I walked past a man wearing a faded gray T-shirt with a familiar red font. He seemed to be around my age.

Judging by his cart pace up and down the aisles, I’d say this was a quick trip while his wife and kids waited at home. The density of the bags under his eyes tells me that at least one of those didn’t sleep well the night before. His feet say he’s energized, but his eyes betray him.

Our eyes always betray us.

It took mine a minute to read what his shirt said. I felt like an archaeologist who had discovered a message written in ancient hieroglyphics. I had knowledge enough to decipher the message in the symbols, but I didn’t expect to see those markings here. These were Imperial Chinese characters in Ancient Mesopotamia.

I was in a Schnucks in Eastern Missouri, after all, not the Harp’s on Garland.

His shirt said, “In Muss we Trust.”

Since Fatherhood has made me a tad bolder (a toddler breaking down the door when you’re in the bathroom will make you much harder to embarrass), I spoke to him.

“Hey, are you a Hog fan?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” he said, more with his eyes than his words. This dude was fired up to be a Hog fan and positively jazzed to talk to me about it before he continued his jaunt down the canned bean aisle.

“What do you think about (Arkansas head coach Ryan) Silverfield? How are we going to do this year?”

“Honestly,” I said, “If we can protect the football a little bit better and commit fewer penalties, I think that will be a successful year.”

He pushed me further. “Sure, but how many games will we win?”

“Four,” I said, and held up four fingers on my right hand. Folks as deep in the throes of fanaticism as he was could use the visual reinforcement.

“I think at least six,” he told me before heading down to grab what he needed from aisle four. I can only assume he was getting a season’s supply of Pork and Beans.

This dude was high AF on what Silverfield is peddling. It’s hard to blame him. And while I can see his perspective, I also have a hard time looking at the schedule and envisioning six wins.

Where I come from, we have a saying for what this guy is experiencing:

His eyes were bigger than his stomach.

Our ages matter, that man’s and mine. We’re old enough to remember good times, but not great ones. We weren’t alive for any of the Frank Broyles or Lou Holtz eras, and were just barely born during the Ken Hatfield tenure. We were raised in the days of Houston Nutt, and we were radicalized during Bobby Petrino’s flash-in-the-pan. We’ve been full-on adults for everything that’s happened since.

There’s a key distinction between me and that stranger, though. When you’re an adult, it’s harder to maintain your sense of wonder. I’ve been beaten down by Arkansas football over the last decade-plus. Quite frankly, I have a hard time seeing how this team will ever compete in the SEC, let alone on a National level. I’ve lost my ability to dream. I’ve lost my ability to believe in the program.

That stranger in the Eric Musselman T-shirt hasn’t.

That, or Silverfield’s rhetoric is tapping into something profound that has long since been buried or lost. Something about him is pushing Hog fans to believe.

I’m not an expert, but my hunch is that he comes across as a blue-collar worker while still holding an air of leadership. He doesn’t just speak in a blue-collar, awww shucks manner, but he cares about the little things. Think Erin Brokavich. He comes off as authentic and persistent in a way that makes folks want to fight alongside him.

It’s also not unlike what we’re seeing from Zohran Mamdani in New York City. The city loves him for doing something as simple as fixing up basketball courts in parks. Those little things add up in a real way people can quantify much faster than big sweeping changes.

Silverfield’s “I changed all the lightbulbs because it was dark in here” story gets at the same feeling. It says, “I care so much about this place that even the lightbulbs have to be right.” What that also conveys to fans is the idea that if the lightbulbs won’t get past him, there certainly won’t be any stones left unturned on the important football decisions.

But notice that I used the word rhetoric. That’s all it is at this point. That’s all we have to pin our hopes or blame our fears on.

Just words.

What truly matters is what we see with our eyes over the next three months.

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Rated 82 Overall (81 OFF / 84 DEF), the virtual Hogs navigated the brutal SEC gauntlet across 50 complete 12-game regular seasons, and had Gemini crunch all the numbers for us.

Arkansas Simulation Record Summary

Across all completed 12-game regular-season schedule simulations, here is how the Razorbacks performed from top to bottom:

• Best Record: 7–5 (5–4 SEC) — 7–6 overall after bowl game

• Worst Record: 2–10 (0–9 SEC)

• Average Record: 4.1 – 7.9 (1.9 – 7.1 SEC) — 34.5% overall winning percentage (3.8 average wins if counting regular-season baseline before postseason play)

• Average Points Scored (Offense): 27.9 PPG

• Average Points Allowed (Defense): 32.6 PPG

Game-by-Game Projected Winning Percentages

1. North Alabama - The Hogs win this game 100% of the time with an average score of 48-9

2. @ Utah - The Hogs win this game 57% of the time with an average score of 26-23

3. Georgia - The Hogs win this game 14% of the time with an average score of 21-36

4. Tulsa - The Hogs win this game 100% of the time with an average score of 49-22

5. @ Texas A&M - The Hogs win this game 0% of the time with an average score of 16-41

6. Tennessee - The Hogs win this game 29% of the time with an average score of 28-43

7. @ Vanderbilt - The Hogs win this game 43% of the time with an average score of 27-25

8. Missouri - The Hogs win this game 29% of the time with an average score of 28-42

9. @ Auburn - The Hogs win this game 28% of the time with an average score of 35-38

10. South Carolina - The Hogs win this game 14% of the time with an average score of 20-31

11. @ Texas - The Hogs win this game 0% of the time with an average score of 22-40

12. LSU - The Hogs win this game 0% of the time with an average score of 25-40

Razorbacks Key Analytical Takeaways

• The Non-Conference Baseline: Arkansas went a perfect 50–0 (100.0%) against North Alabama and Tulsa, locking down a reliable two-win floor.

• The Utah Barometer: The early trip to Salt Lake City against Utah (57.1% Win Rate) proved to be the single biggest predictor of Hog bowl eligibility.

• Overtime Thrillers: Arkansas played in multiple extra-period classics, showing great late-game resilience against Tennessee, Missouri, and Vanderbilt in multiple years and actually posted a 90% winning percentage in overtime games.

• The Schedule Ceiling: Texas A&M, Texas, and LSU combined for a complete sweep against Arkansas (0.0% Win Rate) across all one hundred full schedules, proving to be the stiffest hurdles on the calendar.

• The Scoring Race: The video game thinks Arkansas’ offense is worse and defense is only marginally better. Last season we averaged 32.9 points per game (#23 nationally) but gave up 33.8 points per game (#129 nationally). Our defense has been projected as a strength so far, but it has only gone up against our own offense. Soon, we will find out which unit is better.

Who Wins the National Championship Most Often?

Across 100 completed College Football Playoff title games, the trophy was shared among six different programs, with Ohio State and Miami emerging at the top:

• Ohio State: (25.0% Title Share)

• Miami: (25.0% Title Share)

• Oklahoma: (12.5% Title Share)

• Georgia: (12.5% Title Share)

• Ole Miss: (12.5% Title Share)

• Notre Dame: (12.5% Title Share)

Title Game Appearances: Ohio State and Oklahoma tied for the most CFP National Championship Game appearances (37.5% of all title games each).

Who Contends for the Heisman Most Often?

Quarterbacks accounted for 75.0% of all top-four Heisman watch appearances, with a select group of wide receivers breaking into the mix:

• Trinidad Chambliss (QB, Ole Miss): 62.5% Appearance Rate — The nation’s most consistent #1 front-runner.

• Sam Leavitt (QB, LSU): 62.5% Appearance Rate \ — Routinely led the SEC in total offensive output.

• John Mateer (QB, Oklahoma): 50.0% Appearance Rate — Led Oklahoma to multiple title game appearances and a national championship.

• Devon Dampier (QB, Utah): 37.5% Appearance Rate — Frequently rated among college football’s elite dual-threat quarterbacks. And the Hogs are so fortunate to get to face him…

• Top Wide Receiver Finalists: Jeremiah Smith (WR, Ohio State), Malachi Toney (WR, Miami), Jackson Harris (WR, LSU), and Ben Ford (WR, Boise State) each made multiple top-four finishes.

The video game simulation paints a clear picture for Arkansas: the schedule is brutal and Vegas is probably right (Arkansas opened with an over-under of 4.5 season wins that has dropped to 3.5 in the past few weeks). In all of the simulations that resulted in Arkansas making a bowl, Ryan Silverfield’s team handled business out of conference, got the road wins at Vanderbilt and Auburn, and stole one or two shootouts/overtime games against Tennessee and Missouri.

I’ll have a lot more details in the North Alabama preview post in a few days, and I do think there is reason for hope, but the video game algorithm and the betting machine algorithm seem to be stacked against us this season.

-WPS

Then came the late 1960s.

Italian director Sergio Leone took the genre, dragged it into the dusty deserts of Southern Europe, and ripped its soul apart. Out went John Wayne; in came Clint Eastwood as the nameless drifter chewing a cheap cigarillo in A Fistful of Dollars (1964) and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966). Sergio Corbucci followed with Django (1966), dragging a machine gun inside a wooden coffin through knee-deep mud. In these “Spaghetti Westerns,” nobody fought for honor. They fought for bags of Confederate gold buried in unmarked graves. The sheriffs were corrupt, the gunslingers were mercenaries, violence was dialed up to eleven, and the villains won just as often as the antiheroes.

The original Hollywood Western died because Leone and his peers exposed the foundational lie: out in the lawless badlands, survival isn’t about noble codes—it’s about whoever draws fastest and grabs the bag first.

Welcome to college athletics in August 2026. The white-hat era of the NCAA is dead, buried under an unmarked wooden cross on Boot Hill. We have arrived squarely in the bloody, unhinged, scorched-earth final act of the Spaghetti Western.

The Road to the Badlands: How the Old Town Fell

For nearly a century, the NCAA ran Indianapolis like a private frontier outpost. They called it “amateurism”—a pristine word wrapped in Sunday-school nostalgia to disguise a plantation economy.

The court cases knocked the town walls down one brick at a time:

• NCAA v. Board of Regents of the University of Oklahoma (1984): The Supreme Court struck down the NCAA’s centralized television monopoly, opening the floodgates for conference expansion, mega-media contracts, and unchecked institutional greed.

• O’Bannon v. NCAA (9th Cir. 2014): Former UCLA basketball star Ed O’Bannon broke the ice by establishing that players had a legal right to their commercial Name, Image, and Likeness (NIL) after discovering his digital avatar in EA Sports video games.

• NCAA v. Alston (2021): The kill shot. In a 9–0 unanimous rout, the Supreme Court dismantled NCAA compensation restrictions on education-related benefits. Justice Brett Kavanaugh penned a scorching concurrence that read like a death warrant: “The NCAA is not above the law... Nowhere else in America can businesses get away with agreeing not to pay their workers a fair market rate on the theory that their product is defined by not paying their workers.”

• The State NIL Wars & Transfer Portal Free-for-All (2021–2024): States began passing bespoke laws blocking the NCAA from enforcing transfer penalties or collective restrictions. When federal courts issued injunctions in State of Ohio v. NCAA (2023) and Tennessee & Virginia v. NCAA (2024), multi-time transfer restrictions and collective tampering rules were vaporized overnight.

• House v. NCAA Settlement (2024–2025): The conferences finally agreed to pay roughly $2.8 billion in back-pay damages and institute an institutional revenue-sharing model approaching $22 million per school annually.

Indianapolis thought House would buy peace. They thought they could draw a perimeter, shake hands on revenue caps, and restore some semblance of civilized order.

They forgot that once you tear down the jailhouse, the outlaws don’t stop at the bank—they take the whole town. And over the past few weeks, that’s exactly what has happened.

The Colorado Standoff: When Four Years Isn’t Four Years

The current round of chaos began in Denver with a class-action lawsuit challenging NCAA eligibility limits for high school recruits from the Class of 2022.

The premise was rooted in legal equity: athletes in the 2020 and 2021 cohorts received blanket COVID-19 relief years, while later recruits enjoyed the new five-seasons-in-five-years rules adopted during modern governance reforms. The 2022 recruiting class argued they had been trapped in a regulatory no-man’s land—denied hardship waivers under discarded guidelines while bearing the brunt of the transition.

Federal Judge Charlotte Sweeney agreed, issuing an injunction granting high school Class of 2022 athletes a fifth year of college eligibility for the 2026–2027 season.

Chaos erupted across the country. Programs scrambled to re-recruit fifth-year seniors who had played their supposedly final downs months prior. In Fayetteville, Hog fans watched as staff members checked eligibility ledgers against collective bank accounts, trying to figure out if offensive linemen and secondary depth could suddenly be bought back for one more ride.

The NCAA fought back, desperate to keep the roof from caving in. On August 21, 2026, a 2–1 panel of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Tenth Circuit granted the NCAA an emergency stay on Judge Sweeney’s class-wide injunction.

The ruling left thousands of athletes in legal limbo. Unless a player has their own individual Temporary Restraining Order (TRO) from a local state or federal judge, their fifth-year eligibility has been abruptly frozen pending expedited appeal.

The Arkansas Razorbacks saw two players gain eligibility and practice this week that are now no longer eligible:

• Caleb Wooden (Safety): A former Auburn transfer who spent past seasons in Fayetteville, Wooden officially rejoined the Razorbacks on August 16 ahead of the fall semester.

• Sean Williams (Safety): An Ivy League transfer from Dartmouth who committed to Arkansas on August 18, Williams was added to provide veteran depth in defensive coordinator Ron Roberts’ secondary.

Naturally, every sports lawyer in the country responded by filing individual TROs in friendly county courts from Illinois to Kentucky. Former Ohio State kicker Jayden Fielding filed in Illinois; Louisville defensive backs D’Angelo Hutchinson and Jabari Mack secured orders in Kentucky. Only time will tell if the Hogs players decide to lawyer up, too.

It is the classic standoff in Leone’s The Good, the Bad and the Ugly: nobody knows who is allied with whom, the guns are drawn, and the judges are throwing injunctions like sticks of dynamite.

The Louisiana Lawsuit: NFL Cuts Transfer to Campus

If the Colorado suit cracked the foundation, a lawsuit in Louisiana state court just drove an armored stagecoach through the front doors.

A group of over 30 athletes—including 16 active football players—filed suit arguing that denying them an extra collegiate season violated good faith and antitrust principles. A Louisiana judge granted a temporary restraining order, creating a wild scenario: NFL rookies currently in preseason training camps can return to college for the 2026 season if they are released from their NFL contracts by September 1.

Consider what this means:

1. An undrafted rookie or late-round pick goes to NFL training camp, collects a signing bonus, and spends August getting coached by pro staffs.

2. When NFL rosters cut down to 53 on August 30, rather than signing to a practice squad for $12,000 a week, they can enter the NCAA Transfer Portal.

3. By September 1, they can sign a $300,000 or $500,000 NIL deal with a college collective and suit up on Saturday.

4. It’s estimated this would make ~2000 additional football players eligible to play college football this fall

Among the plaintiffs who secured temporary relief and entered the portal are Cleveland Browns tight end Dae’Quan Wright, Seattle Seahawks running back Anthony Hankerson, former BYU lineman Weylin Lapuaho, Arizona Cardinals defensive back Wydett Williams, and Tampa Bay Buccaneers edge rusher Jack Pyburn.

Imagine Arkansas opening the season, only for their Week 3 opponent to casually drop an active NFL training camp edge rusher into the starting lineup because a local magistrate signed an emergency affidavit on a Tuesday night.

That isn’t collegiate sports. That is Lee Van Cleef’s Colonel Mortimer from For a Few Dollars More (1965), assembling a custom long-barrel carbine out of a suitcase to hunt a bounty for cold, hard cash.

The Protect College Sports Act of 2026: The Cavalry or a Mirage?

Facing total institutional collapse, the conference commissioners have retreated to Washington D.C., begging Congress to ride in and restore order.

On May 27, 2026, a bipartisan group of senators introduced the “Protect College Sports Act of 2026”.

The proposed legislation would:

• Codify Revenue Sharing: Formalize the House settlement framework into federal law, establishing legal caps on direct institutional revenue distribution to student-athletes.

• Federal NIL Preemption: Wipe out all 50 state NIL statutes and replace them with a singular national standard governed by a central clearinghouse (NIL Go / College Sports Commission) to enforce fair-market value rules and restrict sham booster inducements.

• Establish Transfer & Eligibility Guardrails: Standardize a 5-year maximum eligibility window and restrict unrestricted transfers to one penalty-free move (with specific exceptions for coaching changes, sport cancellations, or graduate study).

• Regulate Agents: Limit athlete agent fees to 5% on endorsement contracts and establish an association registry with decertification teeth.

• Grant a Targeted Antitrust Exemption: Provide the NCAA and conferences limited antitrust protection to enforce tampering, eligibility, and roster rules without immediately losing in federal district court.

The Protect College Sports Act of 2026 is schedule for a Senate vote on September 14, 2026. And would then move to the House of Representatives for a vote in November or December during the “lame duck” season. If passed by both chambers of Congress, the President could sign it into law with an effective date as early as July 1, 2027.

After the bill cleared the Senate Commerce Committee with a bipartisan 19–9 vote, predictive markets now give it a 75% chance of passing the Senate and a 60% chance of passing in the House and becoming law.

