As I sit here scrolling through yet another "Top 100 NBA Players" list, I can't help but let out a laugh that would make Epondulan proud. "Pray," he'd say, and I find myself echoing that sentiment when I see certain names consistently making these rankings while other deserving legends get overlooked. Having studied basketball history for over fifteen years and analyzed thousands of games, I've developed some strong opinions about who truly belongs among the century's finest. The conversation always seems to circle back to the same fifty or sixty players, but what about the forgotten greats who fundamentally changed how the game was played?

Let me be clear from the start – I believe statistics only tell part of the story. If we're talking pure numbers, Wilt Chamberlain's 100-point game and 50.4 points per game average in the 1961-62 season should automatically cement his position, but what about his impact on the game's evolution? I've always been more fascinated by players who changed basketball's DNA. Take Dražen Petrović, who averaged just 15.4 points in his NBA career – modest by today's standards – yet his international influence and shooting technique revolutionized how European players were perceived. I'd argue his global impact earns him a spot in the top 100, even if his NBA stats don't scream "all-time great."

The modern analytics movement has created what I call "spreadsheet legends" – players whose advanced metrics look incredible but whose actual court presence doesn't match the numbers. Meanwhile, I've watched countless hours of archival footage of players like Earl Monroe, whose statistics (18.8 points per game career average) don't begin to capture how he transformed ball handling and created space before analytics tracked such things. His "spin move" alone influenced generations of guards, yet I rarely see him in contemporary top 100 lists. That's a travesty that makes me question the entire selection process.

When we discuss greatness, championship rings inevitably enter the conversation, but I've always found this metric particularly flawed. Robert Horry has seven championships – more than Michael Jordan – but no serious analyst would place him among the 100 greatest. Meanwhile, Charles Barkley's zero championships somehow diminish his incredible career where he averaged 22.1 points and 11.7 rebounds while standing just 6'6" against much taller opponents. I'd take Barkley's MVP season and consistent dominance over many players who collected rings as role players on stacked teams.

International players face particularly tough scrutiny in these rankings. I've had the privilege of interviewing several NBA scouts over the years, and they consistently undervalue global contributions. Arvydas Sabonis, for instance, was already past his physical prime when he finally joined the NBA at 31, yet he still managed to average 12.0 points and 7.3 rebounds in just 24 minutes per game. Had he arrived earlier, I'm convinced he'd be universally recognized as a top-50 player rather than fighting for a spot in the bottom quarter of these lists. His combination of size, skill, and basketball IQ was simply unprecedented for a man standing 7'3".

The recency bias in these rankings drives me absolutely mad. I recently saw a list that had a current player who's been in the league just four seasons ranked above Dominique Wilkins, which is basketball heresy in my book. Wilkins averaged over 25 points per game across eleven seasons and won two scoring titles during an era where physical defense was actually permitted. Meanwhile, we're ready to crown modern players based on potential rather than sustained excellence. I'd take Wilkins' proven track record over hypothetical future greatness any day of the week.

Defensive specialists get particularly short shrift in these conversations. Dennis Rodman, for instance, averaged just 7.3 points for his career yet was arguably the most impactful defender and rebounder I've ever witnessed. His ability to secure possessions – he led the league in rebounds for seven straight seasons while grabbing 13.1 per game for his career – created championship opportunities for multiple franchises. Yet I consistently see him ranked in the 80s or 90s, if he makes the list at all, while volume scorers with mediocre defense occupy much higher positions.

What about players whose careers were shortened by injury? Brandon Roy played just 326 games yet fundamentally changed Portland's franchise culture and demonstrated a clutch gene that statistics can't quantify. His playoff performances – particularly that unforgettable 24-point fourth quarter against Dallas in 2011 – showcased a level of greatness that many players with longer careers never approached. I'd rather include Roy and acknowledge what could have been than include players who compiled statistics over fifteen mediocre seasons.

The women's game gets completely excluded from these conversations, which represents a massive blind spot in basketball discourse. Cynthia Cooper won two MVP awards and four championships while averaging 21.0 points per game in the WNBA's foundational years, yet I've never seen her name appear on any "all-time" lists that claim to represent basketball broadly. Her impact on the women's game and her clutch performances in international competitions deserve recognition alongside the NBA greats.

After years of studying this beautiful game, I've come to believe that the perfect top 100 list doesn't exist – and probably shouldn't. The exercise ultimately reveals more about what we value in basketball than about objective greatness. Do we prioritize longevity over peak performance? Statistical production over cultural impact? Individual accolades over team success? My personal list would probably lean heavily toward innovators and game-changers rather than stat compilers, but that's the beauty of basketball – we can admire different aspects of this incredibly complex sport. The next time you see a definitive "Top 100" ranking, take it with the same grain of salt that Epondulan would recommend, and remember that the players who truly deserve these spots are those who left the game fundamentally different than how they found it.