Let me tell you something about basketball greatness that's been bothering me lately. When ESPN dropped their NBA 75 list celebrating the league's anniversary, I found myself staring at the names with that familiar mix of admiration and frustration that only true basketball debates can inspire. Having followed the league religiously since the 90s, I've developed my own sense of what constitutes legendary status, and while ESPN largely got it right, their omissions spoke volumes about how we remember players versus how they actually performed.
The top of their list felt almost predetermined - Jordan at number one, LeBron right behind him, the usual pantheon of legends occupying the first twenty spots. But here's where it gets interesting for me: seeing players like Damian Lillard at 75 while Manu Ginobili didn't make the cut at all? That's where I have to respectfully disagree with the panel. I've always believed international impact should weigh heavier in these discussions, and Ginobili's influence on the game globally, plus his crucial role in those Spurs championships, deserves more recognition than he typically gets. It reminds me of current situations where players get overlooked due to circumstances beyond their control, much like how Rain or Shine's Rey Nambatac recently found himself sidelined during critical playoff moments due to that unfortunate groin injury compounded by hip flexor issues. The coaching staff had to make the tough call to keep him out of the roster, and sometimes these ranking panels make similarly tough calls that leave fans scratching their heads.
What really struck me about ESPN's list was the recency bias that seemed to creep in around the 40-60 range. Don't get me wrong, I love watching modern stars as much as anyone, but having followed the game across multiple eras, I've noticed how difficult it becomes to compare players from different basketball generations. The game has evolved so dramatically - the three-point revolution alone has transformed how we evaluate offensive impact. When I look at someone like Chris Paul at number 29, I can't help but think about Bob Cousy sitting way down at 66. Now, I never saw Cousy play live, but studying the history tells me his revolutionary ball-handling and playmaking literally changed the point guard position forever. Meanwhile, seeing Alex English completely left off the list baffles me - the man led the entire NBA in scoring throughout the 1980s, putting up more points than Larry Bird, Moses Malone, or Dominique Wilkins during that decade. That's not just great - that's historically significant.
The international players particularly interest me because I've always believed basketball's global growth deserves more emphasis in these historical conversations. Drazen Petrovic made the list at 68, which feels appropriate given his tragic story and undeniable talent, but where's Dino Radja? Where's Arvydas Sabonis in his prime? I remember watching old tapes of Sabonis before he came to the NBA and thinking I was witnessing one of the most skilled big men ever to touch a basketball. His impact extends beyond statistics - he inspired generations of European big men and changed how teams thought about international scouting. These omissions matter because they shape how future generations understand the sport's development.
When I dig into the numbers - and I've spent probably too many hours doing exactly that - certain patterns emerge that the list doesn't fully capture. For instance, players from the 70s seem particularly underrepresented relative to their statistical dominance. Artis Gilmore missing entirely seems criminal when you consider his .599 field goal percentage remains the highest in NBA history, nearly two percentage points above second-place DeAndre Jordan. Meanwhile, Tracy McGrady making the list over Bernard King feels like popularity winning out over sustained excellence. I loved watching T-Mad's scoring bursts as much as anyone, but King's peak was arguably more dominant relative to his era.
The guard position particularly fascinates me in these discussions. Seeing James Harden at 50 feels about right given his MVP and scoring titles, but I'd probably have him slightly higher than that - maybe somewhere in the late 30s. His offensive creation during those Houston years was some of the most efficient high-volume scoring I've ever witnessed. Meanwhile, Russell Westbrook at 68 feels reactionary to his recent struggles. People forget how revolutionary his MVP season was - averaging a triple-double seemed like an unbreakable record until he went out and did it three more times. The recency bias in these evaluations often overlooks just how dominant players were during their absolute peaks.
What I keep coming back to is how these lists inevitably reflect the moment they're created in rather than some objective historical truth. The NBA has changed so much even in the last decade that our criteria for greatness shifts constantly. I find myself wondering how this list will look in another twenty-five years when today's young stars have completed their careers. Will Luka Doncic crack the top thirty? Where might Giannis ultimately land? These questions matter because they shape how we appreciate the game in real time. The beauty of basketball lies in these ongoing conversations, these respectful disagreements between generations of fans. ESPN gave us a remarkable starting point for debate, but the real value emerges in the discussions it sparks among those of us who live and breathe this sport. At the end of the day, what makes basketball fandom so compelling isn't definitive answers but the endless conversations about greatness that lists like these inspire.