The Lesson from Spaghetti Westerns

When Sergio Leone and Sergio Corbucci flooded movie screens with Spaghetti Westerns, they didn’t just change the tone of movies—they burned the old cinematic mythology to the ground. Once audiences saw Clint Eastwood gun down four men before the opening credits rolled, nobody wanted to go back to clean-cut sheriffs singing ballads around a camp stove.

The low-budget, violent knockoffs multiplied until the entire genre collapsed under its own cynicism. By 1975, the Italian Western was virtually dead, suffocated by cheap parody and lawless absurdity.

College football has built its own cheap movie studio set.

We dismantled the old system because amateurism had become an untenable fiction. But in its place, we didn’t build a professional league with collective bargaining, salary caps, and draft rules. We built an anarchic border town where every booster is an outlaw, every judge is a town marshal granting decrees, and every athlete is a mercenary looking for the fastest horse and the biggest bounty.

The NCAA didn’t just lose control of the frontier. The frontier realized the marshal didn’t have any bullets left in his gun.

As Eli Wallach’s Tuco famously muttered while shooting a bounty hunter from inside a bubble bath in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly: “When you have to shoot, shoot. Don’t talk.”

For the NCAA, the shooting is long over. All that’s left is counting the casings in the dirt.

Author’s Note: This has long been a passion project of mine. A dream story to tell, of sorts, because I loved Bret Bielema. Truly, I might have been his biggest fan and defender at Arkansas.

Along those lines, if you know anybody willing to speak to me on the record about this, please send them my way. Even the man himself.

Look for editions of this series on the second Friday of each month.

There were two letters.

The first was handwritten. The second promised Bret Bielema $3.2 million a year for six years.

Between them came eight months of scandal, humiliation, coaching-search hysteria, message-board detective work, one rapidly disintegrating football season, and a hire so unexpected that a good portion of Arkansas had spent the afternoon preparing to welcome Mike Gundy.

But before all of that, there was the first letter.

It arrived sometime in September 2012.

No date. No résumé. No agent’s pitch hidden beneath carefully selected pleasantries—at least not that anyone has ever established. Just a note from the head football coach at Wisconsin to the athletic director at Arkansas.

Bielema told Jeff Long that he had watched the press conference in which Long explained his decision to fire Bobby Petrino. He wrote that he respected Long’s actions, but more importantly, his words. He told him to stay strong.

Then came the line that now feels almost too perfectly written for what followed.

“It was the right call!”

The postscript moved beyond Petrino and into something Bielema called the “Big Picture.” Capital letters and all. Winning mattered, he wrote, but coaches and administrators had to balance winning against their larger responsibility to the athletes in their care.

Long remembered the note. He later said it affected him, in part because only a few coaches around the country had reached out after the Petrino decision.

That is almost too neat, right?

The eventual Arkansas coach writing the Arkansas athletic director about the Big Picture while Arkansas football was falling apart in real time.

But nothing with Bielema is ever subtle.

To understand why the letter mattered, we have to return to the last moment Arkansas football felt stable. Actually, stable is the wrong word.

Arkansas football felt powerful.

On January 6, 2012, the Razorbacks beat Kansas State 29-16 in the Cotton Bowl. The victory completed an 11-2 season and secured a No. 5 finish in the final Associated Press poll, the program’s highest final ranking since 1977. Arkansas had won 21 games across two seasons. It had played in the Sugar Bowl, won the Cotton Bowl, and established itself as something more than a fun offense floating around beneath Alabama and LSU. The Hogs looked like a program moving toward something.

Not one that had already reached its peak.

That distinction matters. We remember the end of the Petrino era so clearly that it can obscure how Arkansas fans felt before it happened. This was not a fan base bracing for decline. The 2012 Razorbacks entered the preseason ranked No. 10. They returned 16 starters and 47 lettermen, including quarterback Tyler Wilson and running back Knile Davis, both of whom appeared on major preseason award lists.

There was real national championship talk. Not the manufactured kind where a local radio host asks whether an eight-win team could make the playoff if 19 specific things happen. Real talk.

Arkansas had finished fifth. Alabama and LSU were monsters, but Arkansas had convinced itself that it belonged at the same table. Maybe not at the head of it yet. But the Hogs had a chair.

Then came April 1.

The motorcycle. The questions. The changing story. The passenger. The relationship. The hiring process. The money.

Nine days later, Jeff Long fired Bobby Petrino for cause.

Those facts have been repeated so many times that they now feel like Arkansas folklore. A story passed down alongside the Stoernover, the Stoerner redemption, the Miracle on Markham, and every other event that has somehow convinced generations of Arkansans that football is a healthy hobby, that the team you love loves you back.

But look at the decision from Long’s position in that moment.

He was not firing a coach who had stopped winning. He was firing a coach who had gone 21-5 over the previous two seasons. A coach who had taken Arkansas to its first BCS bowl and followed it with an 11-win season. A coach whose team was about to enter another season ranked in the top ten.

Long had hired Petrino. Long had defended Petrino. Now Long stood at a podium and decided that what Petrino had done—and how he had attempted to conceal it—made his continued employment impossible.

It may have been the correct decision. It was definitely an expensive one.

That is what Bielema saw from Wisconsin. He did not simply see an athletic director fire a successful coach. He saw one choose the institution over the scoreboard. At least that was how Bielema framed it.

And somewhere in the spring, while Arkansas fans worked through the stages of football grief—denial, anger, bargaining, arguing about Garrick McGee and eventually more anger—Bielema decided he wanted Long to know he respected the choice.

He waited a few months to send the note. By then, Long probably needed it more.

Arkansas hired John L. Smith on a ten-month contract worth $850,000.

The move made sense in the way emergency decisions often do. Smith had spent the previous three seasons on Petrino’s staff. He knew the players. He knew the terminology. He knew the coaches. He had only recently left Arkansas to become the head coach at Weber State.

Bring him back. Keep the machine running. Get through the season. Then conduct a proper search. It was a bridge, not a rebuild.

Call it another example of America’s crumbling infrastructure, but the bridge crumbled while an entire state was standing on it.

Arkansas opened with an uninspiring win over Jacksonville State and then traveled to Little Rock to play Louisiana-Monroe.

The Hogs led 28-7 when Tyler Wilson left with a concussion. ULM came back to beat Arkansas 34-31 in overtime.

One week later, Alabama won 52-0 in Fayetteville. The Razorbacks turned the ball over five times and never seriously threatened to score. Rutgers came into Fayetteville and won the following Saturday. Texas A&M then scored 51 consecutive points in a 58-10 demolition at College Station.

A team that entered the season ranked tenth was 1-4 by the end of September. They had been outscored by 87 points across those five games.

Smith was also moving through personal bankruptcy proceedings involving tens of millions of dollars in liabilities. Because a normal collapse wasn’t enough. The bridge fell into a sinkhole.

Arkansas eventually finished 4-8. The Razorbacks lost eight games for the first time since 1990 and missed a bowl one season after winning eleven games.

Somewhere in the middle of that ruinous September, Bret Bielema’s letter reached Jeff Long.

Think about the timing.

Long had made the decision that detonated the most successful Arkansas run in years. The temporary solution had failed. The team had dropped from the top ten to irrelevance. Fans who had spent the spring debating whether Petrino deserved another chance now had four-win evidence to support whatever opinion they already held.

That is when the note appeared. In it, Bielema did not offer a new scheme. He did not offer suggestions on a replacement coach. He offered validation.

“You made the right call.”

That would matter later.

By November, Arkansas football had one meaningful competition left: the coaching search.

At Arkansas, a coaching search is never merely a personnel process. It becomes weather. It moves into every conversation. It hangs over offices, deer camps, family dinners, and grocery-store encounters with people you have spent years successfully avoiding.

We do not wait patiently for verified news. We track airplanes. We inspect blurry photographs. We assign deep meaning to restaurant reservations. We believe a cousin who knows a booster who sat near somebody at a dental appointment.

For eight months, almost every recognizable coach in America became the next Arkansas coach for at least one afternoon.

Gary Patterson.

Chris Petersen.

Charlie Strong.

Tommy Tuberville.

James Franklin.

Jon Gruden, naturally. (There is no Arkansas coaching search without Jon Gruden. I believe that is now written somewhere in state law.)

Then there was Les Miles.

In late November, reports surfaced that Arkansas had offered the LSU coach a five-year, $27.5 million deal. The offer itself was disputed from the Arkansas side, but that did not slow anything down. Miles received a raise and an extension from LSU, which is one of the traditional signs that Arkansas has been involved in a coaching search.

The rumor generated enough traffic to overwhelm Hogville, according to contemporary coverage.

The servers had seen enough.

Then the focus shifted to Mike Gundy.

Now, this one felt plausible. Gundy had built Oklahoma State into a legitimate national program. His Cowboys had won the Big 12 in 2011, reached No. 2 in the BCS standings, and beaten Stanford in the Fiesta Bowl. He ran an explosive offense that felt like a reasonable continuation of what Arkansas had become under Petrino.

On December 4th, local reports indicated that Long had made Gundy an offer and given him time to decide. Other reports said Gundy would not be the coach and that Arkansas might announce someone else that day.

At one point, the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette appeared to be reporting that Gundy both was and was not the next coach.

Schrödinger’s Mullet.

Then, during the afternoon, Pat Forde reported the name: Bret Bielema.

Wisconsin’s Bret Bielema? The Bret Bielema who had just won the Big Ten championship.

Yes, that Bret Bielema.

The first reaction was not analysis. It was processing. Arkansas had spent months cycling through coaches who had some obvious connection to the job. Southern recruiters. SEC veterans. Offensive minds. Arkansas natives. Former Razorbacks. Coaches whose names already lived permanently on message boards.

Bielema barely registered.

He was a Big Ten guy, an Iowa player, and Barry Alvarez’s hand-picked successor at Wisconsin. Bielema was a coach whose entire public identity seemed rooted in the Midwest, and yet he was leaving Wisconsin for Arkansas.

Nobody had seen it coming.

Once the surprise wore off, though, the résumé landed with some force.

Bielema had gone 68-24 in seven seasons at Wisconsin. Four of his teams won at least ten games. The Badgers had won three consecutive Big Ten championships and earned three straight Rose Bowl appearances.

He was not a coordinator Arkansas hoped could become a successful head coach. He was not a former star trying to rebuild his reputation. He was not an alumnus coming home. Arkansas had taken a sitting head coach from a major conference program immediately after he won his third consecutive league title.

Now, the third title came through a strange route.

Wisconsin finished the 2012 regular season 7-5 and third in its division. Ohio State and Penn State, the two teams above the Badgers, were ineligible for postseason play. That put Wisconsin in the Big Ten Championship Game against Nebraska. So, yes, the Badgers rolled into Indianapolis on fumes.

However, after 539 yards rushing and 70 points scored, they left scorched Earth behind them.

Circumstances did not score 70 points. Paperwork did not average nearly 11 yards per rushing attempt. Wisconsin snuck in through a side door and then knocked down every wall in the building. Bielema is a great facsimile for the Kool-Aid man, anyway.

That team offered Arkansas fans an immediate picture of what Bielema football might become. Huge offensive linemen. Multiple running backs. Tight ends. Play-action passes. A defense built to survive long enough for the offense to lean on people.

His teams did not ask opponents to solve a mystery. They told them what was coming and dared them to stop it. Big-boy football.

A coaching hire is not simply a bet on one man’s win percentage. It is a decision about what a program believes it must become. Arkansas had spent four years slicing defenses apart through Petrino’s passing game. Bielema represented a philosophical hard reset. Petrino had built Arkansas around quarterback play, formations, timing, and calculated aggression. Bielema believed in size, development, physical accumulation, and the idea that if you hit a team enough times, the game would eventually become yours.

It was a massive change. It was also easy to understand why Arkansas found it attractive.

The SEC West belonged to Alabama and LSU, two programs built around line play, defense, and violent depth. Texas A&M had just entered the league with Johnny Manziel and a new kind of offensive problem. Arkansas needed an identity strong enough to survive between them.

Bielema offered one.

Whether Arkansas could recruit the players required to sustain it was a question for later. On December 4th, the certainty was the selling point.

Bielema’s biography helped.

He grew up on a pig farm in Illinois, a detail so perfect for an Arkansas introductory press conference that it sounds like something Jeff Long’s office would have added after the contract was signed.

Nope. Actual pig farm. Sometimes the universe writes its own press release.

Bielema walked on at Iowa, earned a scholarship, and eventually became a team captain. He started coaching under Hayden Fry, remained at Iowa under Kirk Ferentz, spent two seasons at Kansas State, and then joined Alvarez’s Wisconsin staff as defensive coordinator. Alvarez selected him as his successor, and Bielema became a Big Ten head coach at 35-years-old.

In his first season, he led Wisconsin to twelve wins—including a 17-14 victory over Arkansas in the Capital One Bowl.

Long and Bielema were not complete strangers, either.

They had first met in Miami in 2005 while participating in an event tied to the National Championship game. Long was Pittsburgh’s athletic director. Bielema was still an assistant at Wisconsin. Long later said Bielema impressed him enough that he followed his career.

Then came the letter.

That mattered because Long was not simply looking for someone who could coach football. He needed someone he could publicly connect to the decision he had made in April. Long had fired Petrino over questions of honesty, judgment, and institutional responsibility. His replacement needed to represent the opposite. At Bielema’s introductory press conference, Long emphasized that his new coach had won the right way and valued relationships with his players.

That language was intentional. Every word spoke to the previous eight months. This was not just a football hire. It was supposed to be a correction.

Bielema had his own reasons to listen.

The popular explanation became simple: he wanted to coach in the SEC. That was part of it. He had said he wanted the challenge. He also said he felt ready to “spread my wings” beyond Wisconsin after seven seasons as head coach.

But the more practical issue involved his assistants.

Bielema had repeatedly watched coaches leave Wisconsin for better-paying opportunities. After the 2012 Big Ten Championship Game, three assistants approached him about interest they had received from other programs. Wisconsin could not match some of the money being discussed. Arkansas could offer a substantially larger salary pool. Coaching staffs are like family…until someone offers more money and a promotion. At that point, water is thicker than blood. Bielema later said the available money for assistants nearly doubled.

That point deserves more attention than it usually gets.

Bielema did not only want a raise for himself. He wanted the infrastructure to keep a staff together. At Wisconsin, he had built a winning program, watched its coaches become attractive, and then repeatedly tried to replace them within financial limits he did not control. Arkansas offered facilities, money, and access to the SEC recruiting map.

It offered institutional ambition.

And look, ego probably belonged somewhere in the equation too. That is not meant to be derogatory. It is practically a prerequisite for becoming a major-college football coach.

Bielema had won the Big Ten three years in a row. He had gone to Rose Bowls. He had operated inside a program shaped by Alvarez and Wisconsin tradition. At Arkansas, he could build something with his name on it.

Bielema had already won one league. Now he could try his luck in the mighty SEC.

Big-boy football, indeed.

Jeff Long waited until the regular season ended before formally approaching sitting coaches. Wisconsin beat Nebraska late Saturday night. Long reached out Sunday morning.

Bielema returned the call, and the timing immediately helped. Both men were headed to New York for a college football awards event. That gave them a chance to meet privately on Monday night without creating a conspicuous travel trail between Fayetteville and Madison.

Long made the offer. Bielema accepted Tuesday morning. Eight months of preparation collapsed into roughly two days of action.

Bielema informed Alvarez of his decision and prepared to return to Madison to tell his players. Somewhere in the air between New York and Wisconsin, Long and Bielema signed the letter of agreement.

The second letter. This one was not handwritten. This one had real numbers that had been vetted by agents and legal teams.

Six years.

$3.2 million annually.

As much as $700,000 per year in performance and academic incentives.

Arkansas would also arrange payment of Bielema’s $1 million Wisconsin buyout.

The first letter had been about principle. The second was about commitment.

The first letter cost Bielema a stamp. The second one put Arkansas on the hook for $19.2 million before incentives and the Wisconsin buyout. I’d say the correspondence jumped up a notch.

Arkansas announced the hire at 6:15 Tuesday evening. After stopping in Madison so Bielema could address the Wisconsin program, the Arkansas group landed in Fayetteville around 9:15.

Long had spent eight months searching. The ending took less time than a football weekend.

And that is how the most surprising hire in Arkansas history became official. One moment, the state was debating Mike Gundy. The next, Arkansas had poached a three-time defending Big Ten champion.

Bielema did not gradually emerge as the favorite. Fans did not spend a week talking themselves into his fit. There was no soft launch. No collection of anonymous reports preparing everyone for what was coming.

He simply appeared.

Bret Bielema was the Arkansas coach.

The next afternoon, Bielema walked into the Broyles Athletic Complex wearing a red tie. A slightly different shade of red than Wisconsin’s, but close enough that his wardrobe survived the move. His wife, Jen, joined him.

Hundreds of reporters, fans, and university figures packed the room. Long introduced Bielema as the 32nd head coach in Arkansas football history and emphasized his record, his relationships with players, and the way he had won.

Then Bielema took over.

He joked that he was not a hat guy. He made fun of his own appearance. He talked about growing up on the farm and learning that work had to be done correctly the first time. He spoke about recruiting. He spoke about the SEC. He spoke about embracing the underdog position without accepting it permanently. He promised Arkansas fans that he wanted to give them “something you have never had.”

The implication did not require interpretation: an SEC championship.

Then he brought Jen toward the front of the stage and called the Hogs.

It worked.

