The Hall of Fame Pyramid and the Patrick Ewing Theory
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/book/091027
Editor's note: The following is excerpted from Bill Simmons' new book, "The Book of Basketball: The NBA According to the Sports Guy," copyright 2009 by Bill Simmons. Reprinted by permission of ESPN Books and Ballantine Books.
This excerpt is from a section called "The Hall of Fame Pyramid," where I blow up the Basketball Hall of Fame and recreate it as an Egyptian pyramid with levels (five in all). I ranked Ewing at No. 39, as a Level Two guy. Here's why.
Why Patrick Ewing Was the 39th Best Player Ever
Resume: 17 years, 11 quality, 12 All-Stars … '86 Rookie of the Year … top 5 MVP ('90), top 10 ('88, '89, '91, '92, '93, '97) … best player on 1 runnerup ('94 Knicks) … 2- year peak: 28-11, 3.6 BPG, 53% FG … '90 Playoffs: 29-11 (10 G) … '94, '95 playoffs: 2011, 2.8 BPG, 45% FG (36 G) … member of '92 Dream Team … 20K- 10K Club
Knicks fans did their damnedest to talk themselves into the Patrick Ewing era.97 Everyone believed Ewing was the Evolutionary Russell, a destructive defensive force who would own the league someday. Only it didn't happen … and it didn't happen … and then it seemed like it was happening, only it turned out to be a tease … and it didn't happen … and at some point everyone except for the delusional Knicks fans realized that it was never going to happen. You know those movie scenes where a male character dies in a hospital bed and his wife stands over him talking like he didn't die, and everyone else in the room feels awkward, and then finally someone comes over and says, "Honey, he's gone" and tries to pull her away, so she starts screaming, "Nooooooo! Nooooo, he's fine! He's gonna wake up!" and then she collapses and has a crying seizure? That was every Knicks fan from 1995 to 1999. When Hakeem turned Ewing into ground beef in the '94 Finals, Ewing dropped dead in a "This guy's carrying us to a title someday" sense. But the Knicks fans kept standing there over the hospital bed waiting for him to wake up.
Eventually they decided that Ewing's career was either "frustrating" (the glass-half-full take) or "phenomenally disappointing" (the glass-half-empty take). He peaked during the '90 season, averaging a 29-11 with 4 blocks and 55 percent shooting for a 45-win Knicks team, saving the Knicks with a 44-13 in a must-win Game 4 against Boston, then leading them to a shocking upset in the decisive fifth game (31 points). Sitting in the Garden as Ewing took over and swished an improbable backbreaking three, I remember thinking, "He's putting it all together; we're in serious trouble." But Detroit easily dispatched them in the second round and Ewing was never that good again. Why? Because of his knees. College Ewing prowled the paint like a tiger, jumped around like House of Pain and contested every shot within fifteen feet of the rim. NBA veteran Ewing picked his spots, jogged with huge strides and crouched before every jump. Never a great rebounder98 or passer, never someone with a treasure chest of low-post moves, that subtle erosion of athleticism turned him into an elite center who did everything well and nothing great. Actually, it was a little sad. Poor Ewing perfected his "intense" game face, bellowed at the MSG crowd, pounded his chest after big plays, played up the whole "I'm a warrior!" angle in interviews and even made a clumsy effort to become an intimidating enforcer. All of it kind of worked … but not really. The sophisticated Knicks fans saw right through him, endlessly debating his virtues and repeatedly coming back to the same conclusion: As long as this is our best guy, we probably can't win the title.
