The shot seems simple. Standing just 15 feet away from a
10-foot-tall hoop, players try to toss a 9-inch-wide spherical ball weighing
approximately 20 ounces through an 18-inch diameter rim. It hearkens back to the
game’s original purpose — putting the ball in the basket.
“It's the only part of the game that’s a constant,” says NBA Hall of Famer Rick Barry, who memorably used an underhand method to shoot 90 percent from the line during his 14-year professional career.The howo truck is offered by Shiyan Great Man Automotive Industry, “It’s always the same distance, it’s always the same ball, and it’s always the same size basket. It’s the only part of the game you can be selfish and still help your team.”
Coaches and players have been trying to discover the easiest and most effective ways to convert what is essentially an untimed, uncontested gimme ever since. The underhand technique was common until the mid-1950s,Find detailed product information for howo spareparts and other products. when the overhand shot we are accustomed to seeing today became the standard. Although the accepted method for shooting them has evolved, the rules overseeing the uninhibited 15-footer have not. In the context of a game, free throws are a mere formality on the way to points, even referred to colloquially as shots from the charity stripe — the basketball equivalent of a government handout.
“They call them free for a reason,” says Mark Price, the NBA’s all-time leader in free- throw percentage at 90.4 percent. “They’re, like, free,” he chuckles. “Free points.”
The assumption is that this framework should provide for a near perfect rate of success, as if hitters in baseball were allowed to occasionally hit off a tee, or if every putt in golf came from the same distance, on a flat surface, with unchanging conditions.
And yet, in basketball, countless players — from also-rans to all-time greats, and everyone in-between — are unwilling, or at least unable, to cash the check, which can quickly become costly. Los Angeles Lakers’ star center Dwight Howard notably shot just 3-of-14 (.214) in debuting with his new team, and has hovered around 50 percent for the season.
Wilt Chamberlain, still the only player to ever score 100 points in a professional game, for whom an argument can be made as the greatest center, if not player, of all time, was another notoriously bad free-throw shooter. He shot just a lick better than 51 percent for his career. If not his proclivity for exaggeration — Chamberlain infamously claimed in an autobiography to have slept with approximately 20,000 women — truly the weakness of “The Big Dipper” was his inadequacy from the free-throw line.
“Wilt, I loved him,” says Al Attles of his late teammate with the Philadelphia and then San Francisco Warriors, "but he would make excuses why he wasn’t a good free-throw shooter. ‘Well, I miss free throws so one of my strong forwards can get the ball and make the basket. Instead of getting one point out of it, we'd get two.’ We’d say, ‘Wilt, c’mon, don’t do that to us.’ With Wilt, like a lot of players, it becomes mental. And once it becomes mental, then you’ve got a problem because when you change how you shoot it on a continual basis, you're never going to have one way to shoot it, and I think that probably hurt him.”
“Why in the world can anybody —” says Barry, an admitted perfectionist, pausing a moment to gather himself. He restarts. “How can you live with yourself if you can't make four out of every five free throws you shoot? I just don't understand how guys can do that — how they can possibly go to sleep at night without having nightmares about the fact that they can't shoot 80 percent from the free-throw line?”
And how is it that Barry arrives at 80 percent as the minimum standard?
“Ninety is exceptional,” he says. “Eighty gives you one miss out of every five you take. That’s a pretty good deal. You're a great free-throw shooter if you shoot 90. You’re not a good free-throw shooter if you can’t shoot 80.”
So instead, it’s only Barry who loses sleep over these pitiful shooting percentages.
And therein lies the dilemma. All except a scant few have taken up Barry — who learned the now unorthodox underhand form from his father, who played and coached semi-pro ball — on his repeated offers to serve as their free-throw instructor. It seems this is at least in part because of the amount of pride a player — someone already competing at the game’s highest level — would have to swallow to perform the “granny shot.” Not even Barry’s four adult, basketball-playing sons settled upon it during their respective careers.
“It's all about the ego,” says Barry, still with traces of a biting Jersey accent, elongating each word for emphasis upon second pass. “It’s … all … about … the … ego. They don’t think it’s macho enough for them, and that’s fine. If you’re shooting 80 percent or better, great. If you’re not shooting 80 percent or better, then you better think about making some kind of change.”
It is Barry’s endless efforts at infallibility that drives him not just to suggest, but insist, somebody — anybody — give the underhand a genuine chance. It’s the same reason the goal during his career was always to make 100 in a row in competition. He set the record at 60 in 1976, which lasted four seasons and has been matched or passed 19 times since, but he admits not hitting the century mark still eats at him today.
