A voice keeps whispering in Carlos Arroyo's ear as he dribbles upcourt. C'mon. Make a move. Score. The sleek point guard tries not to listen, but he has played this way all his life. Quick and instinctive. Shoot first, ask questions later. And the cynics out there might be nodding their heads, figuring he sounds exactly like a child of basketball's new generation, raised on Air Jordan sneakers and a constant diet of ESPN highlights, all those crossover dribbles and slam dunks. But then another voice beckons, his coach calling from the sideline. Stop. Pass the ball. Set a screen. Run the offense. That was how Jerry Sloan played in the National Basketball Assn. three decades ago, back when you sacrificed for the good of the team.
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Making the Extra Pass
American basketball has lost its way. A game born of teamwork became a celebration of individual prowess. Now a growing number of NBA franchises are trying to turn back the clock.
For The Record
Los Angeles Times Sunday February 13, 2005 Home Edition Main News Part A Page 2 National Desk 0 inches; 29 words Type of Material: Correction
All-Star game -- The article about professional basketball in today's Los Angeles Times Magazine says the NBA All-Star game will be today in Denver. The game is next Sunday.
Sloan took over as coach of the Utah Jazz in 1988, and molded the offense around a decidedly old-school guard, John Stockton. When Stockton retired, Sloan went looking for a replacement and, for better or worse, picked Arroyo. Over the last season and a half, the 25-year-old Puerto Rican star has shown flashes of progress, remaining patient, making good decisions. He has also suffered lapses, arguing with his coach, exiled to the bench for days at a time.
The change has been tough because, Arroyo says, "My game is like that . . . flashy." Sloan insists in his folksy way, "I believe you still have guys out there who want to get on that old yellow school bus, take a ride and get off and play together. They may not be as good as some of the high fliers, but I still think there are players who will perform in the team concept." Think of Gene Hackman as the grizzled coach in the film "Hoosiers," leading a tiny high school to the Indiana state championship by demanding his players make the extra pass. It is a romantic notion, with practical underpinnings. You can win with less talent, for one thing, and fans seem to love it. The sport was its most popular in the 1980s and '90s, when Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, Michael Jordan and other superstars used their all-around skills to get teammates involved in the game.
No one argues that today's players work hard and are physically talented, running faster and jumping higher than their predecessors. But a growing chorus of voices--team executives, coaches, even some players--are calling for a return to the game's roots. They believe fundamentals and teamwork should trump individual expression, one-on-one moves, soaring dunks that make the highlight reels.
The Detroit Pistons offered a glimpse of old-time basketball last June. A team without a superstar upset a Laker squad built around Shaquille O'Neal and Kobe Bryant. Then came the Summer Olympics, at which a roster of NBA stars finished third to foreign teams that had greater cohesiveness.
NBA Commissioner David Stern calls it "a challenge to our basketball culture" that reaches down through the college and youth ranks. Yet in Denver today, the league will cap a weekend of individual shooting and dunking contests with an all-star game in which the best players alive will strut and spin and shoot to wow the crowd, and won't bother to play much defense. Even Arroyo, enamored as he is with "flash," says: "The U.S. still has the reputation of having the best players in the world, but something has to change."
basketball is not a science, just 10 guys running around in shorts, so there are no immutable laws concerning how it should be played. Still, those who have devoted their lives to the game can get fairly worked up about it.
Mike Dunleavy, coach of the Clippers, wonders if young players "spend a whole lot of time perfecting their style on how they dunk as opposed to spending that time on their jump shot or their ball handling." Danny Ainge, a former all-star guard and now an executive with the Boston Celtics, senses a standard by which "you just don't get much credit for setting screens or making a pass." And don't get Bill Walton started.
Anyone who has followed Walton as a player or in his current role as broadcaster knows the big man never met an opinion he hesitated to express. He ranks among the best all-around centers ever, winning two championships at UCLA and two more during a long, if injury-plagued, NBA career. Agile at 6-foot-11, he could score with the jump hook off either hand but never defined his sport by size or skill. "I liked the little, skinny, scrawny guy who looked at these brutes and said, 'I'm going to beat you. I'm going to win with my mind and my heart.' " This perspective drove him to become a consummate rebounder and outlet passer.
Now he sees this attitude in short supply. Even outside shooting is on the wane. It is an art tied directly to scoring--and, thus, personal achievement--yet it requires endless repetition and attention to detail. Good shooters talk about the need to move without the ball, to create open space. They toil over footwork, squaring up to the basket, launching the ball with the same stroke every time.
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