Not in the sense that Arkansas fans immediately agreed the program was destined for Atlanta. There were skeptics. Legitimate questions lingered about recruiting the South, changing the offense, and moving from the Big Ten into the SEC West.

But the presentation worked.

Bielema was comfortable, confident, funny without delivering a rehearsed comedy routine, and serious without acting like he had arrived to personally invent blocking.

He sounded like a football coach, but more importantly, he just sounded like a good hang. That combination would become one of his greatest strengths at Arkansas.

And, eventually, one of his complications.

Bielema could sell himself because he appeared to enjoy being himself. There was no Petrino-style distance. No sense that the football genius had descended from the mountain and only bestowed upon those who were deemed righteous enough to protect the message. Bielema talked. He joked. He worked the room.

After a year in which Arkansas football had become a national punchline, he made the program feel normal again.

Arkansas had just poached a successful coach from Wisconsin. A coach with three conference championships. A coach who had been developed by one of the strongest football institutions in the Big Ten. The hire itself became proof of concept.

Arkansas could attract somebody. Not merely somebody available, but somebody accomplished. That feeling mattered almost as much as the résumé.

For months, the Petrino scandal had made Arkansas football fans feel powerless. One man’s decisions had changed the trajectory of an entire program. The interim season had made the Hogs feel even smaller, as they tumbled from national relevance while the rest of the SEC moved forward.

Hiring Bielema reversed the emotional direction.

Suddenly, Arkansas was the program taking something. Arkansas was the surprise.

Arkansas was a positive headline.

Long had made a splash hire without leaking it, and the secrecy strengthened the effect. He had outmaneuvered the rumor market that had spent eight months trying to poke and prod him into leaks.

For one day, at least, Long had won the search.

It is tempting now to read Bielema’s first letter as a covert job application. Maybe it was, but there is no public evidence to prove it.

Bielema did not ask Long for a meeting. He did not mention Arkansas’s opening. Long said the note made an impression, but the two men maintained that formal contact about the job did not begin until after Wisconsin’s season ended.

The responsible reading is the simplest one.

A coach watched an athletic director make a difficult decision and wrote to tell him he respected it. That alone was unusual enough to be memorable.

Still, timing has a way of turning ordinary gestures into the first scene of a larger story. That letter ended up being their meet-cute, as it were. Long needed a coach whose success could restore Arkansas’ standing. He also needed one whose values he could defend. When he began looking, he remembered the successful coach who had defended his.

Bielema believed he had the answers for how to turn Arkansas back into a winner without compromising the university’s ethical or legal standing.

He would recruit what he called “uncommon men.” He would build enormous lines. He would develop players. He would create a physical identity sturdy enough to survive the SEC West. He would win through relationships, toughness, and patience.

That was the promise.

The first letter told Jeff Long that firing Bobby Petrino had been the right call. The second letter made Bret Bielema the man responsible for proving it.

Long had made another decision. Arkansas would spend the next five years deciding whether this one was right, too.

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It seems to always be chewing on something… almost like a teenage girl smacking on Bubblicious. That’s because it’s the way God designed these animals.

Cows are ruminants (just like sheep, goats, deer, and bison). They are designed to chew their food, swallow into their first stomach compartment that breaks the food down more, regurgitate it, chew on this cud some more, and eventually swallow it into one of the other three remaining stomach compartments to continue digestion.

That’s where the term ruminate comes from. It’s that idea of a wormhole of a thought that we can’t seem to get rid of. We are caught in a vicious cycle. It’s what those who struggle with anxiety often describe. And it literally means “to chew the cud”.

This is where Arkansas Razorbacks Football fans come in to play.

You see pigs are actually monogastric omnivores, just like humans. But somehow, we have become ruminant pigs. We are stuck in a vicious cycle of wondering what will go wrong next.

It’s talking season as SEC Media Days in Tampa, Florida have wrapped up. Here are some highlights of what head ball coach Ryan Silverfield has been up to:

The Good: A little Houston Nutt

Silverfield brings a little rah-rah back to the hill. He said he took the Arkansas job because of the rich history. At the podium on Thursday he referenced having twin daughters like Frank Broyles and Houston Nutt. And he offered a moment of silence for the late Jim Lindsey.

He highlighted our incredible fanbase that still fills the stadium with at least 92% capacity despite not being good in 15 years.

He identified the key to getting back to the successful Razorbacks of year’s past as an alignment problem. We need more focused fundraising, better nutrition (Arkansas spends the most on food of any team in the country, but apparently fried chicken and Mountain Dew aren’t cutting it anymore), better academic scheduling, strategic in-state recruiting, and a robust in-game experience overhaul (Silverfield specifically raised money this summer for a new sound system and LED stadium lights that can be flashed like strobe lights to excite the players and crowd).

He trained under legendary Florida high school coach Corky Rogers, who taught him to maximize his potential and the value of hard work. This leads him to get more out of less with an emphasis of always proving the doubters wrong.

The Bad: A little Chad Morris

To be honest, there’s something a little cringy about phrases like “All In” and “RazorBuilt”. And I can’t believe we had a social media take over for our new equipment truck that a JB Hunt billboard. And don’t get me started on CommunityAmerica Credit Union Stadium…

But I think we only do that because we lived through the #LeftLane and #HammerDown Chad Morris years. If your team wins and your coach is eccentric, people love them. Just ask Indiana fans about “Google Me” Curt Cignetti.

So right now, Silverfield hasn’t done anything bad. He’s just dealing with a bad team and bad schedule. Last year the Hogs went 2-10 (including 5 losses by 3 points or less and 2 more losses by less than 9 points).

This year the Hogs will, yet again, play the toughest schedule in the country. Former coach Nick Saban said our schedule is so tough it looks like a team that wants to fire their AD… (I’m sure I’ll have more to write on that topic later in the season). And ESPN Analytics only gives the Hogs a 24% chance to become bowl eligible this year.

The Unknown: A little Ulysses S. Grant

“We have lots of unknowns with 80 new players and a heated quarterback battle.” - Ryan Silverfield

In December 1845, then Lieutenant Grant and another soldier were traveling across the Texas prairie from Goliad to Corpus Christi in the middle of the night. It was very dark, and they were feeling very lonely in the wide-open fields.

Grant then heard an unearthly howling of wolves. It was bone chilling. Blood-curdling howls filled the air. He was terrified. He thought at every step they would be devoured.

His companion asked how many wolves he thought there were. Not wanting to betray how scared he really was he thought of the number that was the lowest he could think without embarrassing himself and he said, “20.”

They kept going and eventually came upon the source of all the noise, and surprisingly it was only 2 wolves that had made all of that terrifying sound.

Grant said “I was forever changed in that instant.” He used it as a lesson in the rest of his military and political career: there are more of them before they are counted. When we don’t know. When we can’t see. When we are unfamiliar. It all seems scarier, more daunting, more impossible, more overwhelming, and more unattainable.

Grant used this the most in his political career to know that the minority complain the loudest and that the silent majority are waiting in the wings to celebrate success with him.

I believe Coach Silverfield will bring success to the Hogs to quiet the minority of complaining fans.

What will success look like in year one?

Silverfield directly addressed this question on Thursday. He said, “success will mean getting better everyday and being the best in the country in controllables.” He listed things like discipline, no penalties, no turnovers, better grades, gains in the weight room, and increased community service as “controllables”.

He also said he’s not a man of much hogwash. What we see is what we get. He added that none of his players could be all-in on this process if he wasn’t also challenging himself to grow and be better each day, too.

He asked to simply be judged by those that believe in him, all the way from the starting QB to the janitor. And maybe even those crazy fans on the message boards…

And now we wait 41 sleeps until the 2026 season kicks off. And while the English word wait is a passive approach to see what the future holds, the word originated in Hebrew as qavah. This was not a passive, clock-watching patience it means to wait with eager expectation, hope, and trust or to bind one’s self to anticipation. So let’s not ruminate on the past and instead, qavah until the pigs come home.

-WPS

Please excuse the style of this work
For with two kids under three
All that I get to read
Are children’s books, you see.

That has certainly
Infiltrated my writing
Influenced my takes
And implemented more rhyming.

Now some folks may grumble,
Or scoff with a snort.
“That Razorback future?”
“They’ll finish up short.”

They’ll point to the past.
They’ll mutter, “We’ve seen.”
They’ll tell me that hope
Is a curious dream.

But I’ve reached a conclusion—
Call it foolish if you must.
Some things are worth believing,
Even before they’ve earned your trust.

Perhaps I’ve been changed
By bedtime’s soft light.
By dragons and Sneetches
Read into the night.

By Loraxes speaking
For trees in the breeze.
By foxes in socks
And improbable knees.

Because somewhere between
The stories we’ve read,
A funny thought
“Popp”ed into my head.

When did believing
Become such a crime?
When did skepticism
Become wisdom sublime?

A child sees a seed
And imagines a tree.
A grown-up sees dirt
And says, “We’ll just see.”

Well today I’m choosing
The kid’s point of view.
I’m choosing to believe,
And perhaps you should too.

I believe in recruiting.
Not just stars on a page.
But investing in people
Who fit the next stage.

You cannot build castles
With wishes alone.
You stack brick after brick
Until kingdoms are grown.

Silverfield knows it.
He’s chasing the trail.
Planting tomorrow
Instead of today’s sale.

And speaking of building—
Let’s visit the Hill.
Where dollars are flowing
With purpose and will.

A stadium naming deal?
Some wrinkle their nose.
I see opportunity
Starting to grow.

If modern football
Requires more bread,
Then call me old-fashioned—
I’d rather be fed.

Those dollars mean resources.
Resources mean depth.
And depth wins November
When others have left.

Then there are the coaches,
The clever young crew.
Alex Golesh? Eric Morris?
He’s beaten them too.

Some say that’s coincidence.
I simply say, “Why?”
If you keep winning matchups,
At some point ask why.

Against Jon Sumrall?
Four victories to one.
That’s not just good fortune.
That’s something well done.

And then there’s Ron Roberts—
Now here’s quite the tale.
A football professor
Who rarely will fail.

He dreamed up a defense,
A puzzly scheme,
That wandered from whiteboard
To every big dream.

Before long came whispers.
Then copies galore.
Nick Saban said, “Interesting…”
Then borrowed some more.

Kirby Smart studied.
He tweaked it a bit.
Great coaches do that.
The best ideas fit.

Now imagine that thinker
Calling Arkansas home.
Drawing up headaches
For quarterbacks to roam.

Will every call sparkle?
Will every throw land?
Of course not. That’s never
How football is planned.

There’ll be bumps. There’ll be fumbles.
Some Saturdays sting.
Belief isn’t betting
On every small thing.

Belief is deciding
The story’s not done.
That chapters still wait
Beneath Arkansas sun.

So laugh at my rhyming.
Giggle away.
I’ve probably read Green Eggs and Ham
About twelve times today.

Maybe adulthood
Means doubting the light.

But I’ll borrow from children
Who somehow get it right.

They still chase adventures.
They still dream out loud.
They still wear belief
Like a bright-colored cloud.

So call me unrealistic.
Call me naive.
I’ve got two little teachers
Who’ve taught me to believe.

And until proven otherwise,
Here’s where I stand:

I believe Ryan Silverfield
Can rebuild the Arkansas brand.

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Immediately, the national media machine went into hyperdrive. The talking heads swore he was going to Golden State to ride off into the sunset with Steph Curry and Draymond Green. The analytics nerds tried to manifest a rings-chasing discount with Oklahoma City or San Antonio.

They were all wrong.

In a move that completely shatters the fabric of modern reality, LeBron James is taking his talents to Northwest Arkansas. He’s trading the traffic on the 405 for the scenic drive up I-49. He’s trading the Staples Center—sorry, Crypto.com Arena—for Bud Walton. King James is officially a Razorback.

The Calipari Factor

How did we get here? Look no further than the master salesman himself, John Calipari.

The history between LeBron and Coach Cal runs deep, even if they’ve never officially shared a bench. Calipari never got to coach LeBron in a game, and he didn’t recruit him out of St. Vincent-St. Mary back in 2003 because, well, LeBron was busy being a corporate entity straight out of prom. But the mutual respect has been a feature of basketball lore for two decades. LeBron has long praised Cal’s ability to prepare teenagers for the grueling realities of the league.

Calipari has built his entire Hall of Fame legacy on one towering stat: putting over 50 players into the NBA Draft, generating billions in career earnings for his guys. But there was always one missing infinity stone on his resume. He could get college kids to the league, but he could never get the league to college.

Until now. Cal finally gets to coach an active NBA legend in a college uniform. It’s the ultimate full-circle moment.

Making Sense of the Madness (And Will Wade’s Loophole)

If you think a 41-year-old billionaire playing college basketball sounds illegal, you haven’t been paying attention to Baton Rouge.

Over at LSU, Will Wade—back in his natural habitat and still pushing the absolute limits of the rulebook—has essentially turned SEC basketball into a semi-pro European league. Wade just signed RJ Luis Jr., a guy who literally spent last season bouncing around on two-way NBA contracts with the Celtics and Jazz. Not content with that, Wade is also bringing in 25-year-old Israeli point guard Yam Madar and 22-year-old EuroLeague pro Saliou Niang. LSU’s compliance department is currently operating out of a courtroom, but Wade proved the precedent: if you have a year left on your five-year eligibility clock, who cares if you’ve played in the NBA?

LeBron saw that and said, “Why not me?” He skipped college the first time around. Now, thanks to the wild west of NIL and Will Wade’s administrative audacity, The King gets his freshman year in Fayetteville.

Where LeBron Fits: The 2026–27 Razorback Roster

LeBron joins an Arkansas roster that Calipari had already meticulously constructed into a juggernaut. Before yesterday’s bombshell, the 2026 incoming class was heavily reliant on an elite crop of five-star freshmen and strategic reclassifications.

Here is how the recruiting class and newcomers ranked before the addition of the greatest small forward to ever live:

With 14 of 15 roster spots filled after Frolov’s recent commitment, Calipari was publicly leaving that final spot open.We all assumed it was for a standard late-summer transfer to add depth to the post position.

It wasn’t. It was for a 6-foot-9, four-time NBA Champion who is about to make the lives of every 19-year-old defender in the SEC an absolute living nightmare.

Welcome to Fayetteville, King. Grab some tacos on Dickson Street; you’re going to love it here.

I want to take you back to the morning of April 25th. The Knicks trail the Atlanta Hawks 2-1 in the first round of the NBA’s Eastern Conference Playoffs. Through those first three games, Knicks center Karl-Anthony Towns was averaging 3.3 assists. The Knicks as a team had a 111.6 offensive rating and a 2.7-point net rating.

Towns approached Knicks head coach Mike Brown and offensive coordinator Chris Jent with a bold idea. He proposed that Brown use him more as an offensive hub than as a play finisher. Towns responded to the new responsibility by recording his first ever playoff triple double in a pivotal Game 4 win.

As the cliche goes, the rest is history. Maybe “the rest is historic” is more applicable here.

For the rest of the playoffs, Towns averaged 5.3 assists per game, and the Knicks offense benefited greatly from the new look. They had a 121.5 offensive rating and a 17.8-point net over the next 16 games on the way to winning the NBA Title. (Have I mentioned here before that my New York Knicks are the NBA Champions? Like…forever. That can’t be taken away.)

For this edition of Breakdown Blockbusters, let’s look at some film from that ten-assist night in Game 4. We’ll include all ten assists and then discuss patterns around how Brown and Jent let their 5-man facilitate their conceptual offense. We’ll close with some key takeaways and how other coaches could make the leap with their own squads.

Let’s roll the tape!

High-Post Hub

Brown has a ton of experience working with bigs who can facilitate offense for their teammates. He coached Draymond Green as an assistant with Golden State and built an elite offense with Sacramento, using Domantas Sabonis as a fulcrum. Green, Sabonis, and Towns obviously are not carbon copies of a player archetype.

I’m biased, but Towns is the most offensively gifted of the three. There may not have ever been a big man with his gift for stretching the floor, posting up, and punishing teams off the dribble. Brown used all three skills

His ability to stretch the floor as a shooter means defenses have to respect him as a high-post hub, which brings us to the first way in which Brown’s conceptual offense used Towns as a facilitator to punish the Hawks.

Let’s watch what this looked like.

Towns comes to set a screen for Jalen Brunson, but notices his man has totally left him to cut off Brunson’s ability to drive, so Towns sets a ghost screen and rolls into the open space at the top of the key. He then turns to the opposite slot to run a DHO with OG Anunoby. Anunoby rejects the DHO and cuts toward the rim. Towns delivers a perfect pocket pass, and Anunoby runs past some poor tags for a dunk.

Patience is key when operating as a high-post hub, as you’ll see in this clip.

Brunson passes to Towns in the high slot and then clears out, which gives the Knicks a brief 1-4 feel. Brunson, though, immediately runs into a corner screen for Anunoby. Towns waits for Anunoby to run himself open and then delivers a pass to the restricted area.

There was a similar look later in the game:

Here’s another example where letting the play develop paid off:

One defender got caught between guarding Anunoby in the corner and helping against Jose Alvarado’s cut. That’s where running concepts instead of plays makes so much sense. The Knicks have already won that matchup. It’s just a matter of letting the defense decide what to do and then taking the other option. Here, the defense chose Alvarado, so Anunoby cut into open space.

