The More You Know

The post-college student, especially those of the naive and ultimately doomed English-major variety are swamped, Hoarders-style, in a mountain of books. Books we probably should have sold back to the bookstore for ten cents on the dollar like normal kids, but just couldn't. My strategy was simple: if I liked one of the books I read in class, I kept it. I figured I would eventually get around to reading it again since I liked it so much the first time around. Predictably, this has not happened. I have not reread ANY of the books I saved. Books are too plentiful and life too finite to waste precious minutes rereading the words of a some guy who didn't live to see iPods or flat-screen TVs.

I was trying to realign some of these books on the bookshelf -- How does the saying go? My bookshelf needs a bookshelf? -- and nearly realigned my spinal cord instead. In the middle of this burdensome work, I unearthed a little brown book, tucked away behind some Mark Twain and Nathaniel Hawthorne. The book, pictured right, was The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane. My professor bumped it from the syllabus because she wanted to spend more time on a previously ignored feminist text that predated the feminist movement. I don't remember the feminist text or the author because I'm a bad person. I did save The Red Badge of Courage, though, because I didn't have a chance to read it and would have received about two cents back from the bookstore. So there it was, hidden all this time, a book on the shelf I had not read.

I used to always skip Introductions in college, but now I find them fascinating. So-and-so was huffing paint while writing in the closet of his second-cousin's one-room apartment. You don't say? Critic Alfred Kazin made a point of hammering home two things in the Introduction:

1) This was the first American novel to describe war as it truly was. Basically, Crane called bullshit on the idea of a flawless and heroic soldier, always-competent leadership, and patriotism. Soldiers were scared sometimes, lieutenants were not the smartest men in battle, and neither always knew what they were fighting for.

2) Crane was only 21* when he completed this novel and never fought in battle. His experiences were drawn from what he read. Many Civil War veterans who read the book were shocked to find out such a realistic portrayal of battle and nuanced psychological profile of a soldier could be penned by someone who was not once a soldier himself.

* -- There's nothing like reading a novel firmly established in the American literary canon, written by a 21-year-old to remind you of how little you've done with your life.


I finished the book today. There's tales of a soldiers handing over their personal belongings before battle, anticipating death. There's a colony of ants crawling over the face and into the eyes of a dead soldier. There's a cloud of gray smoke hovering over every scene, including the battle-free scenes. There's the overwhelming sense of paranoia that you would expect in a war novel. Where the book truly shines, in my opinion, is when Crane delves into Henry's (the protagonist, referred to as "the youth") psyche. We see a a soldier who believes in the glory of war and is reduced to fleeing the scene when it comes time to fight. Henry describes the guilt of walking past the wounded soldiers and wishes he suffered a wound himself. He is forced to leave a dying comrade at one point, and reminisces on the looks girls gave him in uniform and the support he received back home when being sent off. It's powerful stuff that reads like a memoir if memoirs were written in third person.

Reading Crane got me to thinking about sports writing. Most sportswriters didn't play college sports. Some didn't even play in high school yet they are entrusted with telling these stories. It's one thing to a write a simple game recap, but but how adequately can a writer assess a player's ability to breakdown a defense if they've never broken down a defense? Or even, how can a writer truly understand what's going through a player's mind on the court? Interviews are becoming more and more useless every year, as players know better than to express anything that can provide headlines or damage their brand.

We've accepted the writer-player relationship because it's the best we can do. Players cannot play and write full-time during the season. And just as their counterparts weren't good enough to play professionally, they probably wouldn't be good enough to write professionally. So we cling to our Stephen Crane's. The ones who are so good they can make you feel like they were chasing Ray Allen around screens or standing at the free throw line, down a point with two free throws. They command the respect of the players they write about and so on.

Either way, I'm glad to have experienced one of Stephen Crane's literary contributions. I wish he could have listened to his Abe Holzmann on an iPod.         

Reigning Threes?

Last Thursday Ray Allen broke Reggie Miller's NBA record of 2,560 career three-pointers. Miller, who was announcing the game, was very congratulatory of Allen, even going as far as to pretend that he was happy his record had been broken. What interested me more was Miller's insinuation that Allen's record (2,562 and counting) would never be broken. According to Miller, the consistency and health that Allen continues to enjoy during his career will be tough to replicate.

It's hard to argue with that. Allen has been a great shooter for a long time, and he's managed to keep himself in fantastic shape into his mid-30s. But can we safely assume Allen's three-point record will never be broken?

First, it would help to understand a brief history of the three-point shot in the NBA. The NBA added the three-point line at the start of the 1979-80 season. The three-point line was already being used in college basketball and the ABA. Players were reluctant to utilize the shot at first. In fact, just under six three-point shots were attempted per game in the early going, less than Ray Allen alone attempts per contest. 

