Las Vegas Sun

March 18, 2024

Columnist Ron Kantowski: Be proud to be picked to take the last shot

Ron Kantowski is a Las Vegas Sun sports writer. Reach him at [email protected] or (702) 259-4088.

During my junior varsity high school basketball career I was a card-carrying member of Local Benchwarmers 219, which was what we second- and third-stringers called ourselves. Growing up in a blue-collar town, you almost had to belong to a union, and, of course, it had to have a number. So we used the date of the last regularly scheduled game of the season in naming our little group of Pine Brothers.

There weren't any dues per se, but you did earn favor with the labor board (i.e., upperclassmen) for going along with their little routines, such as crossing and then re-crossing your legs every time the ball crossed half-court (this was quite humorous in an uptempo game). There also were benefits for consuming popcorn and hotdogs in the huddle during timeouts.

But the goal of every Benchwarmer was to get into a game with as little time remaining as possible. When our coach cleared the bench, he usually did it with about a minute to go. But sometimes when the refs stopped calling fouls, you might not get in until there were 30 seconds left, or maybe even fewer, when even your mom and dad and girlfriend had stopped paying attention.

It was this quest that allowed me to permanently etch my name into Benchwarmers lore when, on Jan. 24, 1974 (or thereabouts), I entered a game against a school called East Gary with just one second to play.

Until the advent of today's precise game clocks that show tenths of seconds, it was a record that could never be broken. Sort of the Bizarro World equivalent of Wilt Chamberlain's 100-point night. And I owed it all to a half-court shot.

Unlike most kids who grow up in Indiana, about the only thing I could do with a basketball was spin it on my finger and fling it, with fairly good accuracy, into the basket from the shore of Lake Michigan.

The reason I bring all of this up is that if the overpaid NBA prima donnas have their way, the buzzer-beating basket from half-court, still one of the most exciting plays in sports, may soon go the way of the two-hand set shot.

According to a Bloomberg News Service report, NBA players, fearing that missing desperation field-goal attempts will lower their shooting percentages and work against them at contract time, have all but stopped taking them during regular-season games.

It's a little different in the perpetual playoffs when there's so much at stake (like the winner's share of a championship bonus), although the Bulls' Chris Duhon recently drew the ire of TV analyst Bill Walton for letting time run out rather than launch a 60-foot prayer with time running out in the first half of a playoff game against the Wizards.

"You do everything you can, I mean everything, including throwing up a desperation heave, to give your team an extra advantage," Walton said in the Bloomberg report. "The great players -- Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Larry Bird, Magic Johnson -- could you imagine them not doing something to help their team win because it might negatively affect their statistics? It's mind-boggling."

The Spurs' Glenn Robinson said many players have devised subtle ways to protect their shooting percentages when the ball winds up in their hands 50 feet from the basket and time running out, so as not to incur the wrath of fans and old-school devotees such as Walton.

One tactic is to take the shot a split second after the horn sounds. Another is to take an extra dribble to let time run out before launching the ball at the basket.

Washington's Gilbert Arenas told Bloomberg that NBA statisticians should have the final say on whether a desperation heave counts as a shot, like they do in college. But Andy Grossman, the basketball information director at UNLV who oversees the stat crew, said that was news to him.

Remember that two-handed, behind-the-head heave that Marcus Banks unfurled from half-court that nearly knocked down the backboard in the Mountain West Conference championship game against Colorado State three years ago? That was a shot, Grossman said. Or at least it counted as one.

If NBA players are successful in lobbying the league to change the rule regarding buzzer-beaters, they may face opposition from another group of self-absorbed, statistically driven millionaires. Walton said when somebody does chuck up a 45-footer, there's usually a mad scramble to track down the miss, because it is scored as a rebound.

It's a good thing Jerry West wasn't wrapped up in his statistics or that famous 63-footer he tossed in against the Knicks during Game 3 of the 1970 Finals might have never happened. He probably would have just thrown the ball to Happy Hairston as if it were a hot potato.

Actually, I don't understand why NBA players just don't practice shots from beyond half-court, like LeBron James does. When was the last time you saw him miss a 75-footer?

As for my one second of fame against East Gary ... well, I missed from 40 feet. Didn't even draw iron (although I swear I was fouled). But somewhere in my old coach's closet, perhaps right under the baggy sweat socks and a pair of Converse All-Stars made of canvas, there is a shot chart showing an uncircled No. 24 just inside of the half-court line. And next to my name on the official stat sheet there is a large number 1 in the FGA box.

Chris Duhon's agent and that Leon guy from the Budweiser beer ads may be surprised to learn that I don't want an asterisk attached to either one.

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