But are interesting anyway.
Over the last couple of weeks, I didn't have that pesky job getting in the way of watching basketball. And it got me thinking about all kinds of things:
Who Has Whose Number?
I want to know more about mismatches.
One thing I have noticed is that for long stretches of some games, some players just totally disappear. Like, a guy who might score eight points in a regular game will not make news by scoring zero on a given night. Similarly, some defenders presumably can make superstars shoot 39%, instead of 48%, which can win you a ballgame. There are certain stories out there -- Nene, for instance, is said to play Tim Duncan better than most -- but here's an area where I feel like us fans are way behind what the players and coaches must know. Who has whose number?
With your help, I'd like to develop a list. Nene and Tim Duncan is one. When we have a list of several such theories, it would be fun to get some statistical experts involved, and put those theories to the test. Which defenders make things toughest for which offensive players? It's not all about superstars either. When even a minor offensive player is effectively erased from a game, it has a pretty dramatic effect on that team's ability to score efficiently. So post your theories in the comments, or e-mail me, and I'll start working on that list.
Double the Guy Who Will Give You the Ball
Several times I have heard TV commentators mystified at a weak player getting double-teamed. The Lakers, for instance, doubled Greg Oden in the post last night, even though it would seem that just about the best thing that could possibly happen for L.A. is that Oden crank up that (let's be polite and call it ...) idiosyncratic jump hook. Commentators think that double teams are essentially something that elite players earn. But to me, I totally get it. You double Oden because he's a turnover machine even against single coverage. If you send a good strong double, your chances of getting the ball are pretty good, especially because, as a rookie who is not used to being the focal point of an offense, he's surely not used to it. He's far less likely than, say, Brandon Roy, to make the pass out of the double that leads to an easy bucket.
Pace is Not Precisely Pace
One of the key recent innovations in basketball statistics is pace. And I'm all for it. Pace matters in all kinds of ways, and at this point, it is probably just wholly pointless to worry about things like points and rebounds per game, when such stats are available per possession.
However, I do have one concern about this, which is in how you define a possession. Let me give you an example: Last night, with 9:26 left in a game against the Lakers, Travis Outlaw made a 3-pointer for Portland. He is credited with 3 points for that one possession, and Portland cements its reputation as one of the slowest-paced teams in the NBA. Thanks to four consecutive offensive rebounds, that shot came at the end of a possession that lasted an entire minute.
Here's the thing, though: Portland took five shots in one minute. That's a shot every 12 seconds, which is reasonably fast. If L.A. had managed a defensive rebound after the first miss, Portland would look, in the stats, to be a slightly faster team. But they didn't. And Portland kept shooting quickly, four more times in quick succession. And, as they maintained possession and kept providing more and more evidence they're not that slow in executing, the pace stats continued to see the whole episode as Portland being slower than ever.
Of course, this case is an anomaly that matters none, but what is not a one-off is the trend that when either team gets a lot of offensive rebounds it makes both teams appear to be slower. Similarly, teams that commit and force very few turnovers will appear to be faster, although neither of those things really tells you anything about the speed at which they play. And those trends persist. I suspect that when you look at listings of team pace, you will see some pace inflation from teams that frequently turn the ball over, or don't get or give up a lot of possession-extending offensive rebounds. If you wanted to know how fast a team played, as in how many scoring opportunities they packed into a game, I suspect you could do well to add up a teams field goal attempts, opponents' defensive fouls, and turnovers. (Am I forgetting something? Is there another way a team's control of the ball could come to an end?) Maybe somebody has already done this?
Free Possessions and Psycho Defense
Another little conundrum to do with possessions. By the definition that is commonly used, both teams have the same number of possessions in a game. My team has it, then your team has it, and back and forth.
Except ... not exactly.
At the end of quarters, things can get a tad uneven, because at the beginning of the next quarter, the possession goes to a team that is predetermined. (A team wins the jump ball at the beginning of the game, and thus earns the ball to begin the first and fourth quarters. The other team gets it to begin the second and third.)
Which means that there are extra possessions up for grabs at the end of quarters. Whoever has it last in any quarter has gained a possession they might have never had. (Either team can end up with up to two more possessions per game, meaning there are four possessions up for grabs.) Most teams average somewhere around a point per possession, and most NBA games are decided by fewer than four points.
So ... if the other team has the ball with 23 seconds left to close a quarter, should you foul to get the ball back? You get a free possession out of the deal, which almost never happens.
The Spurs have done this from time to time, and I can see the point of it.
Of course, it's not really a free possession, though. That's the thing. You're sending somebody to the line to get that possession. So, you're giving up somewhere between zero and two points, and getting another foul on one of your guys. There's a lot of figuring to do there. Depends who you foul, how well they are shooting, and how likely you think you are, in that moment, to make a bucket.
Here's what I would do, if I were an NBA coach: I'd train my team to play a special brand of psycho defense. This is defense where you don't care if you get called for a foul. Bumping, screaming, slapping, banging, poking ... Five guys should bring it crazy hard (except when somebody is shooting -- which is nearly impossible to predict in the NBA and is the downfall of my plan) when the other team has the ball in the waning moments of a quarter. You get called for a foul, so what? That's your semi-intentional foul, and you get a possession for it. But if you don't get called for a foul? Against that defense, I don't like the other teams' chances. Besides, I bet it's great for your team to practice that kind of defense anyway. Good for everyone on the court, offense and defense, to get used to that brand of intensity.
The Crunch Time Hypothesis, in Running
Basketball watchers, myself included, are obsessed with the notion that good players perform well at the end of close games. I guess the thinking is that of course your team will be in close games that matter, so it's good to be ready for that.
But stat experts generally insist that it really doesn't make any difference when in the game you play well. If you play great in the first quarter, that same game that would have featured crunch time would quite probably be a comfortable lead for your team. So why obsess on players who close well? Just get the ones who play well, and you'll be fine.
It occurred to me that the same thing happens in all kinds of sports. I'll bet you anything that people who watch marathons, for instance, love those runners who finish fast, and pass people or separate from the pack in the final mile. That's the part of the race when everyone is watching, and that seems to matter. But of course, many marathons are probably, in the final analysis, won with a really fast 17th mile or some such. Many marathons are won by someone with a big lead, who put in their crunch time performance earlier, and has the luxury of cruising to victory.
I am wondering if anyone out there knows all about marathon split times, and has all kinds of data to analyze. I'd be interested to know: Do champion runners tend to be faster at the end than the rest of the field? Or are they more commonly faster in some other part of the race?
UPDATE: TrueHoop reader Karl forwards a link to a very interesting breakdown of the fastest marathon ever. Indeed, Haile Gebrselassie did finish fast. His last 5k was by far his fastest. It's a tiny sample, and marathons may not be the best measure (at that distance, runners are worried about glycogen stores, and so it's smart to be slower in the first half) but interesting nonetheless.