Watch how quickly the defense reacts to Towns on this next play:

This entire possession features the Knicks responding to Atlanta overplaying the three-point line. They are right on Towns out of fear around the delay pull-up 3, and they overplay Jordan Clarkson. However, in being so worried about the three-point line, they left themselves vulnerable in the paint. Clarkson read it, and 45 cut off his man.

This even works in transition:

With conceptual offense, things don’t always work out. The offense doesn’t always create an advantage. In this clip, that is exactly what happened.

Mikal Bridges doesn’t get separation on the DHO, so Towns has to lob a grenade to Josh Hart. Luckily for Town’s triple-double stats, Hart knocked down the shot.

Off the bounce

While Towns is the self-proclaimed greatest shooting big man of all time, his ability to put the ball on the floor and attack off the dribble is another puzzle the defense has to try to solve. Again, Brown and Jent used this to their advantage from a facilitation standpoint.

Towns punishes the closeout to the top of the key by dribbling past him toward the rim. Atlanta’s wing help gave a weak tag, which allowed Brunson to drift to the corner while the defender’s back was turned. Towns throws it on the money.

This next example is just beautiful basketball:

Atlanta is concerned about Brunson off the Town screen so they send the big on an aggressive hedge. However, that creates an opportunity for Towns to pop into the open space at the top of the key, so Atlanta’s big closes back out hard. However, that creates the space for Towns to drive to the paint, so Atlanta sends help to cut him off. However, that leaves Anunoby open for three in the corner.

Top-notch patience and advantage creation from the Knicks centered around Towns’s ability to dribble.

Classic post-up

When in doubt, Towns is still 7’0” tall and 248 pounds. Somewhere in his basketball DNA, there's a code that tells him to post up with his back to the basket. No matter how much he represents the big man evolution, it’s still hard-wired in there deep down.

Towns ends up in the post with a talented but smaller defender on him. He posts up to receive the pass and then pivots to face the hoop. Hart cut toward the rim to occupy help. Clarkson did the same on the opposite side. This led to all five Atlanta defenders in the lane, which left Alvarado plenty of space to fill behind Hart for a wide-open catch-and-shoot three.

Key Takeaways

The first takeaway is the obvious one: this does not work if Karl-Anthony Towns is not Karl-Anthony Towns.

That sounds simple, but it matters. This is not a plug-and-play gimmick. You can’t just put any big at the elbow, call him a hub, and expect the offense to sing. Towns is a three-tool offensive big. He stretches the floor. He distributes the ball. He attacks off the bounce. There may not be another player on planet Earth with that exact combination of size, shooting gravity, passing feel, and dribble-game pressure.

That is what makes this version of the Knicks so hard to guard. If the defense backs off, Towns shoots. If it runs him off the line, he drives. If help comes, he passes. If cutters move, he rewards them. If defenders overplay the three-point line, he lets the play breathe until the rim opens up.

So, no, most teams cannot just copy and paste this approach. Not every team has a 7-footer who can punish a closeout like a wing, make high-level reads like a connector, and still bully a mismatch on the block when the possession calls for it. Brown and Jent did not invent a cheat code. They recognized the one they already had.

But the second takeaway is just as important: Towns benefited tremendously from the roster infrastructure around him.

A hub is only as valuable as the movement happening around him. The Knicks made Towns’s reads easier because their cutters, screeners, spacers, and relocators constantly ran themselves open. Anunoby found gaps. Brunson manipulated attention. Hart cut with purpose. Clarkson drifted and filled. Alvarado replaced behind the play. The ball did not stick because the players around Towns understood the shape of the advantage.

That is the beauty of conceptual offense. No one player has to manufacture every assist out of thin air. The hub has to see the defense’s choice and deliver the ball to the answer. Most of Towns’s passes in this game were not magic tricks. They were obvious reads made available by teammates who knew how to punish help, overplays, poor tags, and distracted defenders.

That is where this lesson can translate to college basketball.

A college coach running conceptual offense can absolutely use a big as a high-post hub. We have seen versions of it with Gonzaga’s frontcourt ecosystem through players like Sabonis and Drew Timme, with Purdue using Zach Edey as a pressure point who could punish defensive attention, and with other skilled college bigs who became more than screeners and finishers. The idea is possible. The key is being honest about the big you actually have.

If your center can catch, pivot, pass, and make one or two simple reads, you can build a high-post offense around him. It does not have to look like Towns. It might be elbow touches into split cuts. It might be delay action into DHOs. It might be chin cuts, corner screens, 45 cuts, or simple throwbacks. The goal is not to turn every college big into Towns. The goal is to use the high post as a decision-making station if your big has the feel to handle it.

But that last part is non-negotiable.

The right big has to enjoy passing. He has to be patient. He has to be strong with the ball. He has to see the second defender. He has to understand that the assist may come from holding the ball for half a second longer, not from rushing into the first available handoff. And the other four players have to know how to move when their defender turns his head.

That is why the morning of April 25th matters. Towns did not ask to become a hub because it sounded fun. He saw a way to change the geometry of the Knicks’ offense. Brown and Jent trusted him. His teammates moved around him. And once that happened, the Knicks stopped treating their 5-man like the end of the action and started treating him like the beginning of the next one. That was the leap.

Not just more touches for Towns. More decisions through Towns.

And once the Knicks made that shift, the offense had one more problem for the defense to solve. As it turns out, that problem helped carry them all the way to forever.

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Hey all! New piece on Best of Arkansas Sports covers what to expect for Darius Acuff in tonight’s NBA draft. Little Meleek Thomas info in there too.

Hints at Darius Acuff’s New Home

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Please bear with me if my next few pieces of “Razorback” material are veiled attempts to write more about the New York Knicks. This piece was published yesterday on Best of Arkansas Sports, and I’m working on a companion piece that will be posted here sometime next week.

Then there’s today’s Breakdown Blockbuster piece. I promise you this will tie into how John Calipari and the Razorbacks should build their offensive attack next season, but before we get to that point, you’re going to have to sit through a lot of Knicks film.

I re-watched the 4th quarter of the Knicks huge comeback in Game 4 at Madison Square Garden, but this time I watched it through the lens of how the Knicks used their conceptual offensive principles to solve one of the biggest (quite literally) defensive problems there, the Defensive Player of the Year, Victor Wembanyama.

If you’re a Spurs fan…shield your eyes.

Let’s roll the tape!

Red Rover, Red Rover, Send Wemby Right Over

By this point in the series, the Spurs have Wembanyama playing a rover, covering a zone on the weakside near the rim, which makes a ton of sense. It keeps him from moving as much, so hopefully saving some energy for the 4th quarter offensive push, while still taking advantage of the fact that he's a behemoth rim protector.

For the Knicks, the first key was keeping a player in that weakside corner behind where Wemby was patrolling who was a threat to shoot it.

When it was Jose Alvarado behind Wemby in the corner, he was forced into a quick decision when Alvarado caught the ball. Do I let him take the three? Do I close out on him as a shooter, knowing that may pull me out of the rover position I want to play? What happens if he dribbles past my closeout, and now I become attached to the ballhandler?

The last one is what happened in that clip. And once Alvarado has Wemby attached to him, he takes him for a ride from one side of the floor to another. Karl-Anthony Towns relocates to open space and hits a tough shot over Keldon Johnson, but that’s a better problem to have than trying to shoot over Wembanyama’s length.

In this next clip, watch how Alvarado uses a 45 cut through the paint to pull Wemby out of his desired zone and away from OG Anunoby in the corner.

This is another well-guarded three-point shot, but what do you expect? This is the NBA Finals. Easy shots will be hard to come by. However, here again, while Dylan Harper is no slouch defensively, it’s better than trying to shoot over Wemby. Anunoby makes a tough one, which is what you have to do to win in the playoff pressure cooker.

On this next possession, Towns dribble penetrates from the corner in a true 5-out, but the goal is still clear: put someone in Wemby's corner that he has to guard.

Towns's dribbling feels like the thunder to Alvarado's lightning. Wear him out two ways. Oh, you’re tired of our little dude running you all over the floor? As you wish! Here’s our big man to bang into you a little bit.

What do you do after you condition Wembanyama that he has to guard the corner? Pull him out that way and then send the league's best mouse in the house to attack the rim.

Alvarado’s cut into a screen forced Champaigne into the action, which in turn pulled Wemby to OG in the corner, clearing a path for Finals MVP Jalen Brunson to get to the rim.

Honestly, this final clip might be my favorite possession of the entire playoffs because of how it shows the Knicks systematically dismantling the Wemby rover defense.

It starts with Alvarado screening for Towns, so Wemby switched onto him. Alvarado then immediately sets a ballscreen for Brunson, which forces Wemby to be the on-ball defender.

Stephon Castle comes back over to Brunson as Alvarado clears, so the Knicks are now playing 2 on 3 on the strongside. The other person is Anunoby, which is critical to remember in a few seconds.

How do you solve that problem? Reverse the ball and tilt the floor back in your favor!

That’s exactly what Brunson does, and it puts the Spurs in a bad position to rotate from. When Towns gets it at the top of the key, Alvarado is on the wing, and Josh Hart is in the corner with only Fox on the block to defend both Knicks players.

Julian Champagnie and Wemby both rotate over away from the corner where Anunoby was waiting. Champagnie runs from corner to corner, but Wemby goes back to the restricted area to cut off an Alvarado drive. However, that leaves Anunoby in the corner alone with an insane amount of daylight.

He knows it too. He presents his hands to Alvarado as soon as his dribble starts. The pass is on the money, Anunoby cashes in, and the Spurs call a timeout.

Key Takeaways

So what did the Knicks actually do to Wembanyama?

They didn’t beat him by pretending he wasn’t special. They beat him by fully acknowledging how special he is, and then making his specialness expensive.

That’s the beauty of conceptual offense. The Knicks didn’t run one magic play that solved Wemby. They built an ecosystem of problems around him. Keep a shooter in the corner behind him. Cut through his zone. Make him close out. Make him switch. Make him guard the ball. Make him chase Jose Alvarado. Make him absorb Karl-Anthony Towns. Make him choose between protecting the rim and staying attached to OG Anunoby. Make him be right over and over and over again.

Eventually, even a Shaolin Monk alien starts to struggle to constantly make the right decision every time.

The Knicks’ offense worked because the reads were connected. One action set up the next. The corner spacing mattered because the cuts had already moved Wemby. The cuts mattered because the Knicks had already shown they would punish him if he ignored the weakside corner. The ball reversals mattered because San Antonio’s rotations were already stretched thin. Brunson’s rim attack mattered because Wemby had been pulled away from the rim just long enough to turn an impossible finish into a possible one.

That’s the difference between running plays and playing offense.

A play asks, “Can we get this shot?” A concept asks, “What decision does the defense have to make, and how can we make every answer hurt?”

That should be the lesson for Arkansas.

The Razorbacks are not going to have Alvarado, Anunoby, Brunson, or Towns next season, but that’s not the point. The point is that Calipari’s best offenses have always had players who can win matchups, but the next step for this Arkansas group is to make sure those matchups are created by structure rather than hope.

Arkansas needs an offense that forces the defense to guard the whole floor, especially if the Hogs are going to lean into their athleticism, downhill pressure, and multiple ball handlers. Put shooting in the corners. Use cutters as weapons, not decorations. Let guards reject screens, reverse the ball, and attack tilted floors. Make bigs more than screeners by letting them catch, drive, pass, and force uncomfortable switches. Most importantly, make each action feel like it is talking to the one before it.

If a defense loads up to stop the drive, punish the corner. If the low man hugs the corner, cut behind him. If the rim protector roams, drag him into space. If he switches, make him guard again. If the defense rotates, reverse it before they can get whole.

That’s how you turn talent into pressure.

For Arkansas, the question cannot simply be, “Who is our best scorer?” or “What set gets our best player a touch?” The better question is, “How do we make the defense wrong before our best player ever has to be great?”

That is what the Knicks did to Wembanyama. They didn’t just attack the shot blocker. They attacked the job description. They made him protect the rim, guard the corner, close out, switch, contain the ball, clean up rotations, and recover back to shooters. No defender, no matter how gifted, can do all of that forever.

That is the blueprint Arkansas should be chasing. Not an offense built around memorizing plays, but one built around repeatable concepts that create stress, force choices, and let talented players play with an advantage.

Because in March, just like in the NBA Finals, easy shots are hard to come by, but the offense can still control which hard shots it wants to make the defense guard and which ones it wants to give up.

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My sports worlds collided in the best possible way this week.

The Knicks finally did the thing that once felt impossible, ending a 53-year championship drought and reminding every long-suffering fan base that sometimes the breakthrough actually happens. Naturally, that got me thinking about Arkansas basketball.

In my latest column for Best of Arkansas Sports, I wrote about how John Calipari’s deep New York connections — from Madison Square Garden to Knicks leadership to former players like Karl-Anthony Towns — could become more than a fun subplot. They could be part of a real recruiting and program-building advantage for the Razorbacks.

Calipari has already made it clear that he wants Arkansas to play regularly at Madison Square Garden. That matters. The Garden is still the Mecca, New York is still loaded with basketball talent, and Calipari has spent decades turning big stages into recruiting tools.

The Knicks’ title does not magically guarantee anything for Arkansas, of course. But it does make one thing feel a little less far-fetched: if the Knicks can climb out of a half-century drought, why can’t Arkansas use Calipari’s connections, visibility and recruiting pull to chase its own long-awaited return to college basketball’s biggest stage?

Read the full column here:
Best of Arkansas Sports

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In Luigi’s Mansion 3, the ghosts do not challenge and frighten Luigi by standing still. They flash, fake, vanish, reappear, and make him point the Poltergust the wrong way. That is basically the spirit of a ghost screen followed immediately by a flare screen in basketball. The offense shows the defense one problem, pulls it away before the defense can solve it, and then hits the defense with the next problem before anyone has had a chance to recalibrate.

Let’s roll the tape!

The Disappearing Act

Start with the ghost screen. A player, usually a big or a skilled forward, sprints toward the ball handler like they are about to set a ball screen. The defender on the ball starts preparing for contact. The screener’s defender starts calling out coverage. Maybe they are yelling “screen left,” “switch,” “show,” or “drop.” But the screen never really lands. The screener slips out early, often popping behind the arc or diving into space. The whole point is to make the defense react to a screen that did not fully happen. (

That is the trick.

Now add the flare screen right away. After the ghost screener slips or pops, another offensive player flows into a flare screen, usually freeing a shooter who moves away from the ball toward the sideline or corner. Sometimes the ghost screener becomes the flare screener. Sometimes the ghost screen simply shifts the defense enough to open the flare on the weak side.

Either way, the timing matters. There cannot be a pause. The offense wants the defense still talking about the fake ball screen while the shooter is already flying off the flare.

So, what defensive problem does this solve? A lot of teams today switch, peel switch, top-lock shooters, and load early to the ball. They want to take away clean pick-and-rolls and handoffs by being physical before the action even starts.

A normal ball screen can run right into a prepared switch. A normal flare can get blown up if the defender is attached and the help is organized. But the ghost-into-flare combo attacks the defense’s organization itself. It says: “Fine, you want to communicate everything? Let’s make you communicate two things in one second.”

The ghost screen forces the defense to answer a question: is this a switch, a show, a drop, or a stay-home? If the screener pops, the screener’s defender may hesitate between helping on the ball and recovering out. If the on-ball defender expects contact and leans over the screen early, the ball handler can drive. If both defenders stay conservative, the ghost screener catches with space.

And while all that happens, the flare screen creates a second decision point away from the ball. In Luigi’s Mansion 3 terms, the defense has turned its flashlight toward one ghost, and another one is already laughing behind the couch.

The best versions make the reads simple for the offense. If the defense switches the ghost and stays flat, the ball handler can attack the mismatch. If the ghost screener’s defender helps too long, the pop is open. If the weak-side defender tags or sinks to protect the slip, the shooter uses the flare. If the defense top-locks the shooter to deny the flare, the shooter can back cut.

Good offense does not need every option. It needs one defender to be late.

The action also messes with matchups. Say the defense wants to switch everything one through four but keep the center near the rim. A ghost screen from a shooting big can pull that center higher than they want. Then the immediate flare can force a guard or wing to navigate a screen while the big is still out of position. The possession becomes messy. Messy favors the offense when the spacing is good and the reads are rehearsed.

That is why this combo works. It is not just a cute movement. It is a pressure test for defensive communication, screen rules, and weakside awareness. Like the ghosts in Luigi’s Mansion 3, the offense wins by appearing in one place, disappearing, and popping up somewhere worse for the defense.

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I’m back this week with another Breakdown Blockbusters article, and I know what tens—if not twenties—of readers are thinking, “Bro, just write about the Hogs. Or College basketball, at least.”

They aren’t wrong. I can say that unequivocally. There is plenty of Razorback news and notes to write about, and I promise to get back to that soon. I will also shift gears back to analyzing film for future Breakdown Blockbusters between now and when basketball season kicks off. There’s plenty of meat left on that bone.

Still, you can understand why Razorback writing has been pushed aside. For starters, there’s a six-week-old mouth to feed around here, so flex time is at an insane premium. Next, the New York Knicks—the one sports team I truly care about that doesn’t have The Natural State in the title—are in the NBA Finals. Watching those games eats away at another chunk of downtime.

But you’ll forgive me if I’m also just kind of into this Quads idea right now. My worlds are actually colliding a bit because New York Knicks Head Coach Mike Brown inspired what I’m writing today.

