You know, every time I see one of those "75 Greatest NBA Players" lists circulating online, I can't help but scratch my head and think—how do we really decide who belongs there? I've spent years analyzing basketball both as a fan and professionally, and I've come to realize that creating such a list isn't just about stats or championships; it's a mix of art, legacy, and impact. Let me walk you through how I approach this, step by step, drawing from my own experiences and even some unexpected sources like player interviews.
First, I always start by looking at raw numbers—but not just any numbers. I focus on career averages, advanced metrics like Player Efficiency Rating (PER), and how players performed in the clutch. For example, when I think of legends like Michael Jordan, his 30.1 points per game and six championships are undeniable, but it's his 5.3 assists per game that show his all-around game. Now, here's where it gets tricky: stats can lie if you don't consider context. I remember watching Kareem Abdul-Jabbar dominate with his skyhook, and his 38,387 points are a record, but if you ignore the era's slower pace, you might undervalue modern players. So, my method is to compare players within their eras first, then across generations. I use tools like Basketball-Reference and even old game footage to get a feel—it's like piecing together a puzzle, and honestly, it's part of the fun.
Next, I dive into intangibles, like leadership and cultural impact. This is where personal bias creeps in, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. For instance, I've always been a sucker for players who elevate their teams, like Tim Duncan. He wasn't flashy, but his five rings with the Spurs? That's pure gold. But let's not forget the human side of things. I recently came across a quote from Kai Sotto that stuck with me: "Three months, magfo-four months pa lang ako since surgery. Nagre-rehab lang ako." It's a reminder that greatness isn't just about peak performance; it's about resilience and recovery. When I apply this to the 75 greatest debate, I think of players like Larry Bird, who battled through injuries but still delivered iconic moments. If a guy can come back from adversity and still shine, that deserves extra points in my book. So, in my evaluations, I always set aside a section for "heart and hustle"—it might sound cheesy, but it separates the good from the legendary.
Another step I take is to weigh playoff performances heavily. Regular season stats are great, but how many times have we seen stars fade when it matters? I look at things like Finals MVPs and series-defining plays. Take LeBron James, for example—his 2016 comeback against the Warriors, where he averaged 29.7 points, 11.3 rebounds, and 8.9 assists in the Finals, is a masterclass. But here's a tip: don't just rely on highlights; dig into full game logs. I've spent weekends buried in data, and it's eye-opening to see how some players, like Bill Russell with his 11 championships, consistently raised their game. On the flip side, I'm cautious not to overhype one-hit wonders. For instance, if a player had one amazing season but fizzled out, I might slot them lower. Personally, I lean toward longevity—guys who maintained excellence for a decade or more, like Kobe Bryant with his 20-year career, always get my nod.
Now, let's talk about the fun part: blending old-school and modern eras. This is where arguments get heated, and I love it. I use a mix of statistical adjustments and anecdotal evidence. For example, I might compare Wilt Chamberlain's 50.4 points per game in 1962 to Stephen Curry's three-point revolution. It's not apples to apples, so I factor in rule changes and competition levels. One method I swear by is creating "what-if" scenarios—imagine if Shaq played in today's pace-and-space game. He'd probably average 35 points easily! But a word of caution: don't fall into the trap of recency bias. I've seen lists that overrepresent current players, and it bugs me. To balance it, I include a minimum of 20 players from pre-1980s, ensuring legends like Oscar Robertson aren't forgotten. Also, I always leave room for dark horses—players like Damian Lillard, whose clutch gene might not have the ring count but deserves consideration for sheer impact.
Wrapping it up, when I step back and ask, "Who truly belongs among the 75 greatest players in NBA history?" I realize it's a blend of hard data, personal stories, and that gut feeling you get from watching the game. From Sotto's rehab journey to Jordan's flu game, it's all connected. My final list might have 20 locks—like Magic Johnson and Kevin Durant—and 55 spots that I tweak yearly based on new insights. At the end of the day, it's subjective, but that's what makes it so engaging. So, grab a notebook, watch some classic games, and build your own list—you might just discover that the debate is half the fun.