That's when Pat Riley nearly salvaged Ewing's superstardom, remaking the Knicks into Bad Boys II, adopting thugball tactics to exact as much as he could from his secretly limited center (and nearly ruining basketball in the process). They lost back-to-back slugfests to Chicago before catching a break with Jordan's "baseball sabbatical," reaching the Finals behind a monster effort from Ewing in Game 7 (22-20-7 with 5 blocks and the winning tip against Indiana) before squandering a disheartening Finals. The following year, Reggie Miller ripped out their hearts in the Eastern Semis, with Ewing missing a series-deciding 6-foot bunny. And just like that the Ewing window had closed, although it took a few more years for everyone to realize it.99 Before the 2001 season, the Knicks finally cut the cord (and inadvertently destroyed their future) by turning Ewing's expiring deal into a slew of horrendous contracts; then we watched Ewing slog through the "fifteen-year-old poodle with cataracts who starts going to the bathroom in the house and needs to be put to sleep" stage. Did we ever figure out why centers age in dog years once they hit their late thirties? They always have one final season where they gain 20 pounds, lose all hand-eye coordination, run in slow motion, and jump like their shoes are loaded with razor blades; all they have left is their turnaround jumper. It's like an automobile being completely stripped except for the radio, which is left behind for some reason. That's the turnaround jumper. For Ewing, that season happened twice, in Seattle and Orlando. And then he was done.
BOOK EXCERPTS
Read some previews from "The Book of Basketball" as we count down to the official release date of October 27.
He hasn't endured for a few reasons. Ewing lacked charisma and may have been the most uncomfortable postmerger interview other than Moses Malone.100 He had some legitimate weaknesses -- horrendous hands, shaky at crunch time, dubious rebounder, awful passer out of double-teams, couldn't make his teammates better -- and he lacked a fanfriendly game that wouldn't exactly be remembered fondly. Even Ewing's shining moment (the '94 Finals) turned into a train wreck: Ewing averaged 18.9 points and shot 36 percent, while Hakeem averaged a 27-9 with 3.9 blocks and 50 percent shooting. And it wasn't even THAT close. Ewing ranks this highly because you could build a contender around him in his prime, and because he absolutely could have won the '94 championship playing with Richmond, Rice, Miller, or really any good two-guard other than John Starks. Much like fellow Dream Team players Drexler, Robinson and Malone, we'll remember Ewing as a second banana masquerading as a first banana, even if Knicks fans never wanted to admit it at the time. Now they do.101
One last Ewing thought: When I was writing for my old website, a reader named Dave Cirilli sent in his elaborate Ewing Theory, which centered around the inexplicable phenomenon that both the Hoyas and Knicks seemed to play better every time Ewing was sitting on the bench. After tinkering with it and finding various examples,102 Dave emailed me and we honed the language over the next few weeks, eventually deciding that two crucial elements were needed for any situation to qualify for Ewing status: a star athlete receives an inordinate amount of media attention and fan interest, yet his teams never win anything substantial with him; and that same athlete leaves his team (either by injury, trade, graduation, free agency, or retirement) and both the media and fans immediately write off the team for the near future (for either the rest of the season or the following season). I wrote about the theory and had some fun with it.103 A few months later, Ewing tore an Achilles tendon during Game 2 of the '99 Eastern Finals. The heavily favored Pacers seemed like a mortal lock … only with Ewing himself involved, suddenly this had become the ultimate test of the Ewing Theory. Heading into Game 3, Dave was oozing with confidence and predicting in no uncertain terms, "Ewing's injury is the best thing that ever could have happened to the Knicks; they're definitely making the Finals now." Incredibly, the Knicks won three of the next four and advanced to the Finals as I was playing up Dave's Ewing theory prediction on my website! My three thousand readers at the time couldn't have been more impressed. From there, Ewing Theory instances kept happening -- Mo Vaughn ('99 Red Sox), Barry Sanders ('99 Lions), Trent Green ('99 Rams), Griffey and A-Rod ('00 and '01 Mariners), Dan Marino ('00 Dolphins) -- and I finally unveiled Dave's Ewing Theory to a national audience on ESPN.com in 2001, predicting that Drew Bledsoe was the single most logical Ewing Theory candidate for the future. Only a few months later, Bledsoe went down, the '02 Patriots won their first Super Bowl without him and I looked like Nostrasimbo. You have to admit, that was amazing. Since then, we've had some other classics (Nomar and the '04 Red Sox and Tiki and the '07 Giants being the best ones), but none could have happened without the great Patrick Ewing.
Here's my point: If your prime inspired a sports theory that hypothesized why your teams played better without you, you probably shouldn't crack the top thirty-five of a Hall of Fame Pyramid.
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/book/091027
Editor's note: The following is excerpted from Bill Simmons' new book, "The Book of Basketball: The NBA According to the Sports Guy," copyright 2009 by Bill Simmons. Reprinted by permission of ESPN Books and Ballantine Books.
