Earlier in the semester, we discussed the dimensional limitations of basketball and the deliberateness with which James Naismith set the bounds of his playing area. Since Naismith's invention, the game of basketball as always had specified measurements (albeit, some have evolved over time). The hoop is 10 feet off the ground. The court is 94 feet long, 50 feet wide. The diameter of the center circle is 12 feet. The length of John Stockton's shorts must cover no more than 1/8 of his entire leg. Et cetera, et cetera.
What I mean to say is that there is a fixed, bounded space in which all basketball players have competed since 1891, when Naismith's fever dream became reality. It's almost as though the players are playing in an invisible box. It isn't even an opened box if you consider the height restrictions of the playing area, i.e. the bottom of a typical NBA or college arena scoreboard as the upper vertical limit. One can stretch the limits of this enclosed space. They can shoot the ball from 28 feet from the basket as opposed to 15 feet (resulting in a 3-point basket instead of a 2) or jump high enough to forcefully "slam" the ball into the hoop as opposed to laying it in off the backboard. Another example of this is if a player heaves a 3/4 court shot at the end of a quarter, which is roughly a 70-foot shot. Could the player shoot a similarly distant shot from the baseline? No, because the length of the baseline restricts the length of a baseline shot to 25 feet, and they would be essentially in the stands. As a result, these limits imposed by the rules of basketball can be stretched, but they can never be fully broken.
Flash to February 11, 2011, a regular season matchup between the Miami Heat and the Indiana Pacers. Dwyane Wade rebounds a missed Danny Granger 20-foot jump shot. LeBron James, who was guarding Granger on the play, sprints the length of the floor and advances ahead of Indiana's transition defense. Wade recognizes his teammate's advantageous floor position and heaves the ball in his direction.
What happens next is unprecedented.
This is the play in full.
LeBron easily catches the full-court pass (at this point he has leaped towards the rim) and gracefully lays the ball off the backboard and into the hoop. It is beautiful in its effortless motion, the way that Wade — upon snatching the rebound — turns over his right shoulder, pivoting around his right foot and, in an effort of power and accuracy that would make the great Dan Marino proud, spirals a pass down the floor. LeBron acts as wide receiver, a role that he is not unfamiliar with. He majestically soars and grabs the pass, and instead of merely landing in the end-zone (like a WR or a TE would do), he unflinchingly redirects the trajectory of the ball into the basket. A superhuman feat of athletic competence and skill, a blurred mosaic of both basketball and football.
I think that this is as close as we're going to see an athlete (or two) break the restrictive bounds of a basketball court. It's hard to judge which part of the play is more impressive. Is it Wade, who easily heaves a pinpoint pass 92 feet down the court? Or is it LeBron, who just as easily catches the laser pass and lays it in?
It's tough to say.
What's easy to say is that we've come to a point in the history of basketball where the players are stretching the bounds of Naismith's playing area to a seeming maximum. This begs the question: where do we (they) go from here?
