Scott Adamson, Author at Adamsonmedia.com

Going to the line

You already know that I’m a gimmick guy, meaning I love a good sports rule innovation – especially one that makes fans of the status quo uncomfortable.

And this is the time of the year when I always go to the NBA G League website to find out what tweaks they have for the upcoming season.

**Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Bluesky @scottadamson1960 and Adamsonmedia on Facebook.**

In 2024-25 the only changes in the developmental circuit involve end of period “heaves” and expanded coach’s challenge.

If a player chunks one from the cheap seats at the end of the quarter and misses, it’ll be charged to the team and won’t go against his shooting percentage. It has to come within the final three seconds of the first three periods, and must be 36 feet from the basket or beyond.

And as for the coach’s challenge, the only called infractions that won’t be subject to review will be technical fouls, unsportsmanlike acts and flagrant fouls.

I don’t have strong feelings about those changes one way or another – my main concern was making sure the free throw rule was still in place. The one implemented by the G League starting with the 2019-20 campaign is the best in the roundball business, in my opinion.

A single free throw is worth one, two or three points when a player goes to the line following any foul that would result in one, two or three free throws under standard NBA rules (it doesn’t apply during the last two minutes of the fourth quarter or overtime).

Not only does this speed up the game, but I think it’s a fair way of making the punishment fit the crime, so to speak. If a guy was fouled while shooting a three, let his lone charity toss replicate that number of points.

Out of curiosity, I decided to look at some of the other modifications free throws have undergone through the years.

One of my favorites (and a controversial one) is an oldie but a goodie, courtesy of the National Collegiate Athletic Association.

From 1939 to 1952, the NCAA utilized a rule that allowed a team to decline free throws and, instead, retain possession of the ball and inbound it from halfcourt. And in the case of a team being awarded a two-shot foul, it could opt to shoot the first free throw and then decline the second in favor of possession.

The rule was proposed in March, 1939, by Marquette coach W.S. Chandler but ultimately fell out of favor and nixed by NCAA coaches during their March, 1952, meeting.

I’ve always been intrigued by this alternative. Instead of the “Hack-a-Shaq” approach that puts a poor free throw shooter on the line, the opposing defense will simply have to force a turnover if the fouled team retains possession. Then again, it didn’t stop them from fouling during its 14-year run (especially since the inbound play came from halfcourt), so this rule was hardly perfect.

Starting with the 1954-55 season, the NBA had a “three to make two” free throw rule. This was applied during shooting fouls, flagrant fouls and backcourt fouls when a club was over the team limit. In the 1960s there was also a “two to make one rule” that went onto effect after a player was fouled followed a made field goal.

I liked those fine, although both were canned before the 1981-82 season. The stated reason was they were extending the length of the games (which they did).

So, what would my free throw “fix” be if I ran a league?

It’s far too drastic to ever be considered, but I’d just eliminate free throws altogether.

If a player is fouled while shooting, he or she is awarded the points (two or three) they would’ve scored on a made basket. And in an “and one” situation, they automatically get the one.

As for fouls during a bonus situation, instead of a one-and-one, the offense is credited with one point and retains possession.

Yeah, I know … that’s too far outside the box and would result in freakish scoring stats. But it’s still what I’d do because as I wrote at the outset, I’m a gimmick guy.

Fortunately for basketball fans everywhere, I’ll never run a league, so there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.

That being the case, I’ll just keep hoping that one day the G League free throw rule becomes universal.

A love story

“Do you hear that?”

“Yeah … it sounds like a tornado siren. That doesn’t make any sense, though, because the sky’s perfectly clear. And it’s Sunday, not Wednesday when they run the test sirens. You think maybe it malfunctioned?”

Glen Franklin and Frieda Kimmelman were no strangers to taking cover during ominous weather. And while they always feared the damage it might do, they actually looked forward to spending time in the “Falldown Shelter.”

