next great (or maybe just decent) keeper of the flame, but no current player is highlighted as a possible candidate, and best of luck trying to identify which current baller that might be. Ultimately, the conclusion seems to be that the hook shot is indeed dead and has been for some time—the flame has been extinguished.

So who dunnit? Who murdered the hook shot?

***

Well, that’s kind of complicated. The fact of the matter is that the hook shot is actually still around—sort of. It just doesn’t look anything like the hook shot prevalent back in Bill Bradley’s day (remember, McPhee described Bradley as practicing his hooks from approximately eighteen feet away). It also has almost nothing in common with Abdul-Jabbar’s “skyhook” (a weapon that Kareem liked to use anywhere from eight to fifteen feet from the basket). These days it’s really all about the “baby hook” that’s probably always existed in one form or another, but is generally attributed to Magic Johnson and what he called his “junior, junior sky hook”—the one that famously beat the Celtics in game four of the 1987 NBA Finals. Although lots of guys use baby hooks these days, there’s precious little grace involved and they’re rarely attempted more than six feet from the hoop. And while a few current NBA big men have honed a fairly fluid jump hook (Tim Duncan, the Gasols), other hook shot perpetrators throw up a finesse-free, glorified shot put.

The players with most hook shots made, 2014-2015 NBA season:

1. Nikola Vucevic: 66 of 127 (51.9%).

2. Brook Lopez: 52 of 100 (52.0%).

3. Roy Hibbert: 51 of 92 (55.4%).

4. Greg Monroe: 51 of 119 (42.8%)

5. Donatas Motiejunas: 41 of 68 (60.2%).

6. Andre Drummond: 41 of 87 (47.1%).

7. Josh Smith: 32 of 78 (41.0%).

8. John Henson: 31 of 69 (44.9%).

9. Pau Gasol: 30 of 60 (50.0%).

10. Cole Aldrich: 27 of 68 (39.7%).

11. Kosta Koufos: 26 of 62 (41.9%).

12. Kevin Seraphin: 24 of 43 (55.8%).

13. Al Jefferson: 21 of 52 (40.3%).

14. Tyler Zeller: 20 of 45 (44.4%).

15. Blake Griffin: 19 of 58 (32.7%).

OK, so the hook shot’s not really dead, but it was definitely murdered. Got that?

On the one hand, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar could be considered the guilty party. In a sense, he murdered the hook shot by taking it to a place that appears to be, and probably is, unapproachable by any other basketball player currently alive. He set the bar so incredibly high (the sky!) that no future players have even attempted to recreate the type of shot that he’d turned into his own piece of parabolic performance art. He scored so many points (38,387!) that the only hook available to those who followed was a junior jump hook, a baby hook, or no hook at all.

On the other hand, when the casual NBA observer sees a hook these days, he or she is forced to conclude that all the players on the preceding list (and many others whose percentages were too low to get them into the top fifteen) have collectively committed murder. The elegant hook shot of the past was an unwitting victim, dead from blunt force trauma, and every player who has ever hoisted up a hook shot (be it competitively, or in attempt to impress a few seven-year-olds) must be considered an accomplice that helped bury the body.

So it’s weird, then, to realize that 1965 is a full fifty years ago, and that what was once Bill Bradley’s simple, innocent step-by-step guide to the hook shot now reads more like a murder manual:

Crouch.

Look for the basket.

Step.

Kick.

Follow through.

You can almost hear the Orlando Magic’s radio announcer, circa 2011:

Entry pass from Jameer to Howard. Dwight with the ball on the low block. He crouches, looks for the basket, takes a step, kicks, pushes up a shot, follows through… aaaaand it’s off the mark…

And with that kick, and that follow-through, another meaty, ham-handed big man deals another deadly blow to the hook shot. It’s a seemingly victimless crime, but shot by shot, brick by brick, the evidence adds up, and it’s compelling.

Oh sure, there will be more wringing of hands over who might be the next great practitioner of the hook shot. Basketball fans will still wonder when some young prodigy will look into the past and apply its lessons to the present, when some mystical talent will conjure the patience and determination to master a shot that, when done correctly, is the picture of elegance and simplicity, can prolong careers, and might just get you into the Hall of Fame. Also, isn’t it seductive to think that maybe there’s a young gun already in our midst that can raise the hook shot from the dead?!

I mean, c’mon…

Could it be?

Someone must be willing to…

No, that dream is just too distant, too far off, an impossible fantasy. The real mystery is why it had to come to this, why it had to end in… murder.

Wait! What’s that? There’s still four-tenths of a second remaining? Time for a final, desperate shot at reclaiming a relic of the past:

Hmmm.

Maybe next season…

***

Editor’s Note: Peter Sennhauser lives and works in Seattle. This is his first contribution to The Diss.