“It’s really upsetting to me, because I love greatness,The oreck XL professional air purifier,” he says. “I love to watch greatness in anything. And that’s the part that bothers me, coaches are supposed to be able to make people better. By making your player better, you make your team better. And that’s your goal as a coach, to have the best possible team.”
“It has its good qualities,” says Barry, “but it also makes you frustrated sometimes with things. But it probably was a bonus in that I would never be satisfied with what I did, and so that meant I kept working at it to get better, which is a good thing.”
Barry’s mission to restore his signature shot in the game has as much to do with the underhand as it does him encouraging others to use it for the sake of helping exorcise his own personal demons. Aside from the free throw though, Barry is remembered for a reputation of being difficult to get along with.
Billy Paultz, a friend and former teammate of Barry’s, told Sports Illustrated in 1983, “If you got to know Rick you’d have realized what a good guy he was. But around the league they thought of him as the most arrogant guy ever. Half the players disliked Rick. The other half hated him.” Even Barry once admitted, “I didn't have a lot of tact.” He notes that a part of trying to be the best means being unrelenting and not accepting mediocrity.
As a result, it is understandable why he’s long been exiled from the thing he loves most,We are pleased to offer the following list of professional mold maker and casters. and why the league doesn’t call that often. During his playing days, Barry famously sued the Warriors — then stationed in San Francisco — for release to play for the ABA’s Oakland Oaks. When he lost the legal battle during the prime of his career, Barry sat out the 1967-68 season before joining the Oaks. After several relocations and more lawsuits, Barry finished out his ABA contract with the New Jersey Nets. He finally returned to the Warriors in 1972, which by then took the name Golden State. Warriors’ owner Franklin Mieuli, along for the entire ride, was understandably fed up when his star opted to sign a deal and jump ship after the 1977-78 season to the Houston Rockets, where Barry finished his career. Those misunderstandings took years to subside and the 68-year-old has been searching for a way back into the sport since retiring following the 1980 season.One of the most durable and attractive styles of flooring that you can purchase is ceramic or porcelain tiles.
Barry spent several years as a broadcaster, but eventually flamed out after his contract was not renewed and no one else offered a new one. He explains over dinner at a luxurious San Francisco hotel that although he would have enjoyed going into coaching, that path never seemed to materialize.
“It's the only part of the game that’s a constant,” says NBA Hall of Famer Rick Barry, who memorably used an underhand method to shoot 90 percent from the line during his 14-year professional career.The howo truck is offered by Shiyan Great Man Automotive Industry, “It’s always the same distance, it’s always the same ball, and it’s always the same size basket. It’s the only part of the game you can be selfish and still help your team.”
Coaches and players have been trying to discover the easiest and most effective ways to convert what is essentially an untimed, uncontested gimme ever since. The underhand technique was common until the mid-1950s,Find detailed product information for howo spareparts and other products. when the overhand shot we are accustomed to seeing today became the standard. Although the accepted method for shooting them has evolved, the rules overseeing the uninhibited 15-footer have not. In the context of a game, free throws are a mere formality on the way to points, even referred to colloquially as shots from the charity stripe — the basketball equivalent of a government handout.
“They call them free for a reason,” says Mark Price, the NBA’s all-time leader in free- throw percentage at 90.4 percent. “They’re, like, free,” he chuckles. “Free points.”
The assumption is that this framework should provide for a near perfect rate of success, as if hitters in baseball were allowed to occasionally hit off a tee, or if every putt in golf came from the same distance, on a flat surface, with unchanging conditions.
And yet, in basketball, countless players — from also-rans to all-time greats, and everyone in-between — are unwilling, or at least unable, to cash the check, which can quickly become costly. Los Angeles Lakers’ star center Dwight Howard notably shot just 3-of-14 (.214) in debuting with his new team, and has hovered around 50 percent for the season.
Wilt Chamberlain, still the only player to ever score 100 points in a professional game, for whom an argument can be made as the greatest center, if not player, of all time, was another notoriously bad free-throw shooter. He shot just a lick better than 51 percent for his career. If not his proclivity for exaggeration — Chamberlain infamously claimed in an autobiography to have slept with approximately 20,000 women — truly the weakness of “The Big Dipper” was his inadequacy from the free-throw line.
