So Ninkovich, with a captive audience of Warriors coaches, musters the courage to speak: What are you going to do? He asks Kerr. Will our one-on-one offense end? Will you implement the triangle offense?
"Funny you should mention that," Kerr replies. "We've got some ideas. Here, I'll show you."
And then, as Fraser looks on, Kerr swipes clear the wooden board, casting the handle in the role of a basket. He positions the board's dried cranberries and marcona almonds into two five-on-five teams in a half-court setting, with the cranberries relegated to defense. Suddenly, Almond Stephen Curry, hovering near the top of the key, swings an imaginary ball to Almond Klay Thompson on the wing, then cuts to the near corner while Thompson dumps it down to Almond Andrew Bogut. Thompson and Curry set picks for each other along the perimeter, while Bogut weighs his options: find open almonds or back down his helpless cranberry.
These, Kerr explains, are aspects of the triangle offense, which he played in during the Bulls' 1990s heyday. But then Kerr pulls back, giving the noshes a breather. He notes that the Warriors would be foolish to run the triangle exclusively; it wouldn't best utilize their outside shooters. No, Kerr says. They'll run a hybrid.
...
In Kerr's mind, it's both simple and radically complex. He envisions elements from Phil Jackson's triangle, which called for passing from all five players. He'd loved how that system used Bulls forwards and centers as passers, perfect for Bogut, David Lee and others. Still, he doesn't want to abandon the high-screen-and-roll actions Curry had used in prior seasons to rain down 3s. Instead of employing a full-on triangle, what Kerr wants is a blended system.
And there is much to cram into the blender.
In the mid-1990s, the Jazz, which his Bulls had twice faced in the Finals, tormented Kerr. Those Jazz would feed the ball to forward Karl Malone in the post before guards John Stockton and Jeff Hornacek would screen for each other, with the open player receiving the ball back from Malone. Those actions are dubbed "split cuts," and Kerr hated guarding them. To him, guarding movement is far more challenging than guarding isolation -- a "nightmare," he calls it -- and he envisions a similar nightmare for defenses guarding Curry and Thompson. It's also a matter of taste. "Iso basketball, where one guy is going one-on-one and everybody is standing around, I don't like that," Kerr says. "I don't like that at all."
The crazy, true story of the birth of the Warriors' historic offense
"Funny you should mention that," Kerr replies. "We've got some ideas. Here, I'll show you."
And then, as Fraser looks on, Kerr swipes clear the wooden board, casting the handle in the role of a basket. He positions the board's dried cranberries and marcona almonds into two five-on-five teams in a half-court setting, with the cranberries relegated to defense. Suddenly, Almond Stephen Curry, hovering near the top of the key, swings an imaginary ball to Almond Klay Thompson on the wing, then cuts to the near corner while Thompson dumps it down to Almond Andrew Bogut. Thompson and Curry set picks for each other along the perimeter, while Bogut weighs his options: find open almonds or back down his helpless cranberry.
These, Kerr explains, are aspects of the triangle offense, which he played in during the Bulls' 1990s heyday. But then Kerr pulls back, giving the noshes a breather. He notes that the Warriors would be foolish to run the triangle exclusively; it wouldn't best utilize their outside shooters. No, Kerr says. They'll run a hybrid.
...
In Kerr's mind, it's both simple and radically complex. He envisions elements from Phil Jackson's triangle, which called for passing from all five players. He'd loved how that system used Bulls forwards and centers as passers, perfect for Bogut, David Lee and others. Still, he doesn't want to abandon the high-screen-and-roll actions Curry had used in prior seasons to rain down 3s. Instead of employing a full-on triangle, what Kerr wants is a blended system.
And there is much to cram into the blender.
In the mid-1990s, the Jazz, which his Bulls had twice faced in the Finals, tormented Kerr. Those Jazz would feed the ball to forward Karl Malone in the post before guards John Stockton and Jeff Hornacek would screen for each other, with the open player receiving the ball back from Malone. Those actions are dubbed "split cuts," and Kerr hated guarding them. To him, guarding movement is far more challenging than guarding isolation -- a "nightmare," he calls it -- and he envisions a similar nightmare for defenses guarding Curry and Thompson. It's also a matter of taste. "Iso basketball, where one guy is going one-on-one and everybody is standing around, I don't like that," Kerr says. "I don't like that at all."
The crazy, true story of the birth of the Warriors' historic offense
