What If There Is No "Greatest Of All Time?"

VIA: For a proper argument to take place, it first needs to be established that there are grounds for an argument to begin with. Which is to say that there’s no point even trying to argue something if one side or the other is generally accepted as fact.

Or is there? People once believed that the monsters lay beyond the edge of the world, or that the sun revolved around the earth. These things were accepted as fact, but were eventually overturned. Solidity is often illusory, it’s just that some illusions appear more real than others.

So: Even though Michael Jordan’s basketball legacy—“The Best There Ever Was, The Best There Ever Will Be”—is literally carved in stone, that doesn’t necessarily make it a forever truth. To argue, say, that LeBron James could one day be considered the best player ever seems like an exercise in futility, does that mean it’s a conversation not even worth having?

Why the hell not?

There are many reasons Michael Jordan’s generally considered to be the best player to ever play the game, most of these having to do with the fact that he was really, really, really good. He’s been lauded in song, cast in bronze, and appears on virtually every all-time leader board. He was an exceptional player on both sides of the ball, and the inspiration to not just one, but several generations of players. He was so exceptional that he’s become the baseline by which all other players are measured, and therein lies the problem: If it’s automatically presumed that Michael Jordan is the best—if Jordan is forever the measuring stick—how the hell is anyone else ever supposed to rise above him?

Take Kobe Bryant, for example. Kobe based his game on Jordan’s—no surprise for a 6’6” guard born in the late ‘70s—and came the closest out of anyone who tried to duplicate the master’s work. He worked on his game relentlessly, becoming the premier player on both sides of the ball, combining prodigious talent and a terrifying work ethic to build something beautiful. Ultimately, though, it was something that had been seen before.

He won a dunk contest, won a scoring title, teamed with Phil Jackson to win championships, plural. He even preempted aging, installing a fully operational (and equally unstoppable) ground-based game before he ever needed it. It wasn’t enough. Shaq won Finals MVPs and the Lakers lost Finals and, well, that was that. Kobe wasn’t Jordan, therefore, he couldn’t be the best ever. If anyone was going to force their way into the “best ever” discussion, it wouldn’t be enough to just be better. The narrative itself would have to change.

In 2003 the NBA needed a savior in the worst way. Jordan was finally retired for good, Kobe was facing serious charges in Denver. And in an NBA Draft full of potential stars, LeBron James stood alone. He wore No. 23, of course, and as he hoisted a moribund midwestern franchise on his already sizable shoulders, the inevitable and familiar comparisons began.

LeBron dragged the Cavaliers all the way to the NBA Finals in his fourth season, where they were swept by the vastly superior San Antonio Spurs. He turned in many superlative performances, and several mystifyingly pedestrian ones, some at rather unfortunate times. He turned out funny commercials and exhibited a fun-loving personality nearly 180 degrees to that of the strictly business Bryant. LeBron’s legacy wasn’t set, but things were proceeding in much the same vein as any would-be Jordan heir: First the struggle, then the hard-earned success. Then came The Decision.

At the time, LeBron’s decision to sign with the Miami Heat—via an impossibly self-serving hour-long special on ESPN—seemed like a horrible mistake. Seemingly overnight, he went from hometown hero to worldwide villain. At an outlandish introductory press conference, he stood on a stage with his new teammates, ringless, counting off all their championships to come. For a player who’d come into the league with nearly limitless credit, the bills were finally coming due. He had to win.

It didn’t happen immediately, but it happened. The Heat went to the Finals his first year and lost, then won the next two. James now has two titles (along with two Finals MVPs), four MVPs, 10 All-Star appearances and five All-NBA First Team Defense nods to go with his seven All-NBA First Team spots. And as he nears the end of his 11th season, it’s not unfair to begin considering the matter of his legacy. But that’s not possible without first figuring out what the basis for determining an NBA player’s legacy really is.

Who was considered the best player in the NBA before Michael Jordan? Was there ever really a consensus? What aspect of a career was valued the most prior to Jordan? If it was singular dominance, then the answer had to be Wilt Chamberlain, who shattered most records as a player and established some (100 points, 55 rebounds) that will likely never be approached. If it’s longevity we’re judging, then maybe it was Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, the all-time scoring leader who won Finals MVPs over a decade apart. If we’re simply talking about winning, then we’re talking about Bill Russell, with his 11 titles. Versatility? Oscar Robertson, who actually averaged a triple-double over his first three seasons. Influence? Julius Erving, who literally elevated the game. Or did it have to be someone from the modern era? In that case, the battle was between Magic Johnson and Larry Bird, a pair of 6-9 stars whose best measure of excellence was always the other.

Then Jordan came along and ruined everything.