The pair moved into a 1950s-era fixer-upper on the outskirts of Asheville, North Carolina, several years earlier. It was a two bedroom, one bath model, with a screened-in back porch that offered a view of the woods. It also had an old-fashioned fallout shelter, which Glen jokingly called the “Falldown Shelter” because of all the liquor he stored there.

Fortunately for both, Glen did more than stock the dull grey bunker with booze. Frieda frequently got product samples from work – she was a regional manager with Gas N’ Grits, a high-end convenience store chain – and the shelter seemed as good a place as any to store them.

And Glen always left the monthly trip to the Discount Superstore with more than he needed, so there was plenty of bottled water, cereal and canned goods to put on the metal shelves.

Throw in a generator, portable radio, three lawn chairs, two bunk beds, an RV toilet (which had – thankfully – never been used), a dartboard and pop lights in case the generator failed, and the Falldown Shelter was a useful little hideaway in an area often plagued by tornadoes.

And considering the cacophony created by all the alerts, this one must be an F-5.

“We better head down to be on the safe side,” Frieda said. “I still think maybe there’s just some kind of screw-up with the warning system, though. Either way, you and me will make the best of it. I’ve lost count of how many tornado retreats we’ve gone on down here. Best part is, I get to kick your butt at darts again.”

Glen majored in computer programming at King’s College in Charlotte. After graduation, he was hired on at Carolina CyberTech in Asheville, where he would be sent to various businesses to troubleshoot their IT woes.

He enjoyed what he did well enough.

“A job is a job is a job,” he liked to say. “Especially when it leads directly to direct deposit.”

And he got along well with people he worked with, most who enjoyed his offbeat sense of humor.

And it was that job that allowed him to meet Frieda, a couple years younger than him and a Knoxville transplant with an associate’s degree from Pellissippi State Community College. A former high school basketball player, she was ambitious and took her working life very, very seriously.

She had a “hard” look – her face was weathered beyond her years and she sported an almost constant expression of concern. And she was always very “business-like” – smart suits, smart shoes and closely cropped hair.

But despite her conservative appearance, she loved to laugh, and Glen was always able to make her chortle during his trips to Gas N’ Grits. And when she did, she’d turn slightly red, cover her mouth as she cackled and say, “You’re terrible!”

On the outside looking in, they were an odd match.

While she was big and somewhat intimidating, Glen had thinning, ginger hair and a scraggly beard that refused to fill out. He stood just under 5-7 and sported a beer gut that made him look about three months pregnant.

But he was a huge basketball fan, and his style of flirting often involved talking up the South Carolina women’s dynasty or impressing her with his better than casual knowledge of the WNBA.

And after flirting became dating and dating became serious, they got married. A Hollywood glamor couple they were not, but they loved each other passionately and completely.

They had a low-key wedding at the courthouse (their store-bought wedding cake said “Congradulations Glenn and Freeda,” so it cost only $3 because of all the typos) and the couple was headed for a textbook middle class life.

But that life was occasionally interrupted by civil defense sirens, and this was one of those times.

Alerts that set off every alarm in greater Asheville – and specifically the ones on their phones – convinced the couple to head underground despite blue skies.

After the pair were settled in, Glen looked down at the darts.

“I assume you’ll be throwing the green ones again,” he said.

“You know it,” Frieda replied with a smile. “You’ve never beaten me when I used the greenies. Come to think of it, I’m not sure you’ve ever beaten me, period. You’re really, really not good.”

Glen laughed.

“Well, you’re the athlete, not me,” he said. “Remember, I’m the guy who threw my back out farting that one time.”

Glen gave Frieda a quick peck on the check, poured a generous splash of Wild Turkey into two plastic cups, and handed her one.

“Lemme turn the radio on and check the news and see what the sirens are about,” Glen said.

DEFCON1 … I repeat, the United States is at DEFCON 1 … there are unconfirmed reports that nuclear explosions have occurred in Moscow, Washington, Pyongyang and Beijing and that engagement is ongoing. Take shelter immediately. This is not a test. This is not a test. Please stay tuned for official updates.