This excerpt is from a section called "The Hall of Fame Pyramid," where I blow up the Basketball Hall of Fame and recreate it as an Egyptian pyramid with levels (five in all). I ranked Ewing at No. 39, as a Level Two guy. Here's why.
Why Patrick Ewing Was the 39th Best Player Ever
Resume: 17 years, 11 quality, 12 All-Stars … '86 Rookie of the Year … top 5 MVP ('90), top 10 ('88, '89, '91, '92, '93, '97) … best player on 1 runnerup ('94 Knicks) … 2- year peak: 28-11, 3.6 BPG, 53% FG … '90 Playoffs: 29-11 (10 G) … '94, '95 playoffs: 2011, 2.8 BPG, 45% FG (36 G) … member of '92 Dream Team … 20K- 10K Club
Knicks fans did their damnedest to talk themselves into the Patrick Ewing era.97 Everyone believed Ewing was the Evolutionary Russell, a destructive defensive force who would own the league someday. Only it didn't happen … and it didn't happen … and then it seemed like it was happening, only it turned out to be a tease … and it didn't happen … and at some point everyone except for the delusional Knicks fans realized that it was never going to happen. You know those movie scenes where a male character dies in a hospital bed and his wife stands over him talking like he didn't die, and everyone else in the room feels awkward, and then finally someone comes over and says, "Honey, he's gone" and tries to pull her away, so she starts screaming, "Nooooooo! Nooooo, he's fine! He's gonna wake up!" and then she collapses and has a crying seizure? That was every Knicks fan from 1995 to 1999. When Hakeem turned Ewing into ground beef in the '94 Finals, Ewing dropped dead in a "This guy's carrying us to a title someday" sense. But the Knicks fans kept standing there over the hospital bed waiting for him to wake up.
Eventually they decided that Ewing's career was either "frustrating" (the glass-half-full take) or "phenomenally disappointing" (the glass-half-empty take). He peaked during the '90 season, averaging a 29-11 with 4 blocks and 55 percent shooting for a 45-win Knicks team, saving the Knicks with a 44-13 in a must-win Game 4 against Boston, then leading them to a shocking upset in the decisive fifth game (31 points). Sitting in the Garden as Ewing took over and swished an improbable backbreaking three, I remember thinking, "He's putting it all together; we're in serious trouble." But Detroit easily dispatched them in the second round and Ewing was never that good again. Why? Because of his knees. College Ewing prowled the paint like a tiger, jumped around like House of Pain and contested every shot within fifteen feet of the rim. NBA veteran Ewing picked his spots, jogged with huge strides and crouched before every jump. Never a great rebounder98 or passer, never someone with a treasure chest of low-post moves, that subtle erosion of athleticism turned him into an elite center who did everything well and nothing great. Actually, it was a little sad. Poor Ewing perfected his "intense" game face, bellowed at the MSG crowd, pounded his chest after big plays, played up the whole "I'm a warrior!" angle in interviews and even made a clumsy effort to become an intimidating enforcer. All of it kind of worked … but not really. The sophisticated Knicks fans saw right through him, endlessly debating his virtues and repeatedly coming back to the same conclusion: As long as this is our best guy, we probably can't win the title.
That's when Pat Riley nearly salvaged Ewing's superstardom, remaking the Knicks into Bad Boys II, adopting thugball tactics to exact as much as he could from his secretly limited center (and nearly ruining basketball in the process). They lost back-to-back slugfests to Chicago before catching a break with Jordan's "baseball sabbatical," reaching the Finals behind a monster effort from Ewing in Game 7 (22-20-7 with 5 blocks and the winning tip against Indiana) before squandering a disheartening Finals. The following year, Reggie Miller ripped out their hearts in the Eastern Semis, with Ewing missing a series-deciding 6-foot bunny. And just like that the Ewing window had closed, although it took a few more years for everyone to realize it.99 Before the 2001 season, the Knicks finally cut the cord (and inadvertently destroyed their future) by turning Ewing's expiring deal into a slew of horrendous contracts; then we watched Ewing slog through the "fifteen-year-old poodle with cataracts who starts going to the bathroom in the house and needs to be put to sleep" stage. Did we ever figure out why centers age in dog years once they hit their late thirties? They always have one final season where they gain 20 pounds, lose all hand-eye coordination, run in slow motion, and jump like their shoes are loaded with razor blades; all they have left is their turnaround jumper. It's like an automobile being completely stripped except for the radio, which is left behind for some reason. That's the turnaround jumper. For Ewing, that season happened twice, in Seattle and Orlando. And then he was done.