In addition to the low number of attempts, shooters in the early 80s were not very effective. The best three-point shooters made around 35 percent of their shots, while the average players shot in the mid-20 percent range.

In the late 80s, Larry Bird became the first superstar to successfully incorporate the three-point shot into his arsenal, and three-point specialists started to emerge across the league. By the time the 1990s hit, the three-point shot was not only accepted way of scoring, but a shot that players were good at, and coaches attempted to utilize in their game plans.

The important thing to remember is that the three-point shot is still a relatively new "phenomenon." While it is commonplace in today's game, it didn't used to be. There's a reason why, by the end of the season, 8 of the top 10 three-point leaders will be current players. Players have grown up practicing the three ball, they're encouraged to shoot it, and are better able to knock it down than the NBA players of the 1980s.

Barring a drastic, league-wide shift in philosophy, there's no reason to believe that the three-point shot won't continue to grow in popularity over the years.

I made a chart of the current top 10 career three-point shooting leaders, and decided to differentiate them based on four different categories: "Durable Seasons," Three-Point Attempts Per Year (Career), Three-Point Attempts Per Game (Career), and Three-Point Shooting Percentage (Career).

I defined a "durable season" as one in which a player participated in at least 70 of the 82 games. In the 1998-99 strike shortened year, I adjusted the number to 42 of the 50 games. The number that appears first is the number of seasons a player met the 70 or 42 game requirement. The number in parentheses is the total number of seasons the player has completed. The difference in the two numbers are the seasons I determined to be affected by injuries. 

Note also, that for the current players on this list, I did not include their numbers from the 2010-11 season in factoring any of the four categories.



Look at this chart and what jumps out? It's certainly not Allen's shooting percentage or health, the two factors that Miller and seemingly everyone else have deemed as the key to Allen's success. Ray Allen just flat out attempts more threes than anyone else, and it's not even close. That's not to diminish his health or shooting ability. He's obviously been better and luckier than most when it comes to those factors. But compared the rest of the top 10, he's 4th in career three-point shooting percentage. Reggie Miller managed to stay healthier over a longer period of time, and Chauncey Billups, Rashard Lewis, and Jason Terry are all on pace to at least equal Allen's string of good health. Allen shoots more--that is why he has made more.

There's a few interesting "what-ifs" on this list. We have to start with Dale Ellis. He shot the best percentage (40.3) of anyone on the list. He also appears to be an unfortunate victim of his era. Ellis attempted an average of 160 less three-pointers per year than Allen, and an average of 105 less than the four players ahead of him (Peja overtook Ellis after I finished the table). Ellis also remained healthy over a long career. Had he come a decade later, he'd at the very least have a firm hold of 3rd place, and possibly would still be ahead of Reggie. Instead, Ellis will likely in 10th place once Lewis, Terry, Billups, Paul Pierce, and Steve Nash retire. Within ten years he'll probably be buried within this list. Kind of a shame.

Look at Reggie Miller's numbers across the board. Now look at Jason Terry's. They're practically identical. The only major difference is that Terry is still seven years off from playing the 18 years that Miller did. Attempts per game and attempts per season are eerily similar, although Miller's shooting percentage is a point and a half higher. It's a very real possibility that Terry could catch Miller. Terry benefited from missing the 1998-99, entering the league a year later. So he could lose a portion two years to injury and still stay on pace with Reggie. Miller played until he was 40, reduced to a spot up shooter for the last three years of his career. If Terry is capable of filling a similar role in his later years, he has a good shot of cracking the top two or three.

Peja Stojakovic is probably the greatest what-if of them all. He's played the least amount of healthy seasons of anyone on the list, yet is still in 4th place. He has the second highest shooting percentage and attempts per game. Peja simply couldn't stay healthy. Things have gotten so bad, that it's unclear if he will even play next year. What if Peja had stayed healthy? What if he had jumped to the NBA when he was drafted in 1996 instead of waiting until 1998? We could have been treated to two extra seasons. Those two alone would have him currently in third place with well over 2,000 career threes. Instead, he'll be at the bottom of the top 10 within four years and, along with Ellis, will eventually be usurped by the future generation.  

While the accomplishments of Ray Allen shouldn't be diminished, he's been fortunate to play within offensive systems that take advantage of his ability and encourage him to shoot. Allen has also come along at the right time, during an era where three-point shooting is developed at a young age and valued in the NBA. While he hasn't shot the best percentage or been injury-free, he has attempted more threes than anyone with a similar career shooting percentage and games played, accounting for his growing lead. However, with the increase of three-point shooting and advancements in medicine, it wouldn't be surprising to see the new generation of shooters rewrite this list. As early as five years ago, the top 10 looked drastically different.