Freida and Glen stared at each other in disbelief.

“What do we do?” he asked.

Frieda sipped her whiskey, took aim at the board, and promptly threw a triple 20.

“We’ll do what we always do, my love,” she said. “Enjoy each other’s company.”

The Doctor is out

**Julius Erving (left) battles with Utah’s Willie Wise during an ABA game.**

Sports fans always remember the great moments … championships, last-gasp victories, record-breaking performances.

But guess what?

We also remember the bitter disappointments.

On June 17, 1976, it was announced that the National Basketball Association would absorb four members of my beloved American Basketball Association – the Denver Nuggets, Indiana Pacers, New York Nets and San Antonio Spurs.

As a Nets fan, I was glad my favorite team lived on – and that I could watch them on TV – but I was crushed at the demise of the ABA. The league that featured red, white and blue basketballs and free-wheeling play turned me from a casual basketball fan to a basketball fan for life, and now it was gone.

But what might have been even worse was the news that broke on this day 48 years ago: Julius Erving had been traded to the Philadelphia 76ers.

I found out immediately as I opened the local paper and turned to the sports pages:

A $6.5 million deal which would bring pro basketball superstar Julius Erving to the Philadelphia 76ers from the New York Nets awaited only the final approval of Nets owner Roy Bee, the Associated Press learned. The deal, it was learned from pro basketball sources, could be completed later at a private meeting in New York. It reportedly calls for the Nets to get $3 million for Erving, who would then sign a multi-year contract with the 76ers for a reported $3.5 million.

I didn’t cry – I was a big, brave boy in 1976 – but I cussed.

Just as the Nets were my favorite team, Dr. J was my favorite player. In fact, he was the reason I became a Nets fan.

After the UMass grad starred for the Virginia Squires for three seasons, he was signed by New York in 1973. I was familiar with the ABA during his time in Norfolk/Hampton/Richmond/Roanoke (CBS televised select games in the early 1970s), but it wasn’t until Erving took his dunking act to the Big Apple that I became committed to the league that dared challenge the NBA.

Without a national TV contract most of my fan worship was confined to newspaper stories, but I anxiously awaited word of his exploits.

And once I got over the disappointment of the NBA-ABA merger, I was excited that the Nets could show the old circuit how it was done.

They were coming off an ABA title, one that saw them best the Denver Nuggets in six games. It was their second title in three seasons, and I had no doubt they could jump right into an NBA schedule and win big.

I mean, with Kevin Loughery coaching ‘em up, the Doctor dissecting the opposition and Super John Williamson scoring at will, there was little doubt they’d teach the old guard some new tricks.

Instead, everything was blown up with the loss of Dr. J, and that left me in a bit of a quandary.

See, while the Nets were my overall faves, the Los Angeles Lakers were the NBA team I supported.

Would I abandon both and throw my support behind Dr. J and the 76ers – a franchise I’d never given a second thought?

Kinda, and no.

I couldn’t bail on the Doc, but I had invested so much energy cheering for the Nets (and to a lesser degree, the Lakers) they felt like “my” teams, regardless of who put on the uniform. (Tiny Archibald and Jan van Breda Kolff were on the 76-77 New York roster, while L.A. was led by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar). So – in what I think was a quite mature decision for a 15-year-old – I decided that I would always hope Erving played well. But … when he played against the Nets or Lakers, I’d hope he didn’t play that well.

Historically, of course, Dr. J is best known for his time in Philly. He spent just five years in the ABA (three with New York) and played his last 11 seasons with the 76ers.

The end result is 30,026 points (a 24.2 ppg average across the ABA and NBA), a place in the Basketball Hall of Fame and College Basketball Hall of Fame, the ABA All-Time MVP, NBA 35^th, 50^th and 75^th Anniversary Teams, an NBA title and pair of ABA crowns.

Decades later, I remain a fan of the Nets and Lakers – and Julius Erving remains my all-time favorite player.

However, I’ve still never cheered for the 76ers.