BOOK EXCERPTS
Read some previews from "The Book of Basketball" as we count down to the official release date of October 27.
He hasn't endured for a few reasons. Ewing lacked charisma and may have been the most uncomfortable postmerger interview other than Moses Malone.100 He had some legitimate weaknesses -- horrendous hands, shaky at crunch time, dubious rebounder, awful passer out of double-teams, couldn't make his teammates better -- and he lacked a fanfriendly game that wouldn't exactly be remembered fondly. Even Ewing's shining moment (the '94 Finals) turned into a train wreck: Ewing averaged 18.9 points and shot 36 percent, while Hakeem averaged a 27-9 with 3.9 blocks and 50 percent shooting. And it wasn't even THAT close. Ewing ranks this highly because you could build a contender around him in his prime, and because he absolutely could have won the '94 championship playing with Richmond, Rice, Miller, or really any good two-guard other than John Starks. Much like fellow Dream Team players Drexler, Robinson and Malone, we'll remember Ewing as a second banana masquerading as a first banana, even if Knicks fans never wanted to admit it at the time. Now they do.101
One last Ewing thought: When I was writing for my old website, a reader named Dave Cirilli sent in his elaborate Ewing Theory, which centered around the inexplicable phenomenon that both the Hoyas and Knicks seemed to play better every time Ewing was sitting on the bench. After tinkering with it and finding various examples,102 Dave emailed me and we honed the language over the next few weeks, eventually deciding that two crucial elements were needed for any situation to qualify for Ewing status: a star athlete receives an inordinate amount of media attention and fan interest, yet his teams never win anything substantial with him; and that same athlete leaves his team (either by injury, trade, graduation, free agency, or retirement) and both the media and fans immediately write off the team for the near future (for either the rest of the season or the following season). I wrote about the theory and had some fun with it.103 A few months later, Ewing tore an Achilles tendon during Game 2 of the '99 Eastern Finals. The heavily favored Pacers seemed like a mortal lock … only with Ewing himself involved, suddenly this had become the ultimate test of the Ewing Theory. Heading into Game 3, Dave was oozing with confidence and predicting in no uncertain terms, "Ewing's injury is the best thing that ever could have happened to the Knicks; they're definitely making the Finals now." Incredibly, the Knicks won three of the next four and advanced to the Finals as I was playing up Dave's Ewing theory prediction on my website! My three thousand readers at the time couldn't have been more impressed. From there, Ewing Theory instances kept happening -- Mo Vaughn ('99 Red Sox), Barry Sanders ('99 Lions), Trent Green ('99 Rams), Griffey and A-Rod ('00 and '01 Mariners), Dan Marino ('00 Dolphins) -- and I finally unveiled Dave's Ewing Theory to a national audience on ESPN.com in 2001, predicting that Drew Bledsoe was the single most logical Ewing Theory candidate for the future. Only a few months later, Bledsoe went down, the '02 Patriots won their first Super Bowl without him and I looked like Nostrasimbo. You have to admit, that was amazing. Since then, we've had some other classics (Nomar and the '04 Red Sox and Tiki and the '07 Giants being the best ones), but none could have happened without the great Patrick Ewing.
Here's my point: If your prime inspired a sports theory that hypothesized why your teams played better without you, you probably shouldn't crack the top thirty-five of a Hall of Fame Pyramid.
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... and now he's helping Dwight become a BEAST like he was... 
(even while belaboring the 94 final results)-- they lost to "the twin towers" of Duncan and Robinson because the best counter to that tandem was Chris "worst free throw shooter in NBA history and diabetic, goofy looking white boy" Dudley. Latrell Sprewell and Allan Houston worked a 