He dominated statistically like Chamberlain, inspired like Erving, won titles (almost) like Russell. He didn’t have a foil like Johnson and Bird, and instead put down a whole roster’s worth of challengers, from Clyde Drexler to Patrick Ewing to Charles Barkley to Shawn Kemp to Karl Malone. And Nike, who wisely put all their chips on 23, doubled down by creating an entire universe centered around Jordan, one which smitten fans (including yours truly) accepted as truth, rather than the brilliant marketing scheme it was. Saying no one had been better than Jordan was arguable. Saying no one would ever be better was completely absurd.

Surely this sort of thing had been said before. People in the ‘60s thought there would never be anyone better than Chamberlain, people in the ‘70s thought there would never be anyone better than Erving, people in the ‘80s thought there would never be anyone better than Magic or Bird. Basketball fans in particular tend to champion the stars of their own generation. But there was never any real consensus, it was never really an argument that was meant to be settled.

That is, until Jordan. For some reason it was concluded that no basketball player could ever be better than him, that he would stop the world from moving on—and it worked. It worked! Jordan went from being a great player in a long line of them to being something more, this figurehead who didn’t just set standards, but is the standard by which all great players are measured. Which not only established Jordan as the best, but essentially rendered any argument made in opposition invalid.

Think about how absurd the idea of an infallible athlete is. What would it take for a basketball player to honestly be declared the best ever? They’d have to be more or less perfect, right? In fact, they would have to BE perfect, since near perfection could always get toppled by perfection. And no basketball player is, or ever has been, or ever will be perfect.

Remember: Michael Jordan’s teams lost playoff series. Michael Jordan’s teams were swept in playoff series. Michael Jordan missed shots. What was the line? “I’ve missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I’ve lost almost 300 games. 26 times, I’ve been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.”

LeBron has failed plenty of times, too. He’s passed up last shots he should have taken, and taken last shots he probably shouldn’t have. He’s disappeared at big moments, walked off the court a loser. He made it to the Finals and lost, and never entered a goddamn dunk contest. He is measured up against the Jordan precedent, and found wanting.

And what of it? Jordan never averaged a triple-double for a season like Oscar. He didn’t score 38,000 points like Kareem. He didn’t average 50 like Wilt, didn’t win 11 rings like Russ. If individual precedent is the true measure of greatness, then why is Jordan even considered the best ever to begin with? Well, because he did all of those things to some degree. And because everyone says so.

This should no longer be good enough.

Right now is a hell of a time to be a basketball fan. So many tools are at our disposal that our predecessors never had, from HD video to social media to advanced statistics. We can watch more games—and parse them more carefully—than anyone ever could. And the change continues at an exponential rate. It’s also a hell of a time to be a basketball player. Growing up in North Carolina in the ‘70s, young Michael heard stories about David Thompson’s exploits at NC State. Growing up in Italy in the ‘80s, young Kobe watched videotapes of Magic and Bird sent to him from America. Growing up in Akron in the 2000s, young LeBron could cue up virtually any NBA game ever on YouTube. The entirety of basketball history was at his fingertips. The current generation of basketball players will always build on the generation that came before. They stand on the shoulders of giants. Elgin begat Julius, Julius begat Michael, Michael begat Kobe, Kobe begat LeBron.

But somewhere along the line—in July of 2010—Lebron tired of just standing and reaching. He jumped. Not that he doesn’t respect those who came before. Far from it. LeBron knows his basketball history, and understands he needs to earn his place in it. But at the same time, he realizes—perhaps more than any player in recent history—that the way to do that isn’t simply to travel the same well-trodden paths. He’s watched long enough to know where those lead.

Jordan ended comparisons by winning the argument — among some, anyway — and maybe LeBron can ultimately end comparisons by proving that the real value is in the argument itself. Forget the intangibles for a moment, and just look at the tangibles: LeBron is bigger than Jordan, taller than Jordan, faster than Jordan. He’s a better playmaker, a better outside shooter. He’s a unique talent. Then again, so is Kevin Durant, whose slender frame and ability to get buckets recalls George Gervin, but whose height and reach probably would have had him playing center in the ABA and at 25 has a real chance of challenging Kareem’s all-time scoring record.

Who’s the best to ever play? Why does it matter? Why does this particular question have to have an answer? Maybe it’s because sports themselves always need an answer, each game needs a winner and a loser, each season a champion (hell, people feel the need to determine the winner and loser of TRADES). Maybe the “Who’s The Best?” argument is just a natural extension of that. But whether the Best Player Ever is someone who’s already played or not, we have to at least be able to believe (and hope) that someone better might come along. Because otherwise, why keep watching at all?