There is only one writer on the planet who possesses enough basketball knowledge and passion to write the definitive book on the NBA.
Bill Simmons, the from-the-womb hoops addict known to millions as ESPN.com's Sports Guy, is that writer. And The Book of Basketball is that book.
Nowhere in the roundball universe will you find another single volume that covers as much in such depth as this wildly opinionated and thoroughly entertaining look at the past, present, and future of pro basketball.
From the age-old question of who actually won the rivalry between Bill Russell and Wilt Chamberlain to the one about which team was truly the best of all time, Simmons opens--and then closes, once and for all--every major pro basketball debate. Then he takes it further by completely reevaluating not only how NBA Hall of Fame inductees should be chosen but how the institution must be reshaped from the ground up, the result being the Pyramid: Simmons's one-of-a-kind, five-level shrine to the ninety-six greatest players in the history of pro basketball. And ultimately he takes fans to the heart of it all, as he uses a conversation with one NBA great to uncover that coveted thing: The Secret of Basketball.
Comprehensive, authoritative, controversial, hilarious, and impossible to put down (even for Celtic-haters), The Book of Basketball offers every hardwood fan a courtside seat beside the game's finest, funniest, and fiercest chronicler.
More to the point, he's the only one crazy enough to try to pull it off.
I LEARNED THE secret of basketball while lounging at a topless pool in Las Vegas. As I learned the secret, someone's bare breasts were staring at me from just eight feet away. The person explaining the secret was a Hall of Famer who once vowed to beat me up and changed his mind only because Gus Johnson vouched for me.
(Do I tell this story? Yes. I tell this story.)
Come back with me to July 2007. My buddy Hopper was pushing me to accompany him for an impromptu Vegas trip, knowing that I wouldn't turn him down because of my Donaghy-level gambling problem. I needed permission from my pregnant wife, who was perpetually ornery from (a) carrying our second child during the hot weather months in California and (b) being knocked up because I pulled the goalie on her back in February.1 But here's why I'm an evil genius: with the NBA Summer League happening at the same time, I somehow convinced her that ESPN The Magazine wanted a column about Friday's quadruple-header featuring my favorite team (the Celtics), my favorite rookie (Kevin Durant), and the two Los Angeles teams (Clippers and Lakers). "I'll be in and out in thirty-six hours," I told her.
She signed off and directed her anger at the magazine for making me work on a weekend. (I told you, I'm shrewd.) I quickly called my editor and had the following exchange.
me: I don't have a column idea this week. I'm panicking.
neil (my editor): Crap. I don't know what to tell you, it's a dead month.
(A few seconds of silence ensues.)
me: Hey, wait...isn't the NBA Summer League in Vegas right now?
neil: Yeah, I think it is. What would you write about, though?
me: Lemme see what the schedule is for Friday. [I spend the next 20 seconds pretending to log onto NBA.com and look this up.] Oh my God--
Clippers at 3, Celtics at 5, Lakers at 6, Durant and the Sonics at 7! You have to let me go! I can get 1,250 words out of that! [Neil doesn't respond.] Come on--Vegas? The Celtics and Durant? This column will write itself!
neil (after a long sigh): "Okay, fine, fine."
Did I care that he sounded like I had just convinced him to donate me a kidney? Of course not! I flew down on Friday, devoured those four games and joined Hopper for drunken blackjack until the wee hours.2 The following morning, we woke up in time for a Vegas Breakfast (16-ounce coffee, bagel, large water), then headed down to the Wynn's lavish outdoor blackjack setup, which includes:
1.Eight blackjack tables surrounding one of those square outdoor bars like the one where Brian Flanagan worked after he fled to Jamaica in Cocktail. Once you've gambled outdoors, your life is never quite the same. It's like riding in a convertible for the first time.
2.Overhead mist machines blowing cool spray so nobody overheats, a crucial wrinkle during the scorching Vegas summer, when it's frequently over 110 degrees outside and 170 degrees in every guy's crotch.
3.A beautiful European pool tucked right behind the tables. Just so you know, "European" is a fancy way of saying, "It's okay to go topless there."3
If there's a better male bonding experience, I can't think of one. For our yearly guys' trip one month earlier, we arrived right before the outdoor area opened (11:00 a.m.) and played through dinner. For the first three hours, none of the sunbathers was willing to pull a Jackie Robinson and break the topless barrier, so we decided the Wynn should hire six strippers to go topless every day at noon (just to break the ice) and have their DJ play techno songs with titles like "Take Your Tops Off," "Come On, Nobody's Looking," "We're All Friends Here," "Unleash...
About the Author
Bill Simmons writes "The Sports Guy" column for ESPN.com's Page 2 and ESPN: The Magazine. He is the author of Now I Can Die In Peace, founded the award-winning bostonsportsguy.com website, and was a writer for Jimmy Kimmel Live. He commutes between his home in Los Angeles and Fenway Park.
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