Chapter 1: The Magic Line Appears – A Short History of the Three-Point Shot

In the autumn of 1979, as NBA teams prepared for a new season, something strange appeared on the basketball courts: a new line, painted in a bright arc that stretched from one side of the floor to the other. It wasn’t the familiar free-throw lane or the center circle; this line sat far from the basket, at a distance that seemed almost ridiculous to the players. “What’s that for?” they wondered. Little did they know, this simple line would spark a revolution that would change basketball forever. The magic line—the three-point line—had arrived, and with it, a new way to score, strategize, and excite fans. But its story begins not with fanfare, but with confusion, skepticism, and a handful of brave souls willing to try something different.

The Birth of a Line: Why the NBA Drew a New Boundary

The late 1970s were a tough time for the NBA. Television ratings were stagnant, games were often low-scoring grind-fests dominated by big men near the basket, and the league needed a spark to captivate audiences. Commissioner Larry O’Brien and the NBA’s competition committee sought ways to make the game more dynamic, open, and entertaining. Their solution? Reward long-distance shooting with an extra point. The idea wasn’t entirely new—the American Basketball Association (ABA) had introduced a three-point line in 1967, and it had become a fan favorite, adding drama and unpredictability. When the ABA merged with the NBA in 1976, the three-point line was initially left behind, but by 1979, the NBA decided to adopt it, hoping to replicate the ABA’s excitement and broaden the game’s appeal.

The official rule stated: any field goal made from beyond a designated arc would count as three points instead of two. The distance was set at 23 feet 9 inches (7.24 meters) from the center of the basket at the top of the key, but only 22 feet (6.70 meters) in the corners due to the rectangular shape of the court. This asymmetry would later create strategic nuances, but in 1979, players and coaches were simply trying to understand the basic concept. The line was painted on every NBA court before the 1979-80 season, and on October 12, 1979, the first regular-season game featuring the new rule tipped off. The Boston Celtics hosted the Houston Rockets, and during that game, Celtics guard Chris Ford made history by sinking the first official three-point field goal. Yet, the significance of that moment was lost on many; the game ended with a combined total of just three three-point attempts—two by Ford, one by Rockets guard Tom Henderson—and only Ford’s went in. The revolution had begun, but it was a whisper, not a roar.

Why did the NBA believe a longer shot could save the game? The logic was both mathematical and psychological. At the time, the average NBA score hovered around 110 points per team per game, but much of that came from high-percentage shots close to the rim. The league wanted to spread the floor, create more spacing, and give smaller, quicker players a way to impact the game without battling giants in the paint. By incentivizing long-range shooting, the NBA hoped to encourage teams to develop shooters, open up driving lanes, and make every possession more exciting—a missed three-pointer could lead to a fast-break opportunity, while a made one could swing momentum in an instant. It was a gamble, but one rooted in the ABA’s success: fans loved the drama of a deep shot, and coaches who embraced it could gain a tactical edge.

The initial reaction, however, was far from enthusiastic. Many players viewed the three-point line as a gimmick, a distraction from “real basketball.” Hall of Fame coach Red Auerbach famously dismissed it as “a gimmick that won’t last.” Players like George Gervin, a prolific scorer, admitted they rarely practiced beyond the line, focusing instead on their mid-range game. Coaches designed plays around post-ups and cuts, not catch-and-shoot opportunities from deep. The first season saw teams average a mere 2.8 three-point attempts per game—less than one per quarter—and the league-wide three-point percentage hovered around 28%. For perspective, in the 2022-23 season, teams averaged over 35 attempts per game at a 36% clip. The early days were not just different; they were alien to today’s game.

Yet, amid the skepticism, a few visionaries saw potential. They were the early pioneers, the ones who dared to step behind the line and fire away, even when it wasn’t popular. Their stories are the foundation of this revolution.

First Reactions: Confusion, Skepticism, and a Few Bold Shots

When the three-point line first appeared, players didn’t just question its purpose—they struggled with the practicalities. Where exactly was the line? In the pre-digital era, referees had to judge whether a shooter’s foot was on the line, behind it, or in the air. There were no instant replays to verify; it all came down to the referee’s eyes and the players’ honesty. Early on, some players didn’t even know the line existed until they saw it painted on the court during warm-ups. “I remember looking at it and thinking, ‘That’s way too far,’” recalled Larry Bird in a later interview. “We all thought it was a joke.”

Coaches were equally bewildered. Most offensive schemes were built around the pick-and-roll, posting up, and high-percentage shots near the rim. The three-point shot was seen as a low-percentage gamble that could waste possessions. “Why would you shoot from there when you can get a easier basket?” was a common refrain. Defensively, teams didn’t prioritize closing out on shooters beyond the arc because the threat was minimal. In the 1979-80 season, the entire league combined for just 2,629 three-point attempts—a number that today’s single players surpass in a month. The Boston Celtics, led by coach Bill Fitch, attempted only 107 threes all season, with Chris Ford taking a third of them. The Houston Rockets, featuring the 7-foot-4-inch Elvin Hayes, tried a mere 49.

But a few players, either by instinct or rebellion, began to experiment. Chris Ford, a solid guard known for his defense, became the accidental pioneer by making the first three-pointer. He later admitted he didn’t even realize it was a new rule until after the shot went in. “I just shot it because I was open,” he said. “Back then, we didn’t practice threes. It was all about getting to the rim.” Another early adopter was Denver Nuggets guard David Thompson, whose explosive athleticism made him a threat from anywhere. Though not a pure shooter, Thompson attempted 27 threes in the 1979-80 season, making 8—a respectable 29.6% that hinted at possibilities. However, Thompson’s career was derailed by injuries, and his three-point exploits were largely forgotten.

The most fascinating early case study is Darryl Dawkins of the Philadelphia 76ers. Dawkins was a human highlight reel known for shattering backboards with thunderous dunks, not for shooting. Yet, in the 1979-80 season, he attempted 17 three-pointers, making 5. Why would a powerhouse dunker bother? In his typical brash style, Dawkins explained, “I wanted to show that I could do everything. If they’re gonna guard me tight inside, I’ll just step back and pop one.” His attempts were rare, but they symbolized a mindset shift: the three-pointer could be a weapon of unpredictability, a way to keep defenses honest. Even if the shot wasn’t efficient, the threat alone could open up the floor.

Larry Bird, the rookie sensation that same season, provided the most compelling early narrative. Bird was a basketball savant with a flawless shooting form, but even he was cautious at first. “I didn’t grow up shooting from that far,” he noted. Yet, Bird’s competitive fire and basketball IQ drove him to master the new shot quickly. By his second season (1980-81), he led the league in three-point percentage at 37.2% (minimum 50 attempts), making 38 of 102 tries. Bird didn’t just shoot threes; he made them count in clutch moments, like a famous game-winning three against