A lot was made earlier this year out of Malcolm Gladwell’s story in the New Yorker that wondered why the full-court press wasn’t used more in college hoops.  The article basically uses a 12-year-old girls team (and only partially metaphorically…huh) to argue that weaker teams can just rely on moxie and the element of surprise to press opponents into submission, so why can’t it work for college teams.  I like that line of logic.  If it works for 12-year-old girls, it will work for me.  That’s like my life mantra.

Anyway, Gladwell then goes on to discuss Rick Pitino, the forefather of the modern full-court trap.  He notes that only a handful of teams now run the press. Pitino’s Louisville team still does, as do a few others like Clemson, Mizzou, and a certain group of Maryland Terps.

But does this relative underutilization mean that it is an underestimated defensive weapon, as Gladwell argues?  Or instead, is the full-court press going the way of the sports goggle?

There are ringwraiths circling me as I type this, but I think I must say it’s the latter.  Take as an example, oh, I don’t know, Maryland.  So far, they’re ninth in the ACC in scoring defense.  Now, the Terps certainly don’t suck on defense, and the press still works (they’re tops in the ACC in turnover margin), but more and more often it seems to work less and less effectively.  When Maryland has played top-level opponents this year (all losses), the opponent’s FG percentages were 44.3% for Cincinnati against a 44.7% total average for the season thus far, a scorching 49.1% for Wisconsin versus 45.8% overall, and 40% for Villanova versus 43.2% overall.  Based on that, it would seem that Maryland’s D is not unsolid. Until you factor in that these teams have been playing mostly cupcakes all season.  Shouldn’t the FG percentage be much lower against Maryland? It certainly shouldn’t be higher.  But this is the cost of the full-court press.  If your opponent breaks it, they get easy scores.  Obviously, if you want to make a case against Maryland’s defense, you can’t lay it all at the feet of the press.  But still, have you watched the games? At times, people (most notably Cincinnati) bust up our trap like it’s a wall of empty lipstick tubes. Our defenders don’t get back, and that’s all she wrote.  Bunnies galore.  It’s a regular Watership Down out there.  Hoo-ah!

But it’s not just a Maryland problem. Remember when Pitino’s Louisville team, seeded first in last year’s tourney, lost to Michigan State in the regional semifinal after the Spartans left their press in tatters?  And that was the guy who supposedly pioneered the modern system.  Now there is news that Michigan State may reinstate the press, but not in the riskier “trap” incarnation — they’ll just guard their men for the full length of the floor as a wear-down tactic, not as a means of creating turnovers and such.

So if the press really is becoming a relic, why is that? My theory is as follows.  In order to run a good press, you need length and athleticism, and you need hustle.  Let’s first address the former.  History seems to point to the 80s (Pitino’s Kentucky Wildcats) and early 90s (UNLV) as the heyday of the full-court press. Undoubtedly, college basketball was a different world back then. The top schools got the best athletes, players who could simply pin their competition in the corner until they started crying.  But it’s not like that anymore. Some of this has to do with the NCAA reducing the number of scholarships a team can offer from 15 to 13 in 1991. This stopped the D-1 oligarchs from stockpiling top players, thus leveling the proverbial playing field somewhat. More of it has to do with the fact that the most gifted players typically don’t stay in college very long anymore. So it’s tougher for even the top teams to gain a clear advantage in the size/speed/length/athleticism department. Since neither of these trends is liable to reverse any time soon, the oppressive old-school trap — in which longer, better players simply walled off the opposing ballhandlers — just doesn’t exist as it once did.

Now for the hustle part.  Lacking a clear athletic advantage, you have to rely on pure hard work to succeed with the press.  Maryland hasn’t shown they have that desire, at least on defense. That would explain the emerging opinion that Maryland just isn’t at their best when they press.  And this isn’t a new phenomenon for our current crop of players. Last year, the press broke down in one of our most horrific losses of the season, to Morgan State. After that game, Gary Williams noted the following:

“The one thing about pressure defense is you really get exposed when you’re not working hard. The press is one thing, but after we scored a couple of times, they just threw it to half court and went down and scored on us, whether we were pressing or not pressing. We weren’t getting back at all.”

Which brings us back to Gladwell’s point. The full-court press worked for the little girl team because the opponent wasn’t prepared for it. But in the college basketball ranks, most teams nowadays are quite well-versed in beating the press.  After all, it’s not rocket science. You stay out of the corners, you move the ball quickly and cleanly, and once the opportunity presents itself, you lob over it. Badda bing badda boom. If the pressing team doesn’t get back (and Maryland has shown this tendency, as Gary himself noted above), you get an easy bucket. I wouldn’t be surprised if some opposing teams wanted to see Maryland’s press. You spend half an hour on it in practice and you’ve got it solved, because the press is predicated on just out-hustling or imposing your physicality on the other team.  And if you can’t do that, well, you can’t do it.

So there you go. I know it’s a key part of Gary’s up-and-down, defense-into-offense philosophy. Maybe it’s something to use only in favorable situations. Maybe he could institute a man press, Tom Izzo style. Or maybe he does neither of the above. He’s the awesome coach, after all, not me. And I’m not saying it’s completely broken. Sometimes, though, you shouldn’t always just dance with the horse that brung you. Because that horse could be old. Or dead.

(Photo credit: The New Yorker)