“Wilt, I loved him,” says Al Attles of his late teammate with the Philadelphia and then San Francisco Warriors, "but he would make excuses why he wasn’t a good free-throw shooter. ‘Well, I miss free throws so one of my strong forwards can get the ball and make the basket. Instead of getting one point out of it, we'd get two.’ We’d say, ‘Wilt, c’mon, don’t do that to us.’ With Wilt, like a lot of players, it becomes mental. And once it becomes mental, then you’ve got a problem because when you change how you shoot it on a continual basis, you're never going to have one way to shoot it, and I think that probably hurt him.”
“Why in the world can anybody —” says Barry, an admitted perfectionist, pausing a moment to gather himself. He restarts. “How can you live with yourself if you can't make four out of every five free throws you shoot? I just don't understand how guys can do that — how they can possibly go to sleep at night without having nightmares about the fact that they can't shoot 80 percent from the free-throw line?”
And how is it that Barry arrives at 80 percent as the minimum standard?
“Ninety is exceptional,” he says. “Eighty gives you one miss out of every five you take. That’s a pretty good deal. You're a great free-throw shooter if you shoot 90. You’re not a good free-throw shooter if you can’t shoot 80.”
So instead, it’s only Barry who loses sleep over these pitiful shooting percentages.
And therein lies the dilemma. All except a scant few have taken up Barry — who learned the now unorthodox underhand form from his father, who played and coached semi-pro ball — on his repeated offers to serve as their free-throw instructor. It seems this is at least in part because of the amount of pride a player — someone already competing at the game’s highest level — would have to swallow to perform the “granny shot.” Not even Barry’s four adult, basketball-playing sons settled upon it during their respective careers.
“It's all about the ego,” says Barry, still with traces of a biting Jersey accent, elongating each word for emphasis upon second pass. “It’s … all … about … the … ego. They don’t think it’s macho enough for them, and that’s fine. If you’re shooting 80 percent or better, great. If you’re not shooting 80 percent or better, then you better think about making some kind of change.”
It is Barry’s endless efforts at infallibility that drives him not just to suggest, but insist, somebody — anybody — give the underhand a genuine chance. It’s the same reason the goal during his career was always to make 100 in a row in competition. He set the record at 60 in 1976, which lasted four seasons and has been matched or passed 19 times since, but he admits not hitting the century mark still eats at him today.
“It’s really upsetting to me, because I love greatness,The oreck XL professional air purifier,” he says. “I love to watch greatness in anything. And that’s the part that bothers me, coaches are supposed to be able to make people better. By making your player better, you make your team better. And that’s your goal as a coach, to have the best possible team.”
“It has its good qualities,” says Barry, “but it also makes you frustrated sometimes with things. But it probably was a bonus in that I would never be satisfied with what I did, and so that meant I kept working at it to get better, which is a good thing.”
Barry’s mission to restore his signature shot in the game has as much to do with the underhand as it does him encouraging others to use it for the sake of helping exorcise his own personal demons. Aside from the free throw though, Barry is remembered for a reputation of being difficult to get along with.
Billy Paultz, a friend and former teammate of Barry’s, told Sports Illustrated in 1983, “If you got to know Rick you’d have realized what a good guy he was. But around the league they thought of him as the most arrogant guy ever. Half the players disliked Rick. The other half hated him.” Even Barry once admitted, “I didn't have a lot of tact.” He notes that a part of trying to be the best means being unrelenting and not accepting mediocrity.
As a result, it is understandable why he’s long been exiled from the thing he loves most,We are pleased to offer the following list of professional mold maker and casters. and why the league doesn’t call that often. During his playing days, Barry famously sued the Warriors — then stationed in San Francisco — for release to play for the ABA’s Oakland Oaks. When he lost the legal battle during the prime of his career, Barry sat out the 1967-68 season before joining the Oaks. After several relocations and more lawsuits, Barry finished out his ABA contract with the New Jersey Nets. He finally returned to the Warriors in 1972, which by then took the name Golden State. Warriors’ owner Franklin Mieuli, along for the entire ride, was understandably fed up when his star opted to sign a deal and jump ship after the 1977-78 season to the Houston Rockets, where Barry finished his career. Those misunderstandings took years to subside and the 68-year-old has been searching for a way back into the sport since retiring following the 1980 season.One of the most durable and attractive styles of flooring that you can purchase is ceramic or porcelain tiles.
Barry spent several years as a broadcaster, but eventually flamed out after his contract was not renewed and no one else offered a new one. He explains over dinner at a luxurious San Francisco hotel that although he would have enjoyed going into coaching, that path never seemed to materialize.
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