Shortly after beating the Cleveland Cavaliers to take a 3-0 series lead in the Eastern Conference Finals, Brown had this to say:

And literally, because of the way they’re playing D, we’re just playing conceptually. We’re really trying to play fast, trying to space the floor the right way, trying to touch the paint, trying to make quick decisions with the basketball.

Fascinating idea, that thought of playing conceptually. When I wrote about Quads previously, it was basically just a series of connected plays out of a base alignment. Now, I stand by my belief in those plays and the base offensive alignment, but how could I craft this into a conceptual attack? How could I take the choreographed Quads marching band and turn it into something akin to the jazz style my beloved Knicks are playing with?

There goes the rest of the downtime.

I’ve thought about the core truth of Quads at every diaper change. I’ve tried to define positionless roles anytime I was awake overnight. The few showers I take are the perfect time to plot out the offense’s triggers.

And so on…

Plain and simple: I wanted to move Quads from a folder of plays into an offensive operating system. Less, “What play are we running?” and more “What problem is the defense creating, so what does Quads tell us to do next?”

The Core Truth of Quads

A conceptual offense says, “occupy these spaces, trigger these actions, read the defense, and flow to the next advantage.” For Quads, the conceptual foundation is already there:

One player is isolated with the ball. Four players are loaded away from the ball. The weakside is the engine. The ball side is the pressure point. The offense wins by making the defense guard the ball and all the work the crowd is doing.

The crowd is really the thing. The ball starts alone, but the advantage comes from the crowd.

The defense sees the ball isolated on one side of the floor and wants to load to it, but the four-player weakside overload prevents normal help. If the defense stares at the ball, the crowd cuts and screens behind it. If the defense stays attached to the crowd, the ball has room. If the defense overhelps the crowd, the throwback is available.

So the offense is not really about the alignment. The alignment is just the tool.

The concept is forcing the defense to choose which danger it wants to live with:

• If they guard the ball, we activate the crowd.

• If they guard the crowd, we attack with the ball.

• If they overreact to either, we throw back.

Quads Offensive Roles

Quads would not work as a conceptual offense if players are restricted to a specific numbered position. Players instead have to understand that each spot on the floor—each plank of the Quads fence—has an important and specific role to play. As far as I can imagine, there are five specific roles necessary to take Quads from a wicked playbook to a conceptual framework. The key would be to build a roster or develop players' skills so they can excel in multiple roles as the offense evolves organically.

The Isolated Trigger

This is the player alone with the ball on the strongside wing or slot. His job is to be dangerous. He must be able to hold, attack, pass, enter, reject pressure, and throw back.

The reads:

1. If no help comes, attack.

2. If help comes from the crowd, pass behind it.

3. If the crowd creates a cutter, hit the cutter.

4. If pressured, use the elbow or DHO release.

5. If the defense overloads to the crowd, drive the empty side.

The Corner Spacer

This player starts in the weakside corner. His job is not just to stand. He cuts baseline, lifts, exits, screens, or becomes the hammer/throwback target.

The reads:

1. If his defender helps, lift or drift.

2. If top-locked, backcut.

3. If screened, curl or pop.

4. If the ball drives, create a passing window.

The Wing Mover

This player starts on the weakside wing. His job is to connect the crowd to the ball. He can come to a DHO, run an Iverson cut, set a flare, screen away, or become the throwback.

The reads:

1. If denied, backcut.

2. If his defender trails, curl.

3. If the defense switches, seal or slip.

4. If the ball needs a release, flash or lift.

The Slot Connector

This player starts in the weakside slot or high wing. His job is to be the glue: ram screen, DHO, flare, backscreen, exit screen, throwback, or reversal.

The reads:

1. If his defender helps down, pop.

2. If his screen is switched, slip.

3. If the ball is pressured, become the release.

4. If the offense flips, organize the new overload.

The Interior Hub

This is usually the 5, but it does not have to be. His job is to screen, seal, roll, flash, pass, and punish smalls.

The reads:

1. If his defender is late, screen into contact.

2. If switched, seal.

3. If overplayed, slip.

4. If the ball is pressured, flash to the elbow.

5. If he catches at the elbow, trigger cuts.

Once players understand roles, Quads becomes flexible. The offense can survive substitutions, mismatches, and game flow because the concepts remain the same.

Conceptual Quads should rely on triggers instead of play calls

A conceptual offense is built on triggers. A trigger is a basketball event that indicates which decision tree they are entering. For Quads, I’ve figured there would probably be seven triggers. Keep in mind that these aren’t executed in a given order. The most important thing about these triggers is that they let the offense play without needing a play call on every possession. It allows for players to react to what they are seeing on the floor.

Trigger 1: Wing Hold

The isolated player holds the ball on the strongside. That tells the weakside crowd to start working. Screen away. Cut. Replace. Lift. Slip. Flash. Whatever the defense is allowing. The ball handler reads the weakside action and the help.

Trigger 2: DHO

A player leaves the crowd and comes toward the ball for a handoff. That tells the offense to take, keep, or reject. If the receiver’s defender trails, take the DHO. If the defender jumps it, reject. If the ball defender cheats, the handler keeps. If they switch, slip or seal.

Trigger 3: Elbow Entry

The ball goes from the isolated player to the high post or elbow. That tells the offense to cut behind vision. The passer cuts. The corner lifts or backcuts. The weakside splits. The big becomes the hub. This is the Princeton/Blind Pig family.

Trigger 4: Empty-Side Ballscreen

A player leaves the crowd to screen for the isolated ball handler. That tells the offense: ball attacks, crowd punishes help. The roller dives or pops. The corner lifts. The weakside screens. The throwback window opens.

Trigger 5: Off-ball Screen in the Crowd

Two players on the overload weakside screen for each other. That tells the offense to read the defender’s body. Trail means curl. Under means pop. Top-lock means backcut. Switch means slip/seal. Help means lift.

Trigger 6: Throwback

The ball is thrown back against the defense’s momentum. That tells the offense to attack the closeout or flip the floor. Shoot if open. Drive the closeout. Hit the seal. Flow into DHO. Rebuild Quads with a new isolated player.

Trigger 7: Flip

The overloaded side and isolated side exchange. That tells the offense to re-space into a new Quads picture. The old crowd empties or relocates. The old isolated player joins the new crowd. A new player becomes the trigger. The offense continues.

Important Quads questions to get players asking themselves on the floor

Quads needs a simple decision tree that players can rely on when they get into the flow of the game, and the pressure intensifies. I think getting these questions ingrained in their heads should help them see the floor in a way that would allow them to play read and react.

Question One: Is the ball dangerous?

If yes, attack the empty side.

If no, move the ball into a trigger like DHO, elbow, or ball screen.

Question Two: Is the crowd being guarded honestly?

If no, run weakside screens, cuts, slips, and seals.

If yes, use the crowd to launch someone into the ball.

Question Three: Where is the help coming from?

If help comes from the corner, throw corner or lift.

If help comes from the wing, backcut or throwback.

If help comes from the big, hit the roll or seal.

If no help comes, score.

Question Four: Did the defense overplay?

If yes, reject, slip, backcut, or seal.

Question Five: Did the first action fail?

If yes, throw back, flip, or flow into the next trigger.

Key Takeaways

That Mike Brown quote is still the whole thing.

Playing conceptually does not mean playing randomly. It does not mean abandoning structure, throwing away calls, or asking players to simply “figure it out.” It means the structure teaches the decisions. It means the offense gives players a shared language for spacing, triggers, and reads, then lets them play fast inside that language.

That’s what I’ve tried to do with Quads here.

A conceptual offense still needs calls. Sometimes you need a three. Sometimes you need a rim touch. Sometimes you need to punish a switch. Sometimes your team is scattered and needs structure. The goal is not to stop calling plays. The goal is to make every call an expression of the system. That is the difference between Quads as a playbook and Quads as an operating system.

To turn Quads into a conceptual offense, you need three layers working together: spacing, triggers, and reads.

When players can look at the same alignment, see the defense’s choice, and know the answer without needing the coach to draw it again, that is when you hit an offensive level that Brown’s Knicks have been showing for about a month now.

The core of Quads is simple:

1. If the defense guards the ball, activate the crowd.

2. If the defense guards the crowd, attack with the ball.

3. If the defense overreacts to either, throw it back.

That is the concept. That is the system. That is harmony.

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Suddenly, the sun stops rushing to bed. The days stretch out, spilling over into longer nights that bleed a deep, bruised purple across the horizon long after nine o’clock. You sit on the back porch and listen to the cricket choir and watch for the fleeting glow of lightning bugs.

A quick but fascinating aside on crickets: Because crickets are cold-blooded ectotherms, their metabolism and wing-rubbing speed directly correlate with the temperature of their environment. It’s called Dolbear’s Law. If you count the number of chirps a cricket makes in 15 seconds and then add 40 it will tell you the exact temperature outside in degree Fahrenheit (if you count 35 chirps in 15 seconds +40 = 75 degrees). Now you have a good party trick for the summer.

The heat forces you into the water. It doesn’t matter if it’s a pristine country club pool, a murky lake, or a plastic tub in the backyard—swimming becomes less of an activity and more of a survival tactic. Your hair stays perpetually damp, your skin smells faintly of chlorine and Coppertone, and you wear a permanent uniform of flip-flops and shorts.

And with that comes the beautiful, dangerous fog of the season. You completely lose track of days. Tuesday feels like Thursday; Thursday feels like Sunday. The only clock that matters is the sun, and the only calendar is the arbitrary countdown to the weekend.

This summer is special though. It’s when we get to celebrate America’s 250th birthday. From a UFC fight on the White House lawn, to the longest and most expensive fireworks display in history, to the Hunger Games-style high school state athletes games, to the 39th annual Summer Slam wrestling event, this is a summer to remember.

I recently watched the Hulk Hogan: Real American documentary on Netflix and learned that before he was reminding kids to "Train, say your prayers, eat your vitamins." he wrestled under the name Super Destroyer and wore a mask. He wanted to make sure he learned the skills of wrestling and how to play a villain without people being able to recognize his face and jeopardize the rest of his career.

The Arkansas Razorbacks are also facing an impending unmasking with the new naming rights to our football stadium set to be announced next week. Our previous deal with the Donald W. Reynolds Foundation was for $20 million and expired in 2024. Hunter Yurachek revealed the UA “is on the verge of announcing what it is calling the largest stadium naming rights deal in college football.” So we know it will be more than the $69 million USC got for United Airlines Field at L.A. Memorial Coliseum.

So what do we think the new name will be?

• Walmart

• Tyson

• JB Hunt

• Dillards

• Stephens

• Jerry Jones

• Bill and Hilary Clinton Foundation

• Amazon

• Saracen Casino Resort

• If Max or I won the lottery we wouldn’t tell anyone, but there would be signs:

  

  As we wait for the big reveal, here are a few other summer happenings:

• Send your kids to some Hogs summer camps

• Cheer for the Hogs to continue winning in the “minor sports” with the Hogs mens and women’s golf teams punching tickets to the NCAA championship this week, track and field set to continue its dominance in the NCAA Championships June 10-13, Hogs softball hosting a Super Regional (currently in a rain delay against Duke as of this writing), and the baseball team set to take on Texas at 3 PM in the SEC tournament.

I did find these graphics interesting which show how dominant Arkansas athletics has been in the SEC over the past decade. It just happens to be, for the most part, in sports that fans have little interest and that generate little to no revenue for the program.

Happy Memorial Day Weekend and Woo Pig Sooie! 🐗

-KBR

I haven’t posted much lately. I’m wrapping up my one-year term as President of the American Association of Professional Landmen. I’ve had 64 speaking engagements in 24 states and traveled over 27,000 miles (for perspective the circumference of the Earth is only 24,900 miles).

Since I last posted, the United States launched its first moon mission in over 50 years, oil prices are up over 40% as multiple global wars rage on, and both Banksy and Satoshi Nakamoto had their identities revealed.

And yet, with all of that change and passage of time, the Hogs are still doing Hog-things.

Basketball. After getting smoked by 21-points in the Sweet 16, Coach Cal and the hoopin’ Hogs looked to reload in the transfer portal, and yet we found ourselves with knives in a gun fight. The Hogs did add Jeremiah Wilkinson (Georgia) and Cooper Bowser (Furman) in the portal, but seemingly whiffed on our biggest need: an aircraft carrier of a big man.

Rumor has it we just got outpriced. Last year, the Hogs spent ~$11mm on our basketball roster which ranked top-5 nationally. This year, all of the bigs we were after wanted at least $4mm.

But we do have the Fab 4 of Freshman 5-Stars coming in with Miikka Muurinen, Jordan Smith, Jr, Abdou Toure, and JJ Andrews. And we likely will get 1 or 2 back from the NBA combine in Maleek Thomas and Billy Richmond. The players are competing at the NBA Combine this week and have until May 27 @ 10:59 CDT to remove their names from the draft board and return to college basketball.

Could an average offseason lead to next season success?

Football. Look, I want to believe. I really do. It’s like the scene in Elf where belief powers Santa’s sleigh and the dad is just half-ass singing. I think Ryan Silverfield is a great man and a great coach, but it’s going to take consistent winning (not consistently close games) to win the fans back. The transfer portal saw a complete overhaul of the roster, but nothing sexy. The current recruiting appears to be going Frank Broyles-style by building a fence around the state to keep the best talent at home. I like this approach, but it’s not sexy.

Equally not sexy was our showing in spring scrimmages. In the first scrimmage neither team scored a touchdown. So we praised our defense. Even in the last scrimmage of the spring the final score was only 14-13 and that included a pick-six. We will have to be more explosive than that to win in the SEC.

A friend of mine was supposed to take Coach and his wife out to dinner last weekend and knows I’m a foodie so texted me for recommendations:

All joking aside, we have to give the new coaching staff a chance. We booed when he arrived. No one is signing up for the All-in Road Show to meet him this week. The schedule is tough and he’s likely to be 1-2 out of the gate, but we have to continue to support the team and this staff to see if we can right the ship.

Minor Sports. Like the minor prophets (Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah, Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi - I helped my daughter study for a test last night) our other sports are equally important. And just like they have been since Hunter Yurachek arrived, they are doing well.

Track and Field. The men captured their 22nd Indoor National Championship. Additionally, several program records for the outdoor competition were broken last week as the teams prepared for the upcoming SEC Championship.

Gymnastics - We made the deepest run in program history to the NCAA Semifinals, but Jordyn Wieber steps down as coach and Joscelyn Roberson enters the transfer portal…

Golf. Maria José Marin won the 2026 Augusta National Women’s Amateur with a tournament record-low score of 14-under par and the men’s team is currently ranked #6 in the nation

Softball. The team finished the season 42-11 with the #5 overall seed in the NCAA tournament and are hosting a regional this weekend.

Baseball. See what I did there. I put the Diamond Hogs down in the minor sports because of how shaky they have been this season. They are ranked #14 nationally but finished 9th in the SEC. We just have no consistency or grit. We either win big or give up early. But maybe we can make a run like Ole Miss did in 2022 when they were also ranked 9th in the conference before running the table in the post season.

So what makes any of this noteworthy? Aren’t the Hogs just being constantly average?

No, NIL spending is what makes this different.

Big Spender. The University of Arkansas Board of Trustees and Student Body voted to approve the following changes to help allow the student body to generate additional revenue for the athletic department to spend on NIL (adding an estimated $3-4mm annually):

• Charging in-state tuition for non-resident student athletes

• Eliminating fees charged by the university to the department for alcohol awareness training, parking and student government

• Transferring costs for the marching band from the department to the university

• Transferring public transit costs on game days to the university

• Charging the university fair market value for the chancellor’s and president’s suites in Razorback Stadium

This is despite chancellor Charles Robinson stating, “I’m on the record of saying that I didn’t think we needed to do this right now. It is true that the competitive landscape is very challenging … the board has spoken, and I will follow my orders that the board has given me to the best of my ability.”

The Billboard. The NCAA now allows two sponsorship patches to be displayed on all uniforms. Arkansas inked its first Nascar-like deal with Tyson Foods. So we will now see their yellow color added to our uniforms and will be expected to perform and do the things our financial overlords want including eating the official protein of the Arkansas Razorbacks: chicken.

Tennis=Love (as in the score). After 71 years, the University of Arkansas will no longer have a tennis team. It became the only SEC school without tennis. Citing financial needs it will save ~$2.5mm per year by not competing in the sport. There are also discussions to repurpose those indoor and outdoor facilities to fit the needs of money generating sports like basketball.

Napoleon said, “A sign of genius is a man who can do an average thing when everyone else is losing their minds.” So maybe Yurachek is a genius…

That’s obviously a little tongue in cheek. I think all universities have lost their minds with the spending on college athletics and it’s hard to see how Arkansas can either out-spend or out-last our competition in the SEC (much less the rest of the country). But I’m an optimist at heart and am reminded of a cool geological feature of the United States:

The lowest point in the Lower 48 is in Death Valley at -282 feet, but a mere 85 miles away at Mount Whitney, you reach our highest point at 14,505 feet. That’s like going from Fort Smith to Russellville and emerging from the valley to summit the peak. Change can happen quickly, and for the Hogs we can really only go up… We just have to start climbing and not lose our minds along the way.

-WPS

I. Introduction: Taking the blueprint off the wall

I’m doing something a little different here.

