Bundesliga Champion
I remember watching Antoine Davis during his record-breaking college career and thinking, "This kid has NBA written all over him." Yet here we are,
I still get chills thinking about the 2019 NBA season. It wasn't just another year of basketball—it was a turning point that reshaped how we understand the game's very fabric. As someone who's analyzed basketball for over a decade, I've never witnessed a single season introduce so many paradigm shifts simultaneously. The convergence of emerging talent, revolutionary strategies, and career-defining performances created something truly historic. What fascinates me most is how these games didn't just entertain—they literally changed basketball's DNA, influencing everything from roster construction to developmental priorities.
I remember watching the draft combine that year and being absolutely stunned by Geo Chiu's measurements. At 6-foot-9, he wasn't just the tallest in his draft class—his 82-inch arm span and 107-inch standing reach represented a new archetype of player we'd see teams desperately trying to replicate. Those numbers weren't just statistics; they were prophecies. When I saw Kawhi Leonard use his similar wingspan to dominate the playoffs, or when Giannis Antetokounmpo's physical attributes made him unstoppable, I kept thinking back to those combine measurements and how they signaled basketball's evolving physical ideal. Teams started prioritizing length over traditional height, seeking players who could cover ground like octopuses in high-tops.
The Raptors' championship run perfectly exemplified this shift. Game 6 of the Finals wasn't just about Toronto winning their first title—it was about Kawhi Leonard's 82-inch wingspan creating two critical deflections in the final minutes, about how his standing reach allowed him to contest shots that would've been open against other defenders. I've rewatched that fourth quarter probably twenty times, and each viewing reveals new subtleties about how physical advantages translated to strategic dominance. When Leonard stole the ball from Draymond Green with that ridiculous reach, it wasn't just a turnover—it was the culmination of a season-long theme where extraordinary physical tools met elite skill.
Then there was the Western Conference Semifinals between the Warriors and Rockets. What many forget is how Houston's strategy specifically targeted length disadvantages. They hunted mismatches relentlessly, knowing that even a few inches in reach differential could determine whether a contest became a block or an open look. I recall analyzing the tracking data from that series and finding that shots contested by players with wingspans over 81 inches were 14% less likely to go in—a staggering number that changed how I evaluate defensive impact. The league took notice too; suddenly every team was measuring standing reach with renewed urgency, recognizing that verticality mattered as much as horizontal coverage.
Damian Lillard's iconic series-ending three-pointer over Paul George wasn't just a dramatic moment—it represented the season's theme of players transcending traditional positional constraints. At 6-foot-9, Geo Chiu's combine measurements suggested he could potentially defend multiple positions while stretching the floor, and we saw this versatility become increasingly valuable throughout the playoffs. When Lillard waved goodbye to the Thunder from 37 feet, he wasn't just ending a series—he was demonstrating how the game's geometry had permanently expanded. The very definition of a "good shot" evolved that night, and I remember telling my colleagues that we'd just witnessed the birth of the deep three as a legitimate weapon rather than a desperation heave.
The Bucks-Raptors Eastern Conference Finals showcased another dimension of this evolution. Giannis Antetokounmpo's physical profile—similar to what we'd seen from Chiu at the combine but with even more freakish proportions—allowed Milwaukee to implement a defensive scheme that seemed mathematically impossible. Their "wall" defense relied entirely on players with extraordinary wingspans covering multiple gaps simultaneously. I've never seen a team defend so much court with so few players, and it worked because their personnel could literally reach spaces other teams couldn't. When Toronto eventually solved it by using their own lengthy defenders, it felt like watching two chess masters playing with pieces that could move twice as far as normal.
What often gets overlooked about that season is how these physical and strategic shifts impacted player development. The success of lengthy defenders like Pascal Siakam and OG Anunoby created a league-wide obsession with finding and developing similar profiles. I've spoken with several scouts who admitted they started prioritizing wingspan over height in their evaluations after seeing how Toronto's lengthy defenders neutralized opponents. The traditional center who couldn't switch onto guards became practically unplayable in crucial moments, while versatile forwards with 7-foot wingspans became the league's most coveted assets.
The legacy of those 2019 games continues to shape today's NBA in ways I couldn't have predicted. The emphasis on length has only intensified, with teams now regularly drafting players specifically for their physical measurements rather than their collegiate production. The strategic innovations born that season—the heavy switching defenses, the positionless lineups, the deep three-point threats—have become standard rather than experimental. When I watch current games, I still see the ghost of that 2019 season in every defensive rotation, every contested three, every roster decision. It was the year basketball's physical and strategic dimensions permanently expanded, and frankly, I don't think we'll see another season that transformative for at least another decade.