The Dawn of the Three-Pointer: A Line in the Sand (Literally)

In the autumn of 1979, the NBA stepped onto a newly painted line and promptly pretended it wasn’t there. The league had just emerged from a chaotic merger with its flashy, upstart rival, the American Basketball Association (ABA), a union that brought with it not only a influx of colorful characters like Julius “Dr. J” Erving and George Gervin, but also a radical piece of hardwood real estate: a curved stripe, twenty-three feet and nine inches from the basket at its deepest point, that promised three points for a shot launched from beyond its bounds. To the establishment—the grizzled coaches, the purist fans, the players who’d built careers on post moves and pull-up jumpers—this arc was little more than a circus gimmick, a distraction from the “real” game of basketball. Yet, in the quiet margins of training camps and the occasional daring possession, a few brave souls began to test this new frontier. They were the unlikely pioneers of a revolution that would, decades later, redefine the very geometry of the sport. This is the story of how a line drawn in chalk—and largely ignored—set the stage for the most profound tactical shift in modern basketball history.

The ABA’s Lasting Gift: A Line Drawn in Opposition

To understand why the NBA’s three-point line felt so alien in 1979, you have to rewind to the late 1960s and the rise of the ABA. The younger, flashier league was desperate to differentiate itself from its established competitor. It needed excitement, highlight-reel moments, and a rule that would encourage flair over brute force. Enter the three-point shot. Conceived by ABA officials and formally introduced in the 1967-68 season, the arc was designed as a strategic equalizer—a way to reward sharpshooters and open up the court, making the game more dynamic for fans. The distance was set at 23 feet everywhere, a deliberate choice to make the shot challenging but achievable for skilled players. In the ABA, the three-pointer was not just a rule; it was a statement. It belonged to the league of red-white-and-blue balls, slam-dunk contests, and a faster, more entertaining brand of basketball.

When the ABA and NBA merged in 1976, the surviving NBA teams absorbed many of their rival’s innovations: the slam-dunk contest, the colorful ball (briefly), and, most importantly, the three-point line. The merger agreement stipulated that the NBA would adopt the three-point shot starting in the 1979-80 season. On paper, it was a seamless transition. In practice, the NBA’s old guard treated it like an awkward stepchild. The league had spent decades perfecting a style of play centered on efficient, inside scoring—post-ups, bank shots, and aggressive offensive rebounding. The thought of encouraging players to heave the ball from long range seemed almost insulting to that tradition. “Why would you want to shoot from way out there?” the thinking went. “Just get the ball inside and score an easy two!” The three-pointer was seen as a low-percentage gamble that disrupted offensive sets and slowed the game with missed shots and long rebounds. It was, in the words of more than one skeptical coach, a “gimmick.”

The NBA’s half-hearted embrace was evident from the start. While the rule was on the books, there was no concerted effort to integrate it into offensive schemes. No team hired a “three-point coach.” Playbooks remained unchanged. The arc was there, a literal line in the sand, but most players and coaches acted as if it were drawn in invisible ink. The 1979-80 season would become a fascinating experiment in inertia—a year when the tools for a revolution were present, but the will to use them was conspicuously absent.

The Rulebook: What Exactly Is a Three-Pointer? (And Why 23’9”?)

Before we dive into the chaos of that first season, let’s get the basics straight. For the absolute beginner, a three-point field goal is simply a basket made from beyond a designated arc that surrounds the basket. The key word here is *beyond*: at the moment of the shot, the shooter’s feet must be completely outside the line; even a toe on the line reduces the shot to two points. If a player jumps from inside the arc and releases the ball while airborne beyond the line, that’s a three—as long as no part of their body touches the ground inside the arc before the shot. The arc itself is not a perfect circle; it’s a uniform distance from the basket *except* in the corners, where the sidelines force the line to be closer. In 1979, that distance was 22 feet in the corners and 23 feet 9 inches at the top of the key. (The NBA would later adjust this, but we’ll get to that in future chapters.)

Why those specific numbers? The ABA’s original 23-foot distance was chosen after considerable debate. They wanted the shot to be difficult enough to preserve the value of a two-point basket, but not so difficult that it was never attempted. George Mikan, the ABA’s first commissioner and a Hall of Fame center, was instrumental in setting the distance. He envisioned it as a weapon for smaller, quicker players to counter the dominance of big men. The NBA, inheriting the rule, kept the same measurements for continuity, though some early NBA courts had slightly different dimensions due to older arena designs, leading to minor variations in actual playing distance—a subtle factor that added to the early confusion.

For a 1979 viewer, the visual was striking: a new, wider arc painted around the basket, often in a color that stood out against the hardwood. It was a constant, silent reminder of a new scoring opportunity. But in a league where the average score hovered around 110 points per team, and where every possession was a precious commodity, the risk-reward calculation seemed simple: a 26% shooter from three (which was roughly the league average that first year) would score 0.78 points per attempt, while a 50% shooter from two-point range (a solid inside scorer) scored 1.0 point per attempt. On paper, the math wasn’t compelling. The three-pointer was, statistically, a bad bet. That cold, hard arithmetic would haunt its early adoption and fuel the skepticism of coaches who lived by percentages and control.

Season One: The Numbers Don’t Lie (But They’re Ignored)

The 1979-80 season unfolded like a reluctant science experiment. The NBA, ever the business, tracked the new stat—3PA (three-point attempts) and 3P% (three-point percentage)—but the numbers were filed away, not flaunted. They told a clear story of tentative exploration and overall rejection. Across the league, teams averaged just 2.8 three-point attempts per game. To put that in modern perspective: today’s teams launch over 34 threes per game. Back then, a team might not attempt a single three in the first quarter, or even the first half, unless the shot clock was winding down and the offense broke down. The three-pointer was a last resort, a desperation heave when the designed play collapsed.

The accuracy was predictably low. The league-wide three-point percentage for that inaugural season was 26.1%. Only four teams managed to shoot better than 30% from deep: the Boston Celtics (28.1%), the Houston Rockets (27.5%), the San Diego Clippers (27.2%), and the Atlanta Hawks (26.9%). The Celtics, led by a young Larry Bird who would later become a three-point icon, actually led the league in makes (117) and attempts (416), but even they only launched about five threes per game. For context, today’s elite teams often attempt 40+ threes in a single game.

Here’s a snapshot of the early adopters, based on official NBA records:

| Team (1979-80) | 3PA per Game | 3P% | Notable Players | |----------------|--------------|-----|-----------------| | Boston Celtics | 5.0 | 28.1% | Larry Bird (.360), Chris Ford (.358) | | Houston Rockets | 4.4 | 27.5% | Rick Barry (.380), Moses Malone (rarely attempted) | | San Diego Clippers | 3.9 | 27.2% | Randy Smith (.341) | | Atlanta Hawks | 3.6 | 26.9% | John Drew (.337) | | League Average | 2.8 | 26.1% | — |