Most of the time in this space, I’m looking at someone else’s offense, someone else’s spacing, someone else’s solution to a defensive problem. That is the normal film-room exercise: find the good stuff, explain why it works, and maybe borrow a piece of it. It is like walking through somebody else’s house and pointing out the architecture.

This time, I’m opening the garage.

This is not me breaking down an NBA team’s pet set or a college coach’s favorite after-timeout play. This is something I have been building: a Quads alignment that puts four players on the weakside and one player alone on the strongside wing. It is an offensive structure, but it also feels like a thought experiment. How much can you bend the court before the defense loses its normal rules? How far can you overload one side before the other team stops defending basketball and starts just trying to survive traffic?

The fun of this alignment is that it looks wrong at first glance.

Basketball spacing has trained us to love balance. Corner filled, slot filled, wing filled, dunker occupied, everybody in a clean shell. The modern eye is used to five-out spacing, delay spacing, empty corner pick-and-roll, spread ball screens, and symmetrical slot-to-slot actions. Quads does something less polite. It takes four offensive players and parks them on the weakside, away from the ball, then leaves the ball handler or trigger man isolated on the strongside wing.

It is almost like throwing a party in one room of the house and leaving one person alone in the kitchen with the keys. The defense hears the noise on the weakside, sees all the bodies, sees all the screening possibilities, and still has to respect the lone player with the ball. The whole thing creates a strange tension: the ball is on one side, but the danger is everywhere else.

That is why I think Quads is more than a gimmick. It can absolutely be used as a quick-hitting package, especially in after-timeout situations or late-clock situations where the defense has limited time to process an unusual picture. But the more I think about it, the more I believe it can become a real offensive identity. Not just a play. Not just a trick. A full offense.

The alignment itself creates questions before the action even begins.

Who is helping? Who is guarding the back side? Who is responsible for the cutter? Can the low man be the low man if there are three bodies behind him? If the ball handler drives the empty side, who tags? If the weakside defenders stay attached to shooters and cutters, is there even help at the rim? If they load up to the ball, what happens when the ball gets thrown behind them?

That is the power of the structure. Before you run a single play, the defense has already been asked to solve a problem it does not practice every day.

Quads is not about confusing people for the sake of confusion. It is about creating overloads, forcing long defensive decisions, and making normal help rules feel uncomfortable. The offense can then layer in handoffs, cross screens, slips, backscreens, blind pig cuts, hammer passes, throwbacks, and screen-the-screener actions from the same starting picture.

The best offensive systems do not need a new disguise every possession. They need a base alignment that creates advantages and a menu of answers when the defense adjusts. That is the lens I want to use here.

Quads can be an offense because it has a home base. It has a language. It has natural first options, natural counters, and natural counters to the counters.

So let’s walk through it.

II. Quads Base Alignment

The base alignment is simple enough that a casual fan can understand it immediately:

Four players are on the weakside. One player is alone on the strongside wing.

In basketball terms, the strongside is the side of the floor where the ball is. The weakside is the side away from the ball. In this alignment, the ball starts with the lone player on the strongside wing, while the other four offensive players are stacked, spaced, or staggered on the opposite side of the floor.

A basic version looks like this:

The 1 is on the strongside wing with the ball.

The 2, 3, 4, and 5 are all on the weakside. Depending on the play, they can be arranged with one player in the corner, one on the wing, one near the elbow or slot, and one around the lane line, dunker spot, or short corner.

The exact locations can shift, but the idea remains the same: the defense is forced to guard an overloaded weakside while also respecting the lone ball handler on the opposite wing.

That sounds strange because most offenses overload the strongside. They put the ball and several offensive players on the same side to create immediate passing angles, screening actions, and driving lanes. Quads flips that idea. The ball starts away from the crowd.

That flip is the whole point.

The defense is used to loading toward the ball. Coaches teach shell defense by telling players to be in help position. They teach the low man to be ready. They teach the nail defender to show help. They teach weakside defenders to stunt, tag rollers, bump cutters, and shrink the floor.

Quads stresses those rules because the weakside is no longer just a help side. It is the action side.

The weakside defenders cannot simply relax into help position because their own assignments are involved in screens, cuts, slips, and exchanges. If they stare at the ball, they lose cutters. If they stay attached to their men, the ball handler may have a clean side to attack. If they switch everything, the offense can slip, seal, or throw behind the switch. If they zone it up, the offense can flood the seams.

That is why overloading is powerful. It does not just create one advantage. It creates competing responsibilities.

Why it works against man defense

Against man-to-man defense, Quads creates two major problems.

The first problem is traffic.

When four offensive players occupy one side of the floor, their defenders have to navigate a crowded space. Every cut is harder to track. Every screen matters more. Every switch has to be communicated earlier. If one defender is late, two players can be open. If one defender locks and trails, the cutter can curl. If the defender goes under, the shooter can pop. If the defense switches, the screener can slip.

The second problem is help responsibility.

In a normal spread alignment, the weakside defenders can see the ball and their man. They can help, recover, and rotate in predictable ways. In Quads, those defenders are often occupied by action. They are not just standing in help. They are being screened, backscreened, pinned, lifted, or forced to bump cutters.

That makes help late. And when help is late, the offense gets layups.

The lone strongside player also creates an isolation-like effect without the offense actually being an isolation offense. The ball handler has space. But unlike a true isolation, the other four players are not stationary. They are creating weakside movement that punishes the defense if it overhelps.

This is the core tension:

• If the defense commits bodies to the ball, the weakside overload becomes dangerous.

• If the defense commits bodies to the weakside action, the ball handler has space.

• If the defense switches the weakside action, the offense can screen the screener, slip to the rim, or create a mismatch.

• If the defense top-locks shooters, the offense can backcut.

• If the defense trails cutters, the offense can curl or reject.

Quads is successful against man because it forces defenders to make decisions in a compressed area, and those decisions have to be made while the ball is sitting alone on the other side of the floor.

Why it works against zone defense

Against zone, the logic changes, but the stress remains.

Zones are built on areas. Each defender owns a part of the floor. The offense tries to put two players in one defender’s area or move the ball fast enough that the zone has to stretch and rotate.

Quads can overload a zone by flooding one side with more bodies than the zone can comfortably handle.

Against a 2-3 zone, for example, a Quads alignment can place players in the weakside corner, wing, short corner, high post, and lane-line areas. That forces the back-line defenders to make choices. The corner defender may have to guard the corner and the short corner. The middle defender may have to protect the rim and account for a flashing big. The top defender may have to bump down or chase a shooter. Suddenly, the zone is no longer clean.

Against a 3-2 zone, Quads can stress the corner and the gaps behind the top line. Against a 1-3-1, it can overload the side of the middle defender and make the baseline runner choose between corner and rim. Against matchup zones, the screening and cutting can turn the defense into a confused man-to-man group without clear matchup rules.

The beauty is that the defense cannot simply say, “We’ll zone this and take away the action.”

If the zone loads toward the four-player side, the lone strongside wing may have room to attack. If the zone shades toward the ball, the overload can create a weakside catch, a short-corner touch, or a hammer pass. If the zone collapses, the skip is there. If the zone extends, the backdoor cut is there.

Against zone, Quads is less about beating one defender off the dribble and more about making the zone guard too many things at once.

Why Quads can become a primary offense

For Quads to become a team’s primary offense, it cannot just be weird. Weird gets you one basket. Maybe two before the defense adjusts. A real offense needs repeatable advantages.

Quads has that potential because the alignment gives you several built-in families of action:

• You can play through the strongside wing.

• You can hit the high post.

• You can run weakside screening actions.

• You can flow into handoffs.

• You can create empty-side drives.

• You can throw back across the floor.

• You can use backdoor cuts when defenders deny.

• You can screen the screener when the defense switches.

• You can turn the overload into hammer action.

• You can punish zone by flooding gaps.

That is enough to build an offensive ecosystem.

The biggest thing is that Quads allows a team to start many different possessions from the same picture. That matters. If every play begins differently, the defense gets clues. If the same alignment can produce a slip, a DHO, a cross screen, a blind pig cut, a hammer pass, or an empty-side drive, the defense has to guard the alignment instead of memorizing the play.

That is when a set becomes a system.

A team could live in Quads if it has the right personnel: a strong decision-maker on the wing, a big or forward who can pass from the elbow, at least two credible shooters, and players who understand how to screen and cut. It does not require five elite creators. In fact, part of the appeal is that Quads can manufacture advantages through structure instead of asking every player to win one-on-one.

The offense can also be simplified for players.

The teaching points can become rules:

1. When your defender overplays, cut backdoor.

2. When your defender helps, lift or space.

3. When your screen is switched, slip or seal.

4. When the ball hits the elbow, cut with purpose.

5. When the ball handler drives away from the overload, prepare for the throwback.

6. When the defense loads to the crowd, attack the empty side.

7. When the defense loads to the ball, punish the crowd side.

That is how you build offense and not just plays.

III. An example play progression

The following four clips fit together well because they are not random actions. They can be taught as a progression.

The progression should start with the simplest stress point: make the defense guard the overloaded weakside while the ball is held on the strongside wing. Then build toward handoff pressure. Then, punish handoff overplay. Then, punish help with the throwback hammer.

The progression could look like this:

First: Establish the weakside overload and the idea that cutters and screeners can create layups before the defense is organized.

Second: Add DHO action to move the ball from the lone strongside player into a second creator.

Third: Counter the defense’s attempt to blow up the DHO by rejecting it and cutting behind the pressure.

Fourth: Punish the defense for overloading the overload with a throwback hammer pass to the far corner.

That is a clean teaching arc.

The defense sees the same basic shape, but the offense keeps changing the punishment.

Play One: Quad Cyclone

The Quad Cyclone is the simplest expression of the idea.

The ball starts with the 1 on the strongside wing. The other four players are loaded on the weakside. The weakside players begin screening and exchanging, with the 5 eventually slipping or cutting into the paint. The 1 has the ability to throw directly to the 5 at the rim or, if the defense collapses, spray the ball back out to the weakside release.

The word “cyclone” fits because the weakside action feels circular. Players are not just cutting in straight lines. They are screening, curling, lifting, slipping, and replacing. The defense sees a cluster, then bodies start moving in different directions.

For a casual fan, the key is simple: four players start on one side, then one of them sneaks behind the defense for a layup while another becomes the safety valve outside.

For a coach, the key is that the action creates layered reads.

The first read is the slip or rim cut. If the 5’s defender is late, hugged up, or worried about the weakside screening traffic, the 1 can throw the direct pass to the rim.

The second read is the weakside lift or flare. If the defense tags the 5, someone has to leave a shooter or release valve. In the clip, the 2 becomes that kind of outlet. The defense cannot take away the rim without giving up something behind it.

The third read is the empty-side attack. If the weakside defenders stay attached and the strongside defender is isolated, the 1 can drive. This is one of the quiet advantages of Quads: the alignment can turn into a driving offense without calling a driving play.

The Cyclone should probably be the first install because it teaches the offense’s core idea. The weakside is not passive. The weakside is the engine.

It also teaches the defense that it cannot fall asleep away from the ball. Once the defense understands that layups can come from the overloaded side, the later actions become more dangerous.

Cyclone Counters

If the defense switches the weakside screens, the screener can slip. The slip is especially dangerous because the defense is switching in traffic, and the ball handler has a wide passing angle from the opposite wing.

If the defense top-locks the weakside shooter, the shooter can backcut. Top-locking means the defender jumps above the offensive player to prevent him from coming off a screen. Against Quads, that can be risky because the paint is already being distorted by other movement.

If the low defender tags the 5’s rim cut, the offense can skip to the corner or lift. That is the classic punishment: help at the rim, give up the shot.

If the defense denies the pass from 1, the 1 can dribble toward the middle and trigger the next layer. This is important if Quads becomes a full offense. The first option cannot be the only option. The ball handler needs a way to keep the possession alive without resetting.

If the defense zones the weakside action, the offense can flash the 5 to the elbow, put the 4 in the short corner, and create a high-low read.

The Cyclone is the “hello” play. It introduces the defense to the problem.

Play Two: Quads DHO Cross Screen Follow

The next layer is the DHO Cross Screen Follow.

A DHO is a dribble handoff. It is basically a handoff where the passer is moving or holding the ball while the receiver runs close enough to take it. Think of it like a pick-and-roll and a pass blended together. It forces the defense to communicate because one player has the ball, another is moving into the ball, and the handoff man can also become a screener.

In this play, the 2 comes out of the weakside overload and works toward the 1 on the strongside. The 1 and 2 connect through the handoff. Now the ball has changed hands, but the defense is still dealing with the original weakside pile-up.

That is where the second action hits.

On the weakside, the 4 sets a cross screen for the 3. A cross screen is a screen that sends a player across the lane or across the body of the defense. The 3 comes across toward the strongside block or lane area. The 2, now with the ball, can feed the 3.

Then the 4 follows.

That follow is the part that makes the action feel complete. The defense may survive the DHO. It may even survive the cross screen. But after setting the cross screen, the 4 does not just stand there. The 4 follows the action into the paint, creating another layup window or dump-off pass.

The progression is excellent because the defense has to guard multiple actions in sequence:

1. The 2 coming from the weakside toward the handoff.

2. he 1 and 2 exchange on the strongside.

3. The 3 coming across the lane off the 4’s screen.

4. The 4 following into the paint.

That is a lot of defensive communication from the same alignment.

For a casual fan, the play is easy to understand this way: the first movement gets the ball to a new handler, the second movement sends a cutter across the lane, and the third movement sends the screener right behind him.

For coaches, the value is in the timing. The handoff occupies the ball-side defenders. The cross screen occupies the weakside interior defenders. The follow punishes the defense for relaxing after the first catch.

Why this builds naturally from Cyclone

Cyclone tells the defense, “The weakside overload can produce a rim cut.”

The DHO Cross Screen Follow tells the defense, “Even if you guard the first movement, we can turn the same alignment into a second-side action.”

That is how a system grows. You do not want a collection of unrelated plays. You want the defense to feel like each answer creates a new problem.

If the defense starts loading up early to prevent the direct slip from Cyclone, the DHO can move the ball and change the angle. If the defense starts switching weakside screens, the cross-screen follow can create seals and slips. If the defense starts staring at the ball during the DHO, the 3 cuts behind them. If they jump the 3, the 4 follows.

The play is not just designed to get one specific shot. It is designed to create a chain reaction.

DHO cross screen follow counters

If the defense trails the 2 over the handoff, the 2 can keep the ball and drive. The strongside has space, and the original overload can hold help defenders.

If the defense switches the handoff, the 1 can slip or cut after handing it off. This is especially useful if the 1 has size or if the defense switches a smaller guard onto the 1.

If the defense denies the 2 coming to the DHO, the 2 can backcut. That backcut is available because defenders often overplay handoffs once they know the offense wants to get to them.

If the defense switches the 4/3 cross screen, the 3 can seal inside or the 4 can slip into the open space. Switches are only clean if the defenders are on time and balanced. In a Quads cluster, clean switching is harder than it looks.

If the defense top-locks the 3, the 3 can reject the screen and cut to the rim. This is the natural counter to teams that try to sit on the cross screen.

If the defense brings early help to the 3 catch, the 4’s follow becomes the layup. This is the heart of the play. The follow punishes the help.

If the defense zones up, the 3 can catch in the soft spot and become a passer. The 4 diving behind the zone gives the 3 an easy high-low or dump-off read.

Play 3: Quads DHO Reject, Chin Cut, Backscreen, Blind Pig

This is the counterpunch.

Once the defense has seen the DHO, it will start trying to disrupt it. Defenders will jump the handoff. They will deny the receiver. They will sit on the route. They will try to blow up the timing before the offense can get comfortable.

That is where the reject comes in.

The 1 enters the ball to the 5 around the elbow or high-post area. The 2 moves toward the 5 as if he is going to take a handoff. But instead of taking the handoff, the 2 rejects it and cuts behind the defense.

That simple decision changes the defense’s job. The defender who was trying to blow up the handoff is now out of position against a backdoor cut.

This is one of the most important ideas in any good offense: the counter should punish the exact thing the defense is proud of doing.

If the defense is aggressive, use its aggression against it.

After the 2 rejects, the action flows into a chin/backscreen/blind pig concept. The 2’s cut pulls attention toward the rim and the strongside lane. Then the 2 can become a screener for the 1. The 1, who began on the strongside wing and may look like he is out of the play after passing, cuts hard to the basket. The 5, holding the ball at the elbow, hits the 1 on the blind pig pass.

A blind pig is an old Princeton-style concept. In plain English, it is a pass from a big or high-post player to a guard cutting behind the defense. The defender often cannot see both the ball and the cutter, which is why the cut can feel “blind.”

This action is valuable because it uses the 5 as a hub.

The 5 is not just a screener. The 5 becomes the quarterback. He catches at the elbow, watches the defense, and can hit either the first cutter or the second cutter. If the 2 is open on the reject, throw it. If the defense takes that away, the 1 cuts behind the defense for the blind pig.

For a casual fan, the play is this: one player pretends he is coming for the ball, cuts to the rim instead, then helps screen another player who cuts to the rim right after him.

For coaches, the beauty is that the action punishes handoff coverage while keeping the ball in the hands of a passer at the elbow. The defense thinks it has taken away the DHO. In reality, it has walked into the counter.

Why this flows naturally from the DHO

This is the third step in the progression because it only works at maximum force once the defense respects the DHO.

