I’m a stand-out like Yao Ming / I’m what’s sparking now / Like fall back Shaq / I’m starting now.


-- Joe Budden, 2003


You can understand most of the NBA’s history by tracing the lineage of great centers: from George Mikan to Wilt and Russell in the 60’s, Kareem in the 70’s and 80’s and Hakeem, Shaq and Tim Duncan in modern times.

In a game involving throwing a ball through a ten-foot cylinder, it’s hard to overemphasize the importance of height. Basketball games are won and lost by the rim, where a great center can dominate both sides of the ball. Offensively, the high release point of a seven-footer’s shot makes it nearly indefensible; defensively, their length forces smaller players to either shoot farther from the basket or try difficult release points to trick them at the rim.

And in the history of the NBA, there were only a handful of players as tall as Yao Ming. Most were either skinny beanpoles whose high center of gravity made them easy to push around (Shawn Bradley, Manute Bol) or sufferers of gigantism (Gheorghe Muresan, Pavel Podkolzin) whose bodies were never meant to reach such heights. None had Yao’s combination of skill, coordination and mass.

Unlike his contemporaries, Yao Ming was supposed to be 7’5 310. His mother was a 6’3 basketball star who led China to the 1976 Asian Championship; his father, at 6’10, was a basketball player himself. They were strongly encouraged by the Chinese government to have children: “We had been looking forward to [his] arrival for three generations,” Wang Chongguang, a retired coach who played with Yao’s father and coached Yao, told Time Magazine.

There were many skeptics of the Chinese giant before his arrival to the NBA in 2002, but it quickly became clear that Yao would reward his government’s faith in him. In his rookie year, while dealing with an unimaginable cultural transition, Yao averaged 17 points and 10 rebounds on 50% shooting per-36 minutes.

Buoyed by the Chinese vote, he famously started over Shaq in his first All-Star Game. But his game quickly caught up with his reputation, and by his third year, he averaged 18 points and 8 rebounds on 55% shooting while starting in 80 games. Preposterously skilled for his size, he shot below 80% from the free-throw line only once in his entire career.

In many ways, he was a taller, stronger version of Dirk Nowitzki -- a 7’5 shooter who used his height to release jumpers over defenders’ heads. Traditional centers, guys who used their size and strength to bang with players in the post, had no answer for him. He routinely abused Dwight Howard, the best defensive player of his generation, in head-to-head match-ups.

He made the All-NBA Third-Team in his second season; the next year, the Rockets acquired a perimeter superstar in Tracy McGrady to complement him. The duo led Houston to a tough first-round series loss against the Dallas Mavericks, scoring 60 of their team’s 76 points in the decisive Game 7.

Unfortunately, his greatest asset -- his size -- would become his greatest vulnerability. His body began breaking down, perhaps just too big to handle with the stress of running up and down an NBA-court 82 games a season.

His tireless work ethic allowed him to continue improving, but he just couldn’t stay on the floor. Over the next three years, he had an average PER of 24.9, the mark of an MVP-caliber player. He made the All-NBA team in all three seasons, despite never playing more than 57 games.

It’s often said that he came to the NBA a decade too late, that his game was more suited to the rough-and-tumble era of the 90’s, before the defensive hand-check was outlawed and the game became more perimeter-oriented. But isn’t the converse just as likely: that the absence of Yao Ming and Greg Oden, two super-sized centers selected #1 overall who could never stay healthy, made it easier for today’s generation of guards to rack up MVP’s and titles?

After all, the Dallas Mavericks just won a championship by defeating five of the six First and Second-Team All-NBA perimeter players (Kobe, LeBron, Wade, Durant and Russell Westbrook) in three consecutive rounds. The Mavericks were powered by two seven-footers in the front-court: the Second-Team All-Defensive center (Tyson Chandler), and an NBA Finals MVP with an back-to-the-basket game that is impossible to defend.

With Tim Duncan on his last legs and Shaq retiring earlier this summer, Dwight Howard is the only player remaining who has proven he can carry the mantle of the great center. But while Howard’s dominance stems from his unrivaled athleticism, Yao’s game was centered on two things -- size and shooting ability -- that age extremely well.

His retirement doesn’t just leave a hole in Houston, which has yet to recover from his absence, but across the entire NBA. A healthy Yao would have challenged for MVP’s, All-NBA teams and championships for most of the next decade. Possessing a more magnetic personality than Dirk Nowitzki and hailing from a much more basketball-mad country, Yao would have become the face of an increasingly globalized game.

He’ll go down in history as a great “what if”, but his on-court accomplishments -- three All-NBA Third-Teams, two All-NBA Second-Teams -- shouldn’t be forgotten. Injuries robbed him of the transcendent career Chinese sporting authorities dreamed for him, but he still represented his country with tremendous grace, becoming one of the faces of China’s rise to power in the early 21st century.

Interestingly enough, though his romantic life was free from the pressures put on his parents, he still chose a similar mate: Ye Li, a 6’2 woman’s basketball player on the Chinese national team. She gave birth to a baby girl in 2007 who will, in all likelihood, have her parents’ height and athletic ability.

Maybe the story of Yao Ming isn’t quite over yet.