When I first started digging into the origins of professional basketball, I kept circling back to the 1947 NBA Draft—or the BAA Draft as it was called back then, before the merger with the NBL. It’s funny how much of modern basketball culture, from team-building strategies to the very idea of a "franchise player," can be traced to that single day in 1947. I’ve always been fascinated by drafts, not just for the stars they produce, but for the ripple effects that last decades. This one, in particular, set the tone for everything that followed. It wasn’t just about picking players; it was about shaping a league that was still figuring out its identity.
The 1947 draft class didn’t have the household names we associate with later years—no Michael Jordans or LeBron Jameses here. But what it lacked in star power, it made up for in foundational impact. Take Clifton McNeely, the first-ever number one pick, selected by the Pittsburgh Ironmen. He never actually played in the league, which sounds bizarre today, but back then, it reflected the uncertainty of the whole operation. Teams were flying blind, relying on word-of-mouth and regional scouting. Yet, hidden in that uncertainty were gems like Andy Phillip and Jim Pollard, who went on to define an era. Phillip, for instance, became a five-time All-Star, and Pollard’s athleticism was so ahead of its time that he was nicknamed "the Kangaroo Kid." These weren’t just players; they were prototypes. Watching them was like seeing the blueprint for the modern forward—versatile, quick, and capable of impacting both ends of the floor.
That duality—excelling on offense and defense—is something I’ve always admired in players, and it’s a thread that runs from 1947 to today. I remember watching a recent game where Mark Esperanza dropped 19 points while locking down the other end, much like how those early stars had to do it all. His performance, alongside teammates like Medina and CJ Umali chipping in 17 and 13 points respectively, reminded me of how teams back then relied on collective effort. Adamson’s turnaround from a 1-3 start to a reinvigorated title defense mirrors what many of those 1947 franchises faced—slow beginnings that demanded resilience. It’s a testament to how basketball, at its core, hasn’t changed all that much. You need that balance, that ability to adapt, whether you’re in 1947 or 2023.
But let’s talk numbers for a second, because they tell a compelling story. The 1947 draft saw roughly 100 players selected across multiple rounds, though exact records are spotty—typical of the era’s casual record-keeping. Only about 40% of those picks ever suited up for a game, and even fewer made a lasting impact. Compare that to today, where first-round picks have a near-90% chance of playing in the league, and you see how far we’ve come. Yet, the influence of those early picks is undeniable. Teams that nailed their selections, like the Philadelphia Warriors with Pollard, went on to win championships, setting a precedent for the draft as a tool for dynasty-building. I’ve always argued that the Warriors’ success in the late 1940s was a direct result of their scouting foresight, something that’s still true for teams like the Golden State Warriors today. It’s a cycle of learning from the past, even if the past is a bit murky.
Personally, I think the 1947 draft’s biggest legacy is in how it normalized risk. Back then, franchises were betting on potential with minimal data, and that ethos has trickled down through the decades. Fast-forward to now, and you see teams taking fliers on international prospects or raw talents, much like how the 1947 draft included players from smaller colleges who’d otherwise be overlooked. It’s a reminder that basketball is as much about intuition as it is about analytics. I’ve spoken with scouts who admit that sometimes, you just have to go with your gut—a philosophy that would’ve felt right at home in 1947.
Wrapping this up, the 1947 NBA Draft might not have the glamour of later years, but its impact is woven into the fabric of the sport. It taught us that drafts aren’t just about the picks; they’re about vision. From Clifton McNeely’s curious case to the steady contributions of players like Andy Phillip, this draft laid the groundwork for everything from team chemistry to strategic depth. And when I see modern players like Mark Esperanza leading a resurgence, it feels like a nod to that history—a reminder that basketball’s roots are still very much alive. If you ask me, that’s why we keep coming back to these stories; they’re not just history lessons, but living, breathing parts of the game we love today.