First, Cyclone makes the defense respect weakside movement. Second, DHO Cross Screen Follow makes the defense respect the handoff and second-side screening. Third, DHO Reject punishes the defense for trying to cheat the handoff.

That is real progression. You are not just calling different plays. You are training the defense to react, then punishing the reaction.

A lot of offenses fail because their counters do not connect to their base actions. Quads can avoid that problem. Every counter should feel like a natural answer to the previous defensive adjustment.

DHO Reject/Blind Pig Counters

If the 2’s defender trails or overplays the handoff, the reject cut is available.

If the 2’s defender sits under and protects the cut, the 2 can take the handoff normally and flow into the DHO game.

If the 5’s defender sags too far, the 5 can face up, shoot, drive, or hit the opposite side.

If the 1’s defender loses vision after the entry pass, the blind pig cut is there.

If the defense switches the backscreen for the 1, the 2 can seal the smaller defender or pop out for a shot.

If the defense floods the paint to take away both cuts, the weakside corner and wing should be available. The 3 and 4 cannot be spectators. They should be ready to lift, space, or punish help.

If the defense zones this action, the 5’s elbow catch becomes even more important. The high post is often the best place to distort a zone because the passer can see both the rim and the perimeter.

This play is especially useful against aggressive teams because it invites them to be aggressive. It shows them a handoff, lets them jump it, then cuts behind them.

Play 4: Quads Throwback Hammer

The Throwback Hammer is the big punishment for overhelp.

A hammer action usually means a player drives toward one side of the floor while a shooter is screened into the opposite corner for a skip pass. The pass is often thrown back across the court to the corner. It is one of the most satisfying passes in basketball because the defense is usually looking at the drive when the ball suddenly flies behind it.

In this Quads version, the 1 begins on the strongside wing and dribbles across or toward the overloaded side. As the defense shifts, the weakside group organizes the backside movement. The 2 eventually sprints or loops to the far corner, using the traffic and screening created by the other players. The 1 then throws the ball back across the court to the 2 in the corner.

The logic is simple: make the defense look at the ball and the crowd, then throw the ball away from both.

This is why quads is such an interesting starting point for hammer action. The weakside overload naturally pulls attention. Defenders are already thinking about screens and cutters. When the ball handler drives or dribbles toward that traffic, the defense can easily overreact. The low man steps in. The wing defender bumps down. The corner defender gets sucked toward the lane.

Then the ball goes to the corner.

For a casual fan, this is the “everybody looks one way, ball goes the other way” play.

For coaches, this is a perfect counter to teams that decide to shrink the floor against quads. If they want to overload the overload, the throwback punishes them.

Why this completes the progression

The Throwback Hammer is the fourth step because it punishes the defense for becoming too concerned with the weakside action.

Cyclone creates the first weakside rim threat.

DHO Cross Screen Follow creates a second and third action out of the same spacing.

DHO Reject punishes pressure and denial.

Throwback Hammer punishes help and overreaction.

That gives the offense a clean menu:

• If they are late, hit the first action.

• If they guard the first action, flow to the second.

• If they overplay the handoff, reject it.

• If they overhelp the crowd, throw behind them.

That is how Quads becomes more than a clever alignment. It becomes an offensive conversation.

Throwback Hammer Counters

If the defense stays home on the hammer shooter, the 1 should have a driving lane.

If the low man commits to stopping the drive, the hammer pass is there.

If the 2 is top-locked on the way to the corner, he can cut to the rim instead. Top-locking the hammer shooter can create a layup if the screener and passer recognize it.

If the hammer screen is switched, the screener can slip to the rim or seal inside.

If the pass is not available, the ball can be reversed into a catch-and-play situation, with the 2 attacking the closeout or flowing into another DHO.

If the defense zones up and takes away the corner, the middle of the floor should be vulnerable. The high post, short corner, or opposite slot can become the next target.

The hammer is not just a shot. It is a punishment mechanism.

IV. Additional sets within the Quads alignment

The most exciting part of this alignment is that it can hold a lot of different actions. Once the players understand the spacing, quads can become a platform.

Here are some additional sets that fit the structure.

Quads Empty Ballscreen

Start with the 1 alone on the strongside wing. Have the 5 come from the weakside cluster to set an empty-side ball screen for the 1.

The empty side matters because there is no strongside corner defender sitting in easy help. If the defense sends help from the overloaded weakside, the 1 can skip to the shooters or hit the slipping big.

Primary reads:

1. The 1 turns the corner for a layup.

2. The 5 rolls into open space.

3. The weakside low defender tags, opening the corner or lift.

4. The 5 short rolls and hits cutters coming out of the quads cluster.

This could be a foundational set because it blends modern spread pick-and-roll with the weirdness of the weakside overload.

Quads Ghost Screen

Instead of having the 5 set a physical ball screen, have a shooter or skilled forward sprint out of the weakside group as if he is going to screen for the 1, then slip or pop without making contact.

That is a ghost screen.

It works because the defense has to communicate quickly. Is it a switch? Is it a show? Is it a stay? If the screener is a shooter, the defense may panic and open a driving lane for the 1.

Primary reads:

1. The ghost screener pops for three.

2. The 1 drives if both defenders hesitate.

3. The 5 seals inside if the weakside defense shifts.

4. The 2 or 3 lifts behind the help.

Quads Spain

Run an empty-side pick-and-roll with the 1 and 5, but have one of the weakside guards backscreen the 5’s defender as the 5 rolls.

That is Spain pick-and-roll logic.

The quads spacing makes it especially interesting because the backscreen comes from the overloaded side. The defense may not see it clearly because there are already bodies stacked on that side.

Primary reads:

1. The 1 scores if the on-ball defender is screened.

2. The 5 rolls for a layup or lob.

3. The back screener pops for three.

4. The weakside corner becomes available if the low man tags.

Quads Spain Hammer

This is a more aggressive version.

Run the 1/5 ball screen. Have the 2 backscreen the 5’s defender, then continue to the far corner off a hammer screen from the 4.

Now the defense has to cover the ball screen, the roller, the backscreen, the pop, and the hammer corner.

This would be a good late-clock or after-timeout set because it creates multiple high-value options quickly.

Primary reads:

1. Layup for the 1.

2. Lob or pocket pass to the 5.

3. Pop to the 2.

4. Hammer pass to the corner.

5. Slip by the 4 if the hammer screen is switched.

Quads Elbow Hub

Enter the ball from the 1 to the 5 at the elbow. After the pass, the 1 cuts through or screens away. The weakside players split around the 5.

This turns quads into a Princeton-style hub offense.

The 5 becomes the passer. The 1 becomes a cutter. The 2 and 3 can split, flare, or backcut. The 4 can duck in or set a backscreen.

Primary reads:

1. Blind pig pass to the 1.

2. Backdoor cut by the 2 or 3.

3. High-low pass to the 4.

4. Handoff back to the 1.

5. Flare to a shooter if the defense collapses.

This is one of the best ways to make quads a true offense because it gives the ball a central hub and prevents the alignment from becoming too wing-dominant.

Quads Chicago

A Chicago action is a pindown into a dribble handoff. In quads, the 4 or 5 can set a pindown for the 2, who comes up from the weakside and flows directly into a DHO with the 1.

This is similar in spirit to the DHO action already shown, but it can be organized as a repeatable entry.

Primary reads:

1. The 2 takes the DHO and drives.

2. The 2 rejects the DHO and backcuts.

3. The screener slips after the pindown.

4. The 1 keeps the ball if the handoff is overplayed.

5. The weakside corner lifts if the defense tags.

Quads Stack Split

Put the four weakside players in a tighter stack along the lane line or around the elbow/short-corner area. On the trigger, they split in opposite directions: one to the corner, one to the rim, one to the slot, one into a screen.

This is more of a chaos set, but controlled chaos.

The benefit is that the defense cannot easily match up when everyone breaks at once. It can be especially effective after timeouts or underneath/baseline out-of-bounds situations.

Primary reads:

1. First cutter to the rim.

2. Shooter popping to the corner.

3. Screener slipping.

4. 1 attacking the empty side if the defense watches the stack.

Quads Flex

From the weakside overload, run a flex screen: one player screens across the baseline for a teammate cutting to the block, then another player sets a downscreen for the original screener.

Classic flex action can feel old-school, but inside Quads it becomes more deceptive because the defense is already compressed.

Primary reads:

1. Flex cut for a layup.

2. Downscreen for a shooter.

3. Screener slip if the defense switches.

4. Post seal if a small defender gets caught inside.

Quads Ram into Empty PNR

A ram screen is a screen that frees the player who is about to set the ball screen.

In quads, the 4 can screen for the 5 inside the weakside cluster. The 5 then sprints out to set an empty-side ball screen for the 1.

This is valuable because it makes the 5’s defender late. If the 5’s defender gets screened before the ball screen, the ball-screen coverage becomes messy.

Primary reads:

1. 1 turns the corner.

2. 5 rolls against a late big.

3. 4 pops after setting the ram screen.

4. Weakside skip if the low man tags.

Quads Veer

A veer action happens when a screener starts to set one screen, then turns and screens a different defender.

In Quads, the 5 can appear to set a ball screen for the 1, then veer away and screen for the 2 lifting from the weakside.

This punishes defenses that load up early to stop the ball screen.

Primary reads:

1. 2 coming off the veer screen for a shot.

2. 1 driving if the defense shifts toward 2.

3. 5 slipping if both defenders chase.

4. 3 lifting from the corner as the next pass.

Quads Flare Series

Use the weakside overload to create flare screens for shooters. The 4 or 5 can screen a defender’s back while the 2 or 3 fades toward the sideline or corner.

This is useful against teams that pack the paint or overhelp on the 1.

Primary reads:

1. Flare pass to shooter.

2. Backcut if the defender top-locks.

3. Slip by the flare screener.

4. 1 attacks if the defense stays attached.

Quads UCLA

The 1 passes to the 5 at the elbow, then cuts off a backscreen from the 4 toward the rim. This is a simple UCLA cut, but the quads spacing gives it extra deception.

Primary reads:

1. 1 on the UCLA cut.

2. 4 slipping after the screen.

3. 5 handoff to 2 if the cut is covered.

4. 3 lifting from corner for a shot.

This can pair nicely with the blind pig concepts because both punish defenders who lose sight of the cutter after the entry pass.

Quads Weakside Stagger

Have two of the overloaded players set a staggered screen for a shooter coming from the corner to the top or slot.

This gives the offense a traditional off-ball shooting action from a nontraditional alignment.

Primary reads:

1. Shooter off the stagger.

2. Curl if trailed.

3. Slip by the second screener.

4. Backdoor if top-locked.

5. 1 drive if the defense overplays the stagger.

Quads Duck-In

Use the overload to create a deep post seal. The 4 or 5 screens across, then ducks into the paint as the 1 holds the ball on the wing.

This is good if the team has a physical forward or big who can score inside.

Primary reads:

1. Deep seal.

2. Opposite shooter if the defense digs.

3. High-low from the 5.

4. Re-screen if the post is fronted.

Quads Delay Flow

After any initial quads action fails, flow into a delay-style offense with the 5 at the top or elbow and the other players spacing around him.

This is important for making quads a primary offense. Not every possession will produce a layup on the first cut. The team needs a natural second phase.

Primary reads:

1. 5 handoff to 1 or 2.

2. Backdoor cuts from the wings.

3. Weakside split action.

4. Keeper by the 5.

5. Slot-to-slot reversal into another Quads setup.

V. Potential downsides of overloading the weakside

As much as I like the alignment, the weaknesses matter.

Overloading the weakside can be powerful because it breaks normal defensive geography. But that same unusual geography can create problems for the offense if the timing, spacing, and personnel are not right.

The floor can get crowded

Four players on one side sounds like a spacing advantage because it manipulates the defense. But if those four players are too close together, it can become a spacing problem.

There is a fine line between an overload and a pile-up.

The offense needs clear landmarks. The corner cannot drift too high. The wing cannot stand in the cutter’s path. The big cannot clog the lane unless he is screening, sealing, or flashing. The weakside players must understand that they are close together for a reason. They are not just hanging out in the same neighborhood.

For casual fans, this is the difference between organized traffic and a traffic jam.

Passing angles can be difficult

Quads can create beautiful passes, but some of them are difficult. The strongside wing may have to throw a long diagonal pass to the rim, a skip to the corner, or a pass through a crowded middle.

Against long, athletic defenses, those windows can close quickly.

This is especially important against teams that pressure the ball. If the 1 is uncomfortable, the whole alignment can stall. If the 5 is not a good passer, the elbow hub actions lose value. If the shooters are not respected, defenders can sit in passing lanes.

The offense needs passers, not just play-call execution.

The lone strongside player can be trapped

Because the 1 is alone on the strongside wing, the defense may decide to attack him.

A smart opponent could pressure the ball, force the 1 toward the sideline, and make the first pass difficult. If the weakside players are too far away or too static, the 1 can get stuck.

The answer is to build in releases.

One weakside player has to know when to flash to the middle. The 5 has to be available at the elbow. The 2 has to be able to sprint into a DHO or safety valve. The 1 has to be able to dribble out of pressure without killing the spacing.

Quads cannot be a sculpture. It has to breathe.

Switching can flatten the action

If a defense is comfortable switching off-ball screens, some of the weakside movement can lose its initial punch.

That does not mean Quads is dead. It just means the offense must punish switches properly.

Against switches, screeners have to slip. Cutters have to seal. Shooters have to flare. Bigs have to duck in. Guards have to recognize mismatches. If everyone simply runs the drawn route, a switching defense can stay attached.

This is one reason Quads should be taught through reads, not just choreography.

Zones can turn overload into a crowd

Against zone, overloading can create problems for the defense. But if the offense is too static, it can also help the zone.

Zones like guarding areas. If four offensive players stand in the same area without movement, the zone can guard space instead of people. The overload only works if it forces the zone to make choices.

That means Quads against zone needs flashes, short-corner touches, corner lifts, high-low reads, and quick reversals. The offense has to make the zone stretch. If the ball sticks, the zone wins.

Transition defense can suffer

Any time four players are on one side of the floor, the offense has to think about balance.

A turnover out of quads can be dangerous because the floor may be tilted. If the ball is skipped across the court and stolen, the defense can run. If the weakside cluster is below the ball and the 1 is the only player above the action, the team may be vulnerable in transition.

This does not mean the offense should avoid quads. It means the staff has to assign floor-balance rules.

Who is the safety?

Who crashes?

Who gets back?

Who protects against the long rebound from the hammer corner?

An unusual offensive alignment requires unusual transition rules.

It requires real timing

Some offenses are forgiving. Quads is not always forgiving.

Because the advantage comes from spacing manipulation and layered cuts, the timing has to be precise. The 2 cannot arrive at the handoff before the 1 is ready. The 4 cannot cross screen before the 3 has set up his defender. The 5 cannot flash to the elbow and then hold the ball forever. The hammer shooter cannot leave early or late.

The timing is teachable, but it has to be taught.

This is one of the major differences between using Quads as a package and using it as a primary offense. A package can survive on surprise. A primary offense has to survive after the defense knows what is coming.

It can become too cute

This is probably the biggest philosophical danger. Quads is fun. It looks different. It invites creativity. That is good.

But the goal is still to create good shots.

If the offense becomes too obsessed with the cleverness of the alignment, it can lose sight of the point. The best Quads possessions should still feel simple at the end: layup, corner three, mismatch, drive, high-low, open catch-and-shoot.

The complexity should be for the defense, not for the offense.

The players should feel like they are making simple reads from an unusual formation. If the players feel like they are memorizing a 12-step dance, the offense will eventually slow down.

VI. Conclusion: From garage project to offensive identity

That is why I keep coming back to Quads.

At first glance, it looks like a trick. Four players on the weakside, one player alone on the strongside wing. It does not look like the balanced spacing we are used to seeing. It looks like somebody moved the furniture to one side of the room.

But the more you sit with it, the more it makes sense.

The alignment bends the defense before the play starts. It turns the weakside into the action side. It gives the ball handler space while forcing the other four defenders to guard traffic. It creates natural answers against man and zone. It can flow into slips, handoffs, cross screens, blind pig cuts, hammer passes, and empty-side attacks.

The plays fit together because they are not separate ideas. They are chapters in the same book.

Quad Cyclone introduces the overload and creates the first rim/skip dilemma.

DHO Cross Screen Follow adds a handoff and layers a second action behind it.

DHO Reject, Chin Cut, Backscreen, Blind Pig punishes the defense for overplaying the handoff.

Throwback Hammer punishes the defense for overhelping and staring at the crowd.

That is the progression. That is the offensive conversation.

And the best part is that there is still so much room to build. Quads can become Chicago action. It can become Spain pick-and-roll. It can become elbow hub. It can become hammer, flex, flare, UCLA, empty ball screen, ghost screen, or delay flow. The alignment is not the whole offense. It is the doorway into the offense.

The downsides are real. The spacing can get crowded. The passing windows can be tough. The timing has to be sharp. The strongside trigger can be pressured. Switching defenses can flatten lazy movement. Zones can swallow a static overload. Transition defense has to be accounted for.

But those are coaching problems, not dealbreakers.

That is what makes the concept exciting. It is not finished in the sense that all good offenses are never truly finished. It is a framework that can keep growing as defenses respond.

So, to bring it back to the beginning: this is me opening the garage. Not just pointing at someone else’s car and explaining why it runs, but showing the thing I have been tinkering with myself.

Quads may start as an odd alignment. It may start as a quick hit. It may start as a way to steal a basket after a timeout.

But with enough counters, teaching, and commitment, it can become something bigger.

It can become an offense.

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Have you ever watched Elementary School students play basketball at recess? There are no baselines, no sidelines, and no backcourt violations. It’s chaos.

There’s also very little scoring. It also goes to show you that space for space’s sake is worthless. It’s what you do and how you manipulate the defense in the space that you do have that creates successful offense.

I’m a huge fan of offenses that overload one side of the floor. Things like this example from Houston a few years ago in the NCAA tournament:

Overloading one side works because it stresses the same core defensive rules, whether a team is in man or zone.

Against man-to-man, every defender has a responsibility tied to a player and help principles. When you overload a side, you force multiple defenders into the same area. That creates:

• Help confusion because two or three defenders are all responsible for the same driving lane

• Longer closeouts when the ball is kicked out or reversed

• Poor communication on switches, especially if screening is layered into the overload

Even if they guard it “correctly,” you’re shrinking their spacing while maintaining yours, which is an advantage.

Against zone, the effect is even more structural. Zones are built on area coverage and balance. Overloading

• Forces two defenders to guard three players, which breaks the math immediately

• Distorts the shape of the zone, pulling it out of its gaps and rotations

• Opens weakside windows because the zone has to collapse to survive the overload

Defenses are designed to be sound when the floor is balanced. Overloading deliberately creates imbalance, which leads to hesitation, miscommunication, or over-rotation—three things every offense can exploit quickly.

Which brings us to today’s BLOB set, which I love. We’re going to look at how a Baseline Flat with an initial release action uses an overload to force the defense into multiple decisions in a tight window before they can fully organize.

We’ll draw up the initial alignment, look at some clips from this year’s NCAA tournament, and then brainstorm some ways to throw in additional counters that would make this series really tough to scout.

Let’s roll the tape!

Starting alignment and initial action

This BLOB set, which could easily become an entire series, begins with some variation of the following alignment. One player inbounds the ball on the baseline while the other four are in a straight line across the baseline. One of two players closest to the rim then releases or cuts up to the three-point line. The inbounder then throws it to the player who just moved.

It looks like this:

The wide world of things a team can do from there is what really makes this a fascinating concept.

Real examples from the NCAA Tournament

Let’s explore a few ways NCAA tournament teams used this BLOB in must-win games.

For starters, Alabama used this alignment to get a player going downhill with the ball.

After the inbounds pass is thrown, the player throwing the ball walked through an offball screen to help clear out space under the rim. This allowed the person who caught the pass at the strongside elbow to spin and be at the rim in one dribble. Two different Texas Tech players stunted, but neither actually cut off the driving lane.

Teams also used this look to generate quick-hitting three-point opportunities:

Both UConn and Virginia use the inbounder to set the first screen in a stagger sequence. UConn uses a double stagger while Virginia uses a triple, but the end result is the same: a shooter popped out to the three-point line for a clean catch-and-shoot opportunity.

These two sets are like Kindergarten when there’s a whole K-12 school system to work through.

Ability to get creative

What I love most about this BLOB alignment is that it can easily become a series that would be nearly impossible to scout. By starting with the same alignment (Baseline Flat) and the same initial action (release), a coach could build a menu that looks identical on film yet punishes different defensive coverages. After the release an offense can play with all the following concepts:

• Who is real

• Who screens

• Who slips

• Which side is stressed

That opens up a world of opportunities. Maybe the initial action flows into a DHO or even a Zoom Chase action like this:

Maybe the other big sets a Rip Screen for the player on the wing who cuts for a layup like this:

Two players could release, so one is a decoy. The player who releases could immediately back cut to the rim to catch the inbounds pass for a quick layup. Throw in some screen-the-screener. Who knows? This series is wide open.

Key Takeaways

Eventually, recess ends.

The ball gets tucked under someone’s arm, the teams break apart, and everybody heads back inside to a world of lines, rules, and structure. The chaos disappears, but so does the accidental spacing that didn’t actually create anything.

That’s the point.

Spacing isn’t the goal. It never was. Just like those kids at recess, you can have all the room in the world and still struggle to score if no one is forcing the defense to make a decision. The teams that score consistently are the ones that organize the chaos. The coaches who design ways to take space and turn it into pressure.

That’s what makes this Baseline Flat + Release series so intriguing.

At first glance, it looks almost like recess again. Four players in a line. One simple cut. Nothing complicated. But underneath that simplicity is structure, intention, and the ability to force multiple defensive decisions in a matter of seconds. It’s not just spacing—it’s weaponized spacing.

And the best part? You can keep teaching it like a K-12 system.

Start in “kindergarten” with the basic pop. Then layer in the counters. Add the misdirection. Introduce screening, slipping, false actions, and overloads. Before long, what began as a simple inbound becomes a full curriculum—one that grows with your players and stays one step ahead of the scouting report.

Because in the end, good offense isn’t about having more space.

It’s about knowing exactly what to do with it once the whistle blows and the game starts.

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Baby Brother is just over a week old. The days have blurred into an endless hum of maximizing wake windows and tracking dirty diapers. And yet, something about having him here just feels right. We’ve doubled up on children, and our squad now feels complete. It feels like he was always meant to be here.

Doubles feels right.

I feel the same way about what an offense needs to do to win BLOBs. One action is typically pretty good, but two greatly increase your chances of scoring. Double screens are so effective on BLOB opportunities because they stress the defense in ways that are hard to solve quickly—and BLOBs are all about winning in a 2–3 second window. One screen might create an advantage. Two screens force the defense to make multiple perfect decisions instantly, and that’s where BLOB plays break open.

It just takes two.

Let’s roll some clips!

Double Screens Create Traffic

Using multiple screens on a BLOB creates traffic and indecision in a tight space. The paint and lane line areas are already congested on a BLOB, so when you bring two screeners into the action, defenders have to navigate bodies immediately. That often leads to hesitation (Do we switch? Shoot the gap? Trail?) and even a half-second of confusion is enough to spring someone open near the rim.

Let’s watch an example from Arkansas’s NCAA Tournament game against Arizona:

First off, you’ll need to watch this play a few times because of how quickly it moves, which is kind of the point. Arkansas puts all its players in a tight window between the strongside block and the strongside elbow. Billy Richmond then runs off successive screens set by Trevon Brazile and Malique Ewin.

Richmond’s defender goes under the screens—which is really his only option given the space available—which gives the Billy Goat the angle he needs to use his athleticism to explode off the screen through a tight window to the weakside block.

Double Screens punish every coverage

Double screens punish every common coverage. If a defense switches, you can slip one screener or seal a mismatch. If they chase, the cutter gains separation. If they try to go under or cheat, the angle of the second screen usually cleans it up. In other words, one good screen might get defended correctly, but the second forces the defense to make another correct decision under pressure.

Let’s watch a clip of how Arizona used double screens to punish Purdue’s coverage in their Elite Eight game.

Tommy Lloyd actually had his Wildcat team double up in two ways here. First, he sent a decoy player who curled around one hip-check screen but did not get the second one. Then a second Wildcat curls around two screens and heads to the corner for an open three.

Purdue was attempting to go over the screens, which is difficult to do against Arizona’s size once, let alone twice. That’s the beauty of using multiple screens on a BLOB, though. It punishes good coverage called by the opposing coach.

Double Screens manipulate help responsibilities

Double screens are perfect for manipulating help responsibilities. On a BLOB, help defenders are already preloaded to protect the rim. Double screens can pin or delay those helpers—especially if one screener is near the basket—so when the cutter comes free, there’s no second line of defense.

Here’s Michigan demonstrating this idea in the next round against that same Arizona squad.

Michigan has a player run off a cross screen toward the weakside block, a very common move for a quick bucket in BLOBs. The player who ran off the first screen then lifts up to set a flare screen for another player who started near the top of the key. Arizona switched the initial screen, and the big stayed low to provide help rim protection.

The problem with that? He now has the responsibility of guarding the corner three-point shooter. He’s caught between being the low help and guarding the shooter on a switch.

What’s great about this clip is that it is also a great example of the next reason why double screens are so dangerous.

Double Screens disguise your intent

Double screens allow a team to disguise the true goal of their actions. Double screens can look identical at the start but produce totally different outcomes: curl for a layup, fade for a jumper, slip to the rim, or even screen-the-screener action. That makes scouting and communication tougher, especially in those critical late-game situations where you throw in a counter.

Here’s a really simple and clean example from Ohio State’s NCAA Tournament game against TCU.

The initial movement here is a strongside backscreen near the elbow, allowing an Ohio State player to cut to the weakside block. This is very similar to the first action we saw from Michigan above. It’s not uncommon for the inbounds pass to happen there. The defense is expecting that.

The real magic here is what happens on the opposite side of the floor. A Buckeye on the weakside wing fakes like he’s running to the weakside corner. He then runs full speed around two screens all the way to the strongside corner, where he receives the pass for an open three.

Double Screens highlight your best weapon

Finally, double screens amplify your best player without overcomplicating the play. You can run your scorer off a double and let them read it, or use them as a decoy to free someone else. It’s a simple structure, but it creates layered options.

Here’s a fun example from the Missouri Tigers.

Missouri wanted to give their volume three-point shooter a clean look, so they used the BLOB to draw up a double-screen-the-screener action for him. He sets an initial backscreen for his teammate near one block before curling around two screens of his own to the strongside corner. Miami got hung up on the second one (and confused about if they were fighting through screens or switching), which led to a great shot attempt.

Key Takeaways

Baby Brother showed up, and suddenly everything clicked.

The rhythm changed, the numbers doubled, and what once felt complete somehow got better. That’s the beauty of “two.” It doesn’t just add—it multiplies.

The same idea holds true for BLOBs. One good action can work, but layering in a second screen forces the defense to solve multiple problems at once, in a space where there’s no time to think and no room for error. That’s where efficiency lives.

Double screens create traffic, punish whatever coverage gets called, manipulate help, and disguise what you’re really trying to do. And maybe most importantly, they give you a simple way to feature your best weapon without tipping your hand. It’s structure without predictability.

The best part? There isn’t just one way to do it. You can stack them, stagger them, run screen-the-screener, mix in flares, pins, or slips—there are countless ways to build “two” into your BLOB package. That flexibility is the point. You’re not installing a single play. You’re adding a concept that raises the ceiling of everything you run.

Because in a moment where you only have a few seconds to get a shot, it doesn’t take something complicated.

It just takes two.

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Everyone is a critic. I recently posted a short clip on Twitter of a play I saw that I thought was really well-executed halfcourt offense. Someone commented:

“That doesn’t seem that complicated.”

While there are basketball teams and coaches out there who run really effective, complicated set pieces, I don’t love the idea that the only successful offenses are ones that require a key to decipher what is happening. Simple and clean offense executed with precision and pace can gain an advantage against any defense.

For this edition of Breakdown Blockbusters, I go over three simple but true-blue ways to punish a team that is switching ballscreens. The concepts may not wow those folks who insist that every single halfcourt possession has more actions than a 90s Van Damme flick, but they do the most important thing:

Get the offense good looks.

Slip the screen, break the switch

A switch-heavy ballscreen defense is trying to kill the offense’s advantage before it is created by doing whatever needs to happen to keep the ball in front of them. In the eternal chess match that is a game of hoops, the offense has two options for beating a switch. You can dress them up in myriad ways, but there are really only two key concepts the offense is trying to make happen.

The first is to force confusion before or after the switch. One way to do that is by slipping the screen:

I left this clip long so you could see multiple ballscreens before Lindenwood executed the slip. On the first few screens, Little Rock switches efficiently and keeps Lindenwood in front of them. However, on the last screen of the possession, the big slips the screen. It leads to a wide open passing/driving lane and a dunk because by not actually making contact, he was able to attack the switch before it happened. It punishes the intent to switch. One Little Rock player assumed a screen was coming, the other didn’t see it yet, so both stayed with the ballhandler.

Simple. Clean. Effective.

Chain your actions

Another way to create confusion is to chain together a few actions. Again, this doesn’t require a complicated set of movements. Literally two screens set back-to-back can have the same effect.

Here, a Northern Michigan player runs his man into a DHO Reject and then immediately flows into a flare screen. The player gets a clean look from deep after a late switch onto him. If he hadn’t taken the shot, the big man who ran the initial DHO was also curling to the rim with no defender in sight.

Stringing just two screen actions together, one on-ball and one off-ball, led to what could have been two different clean looks in one possession.

Mismatch Hunting: Get what you want every time

The other big concept in beating a switch defense is to punish the mismatch. That looks something like this:

Miami was hoping to stay in man-to-man coverage by switching everything. The Purdue point guard called up the exact big man he wanted switched onto him. He then waited for the screener to run back to the corner and used his speed to dribble past a slower defender. Miami rotated to help on the drive, which left a lane to pass to a teammate for an easy bucket.

This works the other way too. You can let the defense switch a guard onto a big and attack inside as well. The key is not to rush when mismatch hunting. Let the spacing settle, and then go.

Key Takeaways

Maybe it doesn’t look complicated. That’s kind of the point. In a game where everyone has an opinion, a breakdown, or a better idea in the replies, it’s easy to confuse complexity with quality. But the truth is, the best offenses don’t need to be decoded. They just need to be executed.

Slipping a screen, chaining two actions together, or hunting the right matchup aren’t flashy in a whiteboard sense, but they consistently create the thing every offense is chasing: an advantage.

So yes, everyone is a critic. Not everyone appreciates how hard it is to be simple on purpose. The teams that punish switching defenses the most aren’t the ones running the most intricate sets. They’re the ones who understand exactly what they’re trying to accomplish and do it with clarity, timing, and intent.

Simple. Clean. Effective.

That’s not a lack of sophistication—it’s the highest form of it.

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If you watched Monday night’s National Championship game between Michigan and Connecticut, or if you happen to spend the majority of your downtime wading into the depths of basketball play breakdown Twitter (seriously, I’m like Bradley Cooper out there—and if you get that reference, we should be best friends), you have seen the play we’ll watch shortly.

But first, welcome to Breakdown Blockbusters. This offseason, instead of focusing purely on what offense it would make sense for John Calipari and the Razorbacks to install based on next season’s roster, I thought it could be fun to make us all feel like smarter hoops observers and whip around the entire college basketball landscape to study the different actions, sets, concepts, and counters that are shaping what successful modern college basketball offenses are doing.

We’ll start that work today, doing a deep dive on one play from a twisted basketball mind.

I made the argument earlier this week that I think it is possible to be a genius and socially well-adjusted. Enter Danny Hurley—with his sideline tantrums and general demeanor—as a counter to that argument. He is undoubtedly over the top while coaching, but at least he’s consistent. His offense pushes the bounds of creativity, while his maniacal behavior also pushes the bounds of on-court decorum.

Which brings us back to this wizardry.

I’ve seen this play shared by every single basketball nerd on Twitter. People, like most coaches, have different labels for it. The one I’ve seen most consistently, and how I labeled it in my own notes, is a High Horns (key for spacing) ball screen into a screen the screener action consisting of a cross screen into a flare.

It’s basketball sleight of hand, however you label the individual components. Hurley’s design discombobulates the defense with a deluge of developments and dares them to divert their eyes—if only for a second—from where the real magic is happening.

Let’s break down what you just watched and why it was so effective.

Halfcourt offense breakdown: Step-by-step execution

There are three key phases that comprise this play.

Phase One

Hurley’s set kicks into motion out of a High Horns alignment with one quick ballscreen. Off that ballscreen, the ballhandler passes to a player who has risen up to the strongside wing. The screener rolls to the strongside elbow.

Phase Two

In phase two, the other player from the top of the Horns set (4) cuts behind the player who set the initial ballscreen (3). That initial screener sets a screen for his teammate who is cutting behind him. The four-man runs off that screen and catches a pass from the two, and then turns to face up.

Phase Three

Here is where the payoff happens. Our initial screener, who has been doing yeoman’s work up to this point) receives a flare screen from the five-man who has yet to really be involved here. Three runs off the flare and 4 skips the ball across court for an open three.

How UConn’s set created separation in the halfcourt

So what makes this so effective?

For starters, in the version UConn ran against Michigan, 3 and 4 flipped sides of the floor right at the start of the set and got an initial switch from the Wolverines before they even started running actions.

Second, at the time of that second screen, the floor is totally unbalanced. UConn has loaded up four of their five players onto the strongside of the floor. This is, quite literally, the “look over here” moment of Hurley’s illusion that sets up for the big reveal.

If you pause the video at approximately eight seconds in, you’ll see that Michigan has ten eyes on what is happening on that strongside of the floor. The five-man has been forgotten about up to this point. So, with all eyes looking one way, he sets a great flare screen, moving our shooter over to the vacant weakside wing. It’s empty physically, but also mentally, as no Michigan defender is thinking about the backside of this alignment.

The other thing about UConn is that while a lot of their actions aren’t simple, they are precise. They’re run with maniacal precision and pace.

And that’s really the throughline here and what makes this more than just a viral clip making the rounds on basketball Twitter. It’s not just creativity for the sake of creativity. It’s precision, timing, and intent layered on top of one another until the defense has the rug pulled out from under them. Every cut, every screen, every piece of spacing is designed to pull eyes, shift bodies, and manufacture just enough confusion to spring the trap.

That’s what elite offense looks like right now in college basketball.

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