When your lived experience is incongruent with your expectations, when you feel oppressed by some unseen deck stacker, when the most obvious explanations of happenstance and coincidence fail to provide any balm to the weary traveler in this plane of existence, it is tempting to believe in grand conspiracy. What such theories lack in verifiable facts and logical cohesion, they make up for by conveniently offering a simple, unifying explanation for all that ails us.
If you had asked me thirty years ago whether the massive proliferation of human knowledge via the internet would squelch or crank up the spread of misinformation, the younger man I was would probably have been naive enough to give the wrong answer. Anyone can open Wikipedia and read basic facts about science, history, and world events—yet the gulf between what the average person believes to be true and verifiable reality has never been wider in my lifetime.
We have self-sorted into our respective groupthink hives—a dynamic transcending geography. When I was growing up, you could go to the mall or a poetry reading at a local bookstore and be amongst a wide swath of diverse humanity. People were different and happened to live in the same town. This allowed your horizons to be expanded and your worldview to be challenged, without leaving your city. Now, we find our way into information silos and seldom step outside them—except to bark at others. It is dangerous, sad, and intellectually lazy—it is also the new normal.
This dynamic has invaded so many aspects of our lives, and until this week, sports have largely been immune. Sure, sports-themed conspiracies exist, but they rarely break into the mainstream with no evidence beyond juicy circumstantial musings. An alarming number of people seem to believe that the Dallas Mavericks’ shocking vault into the number one pick in this year’s draft can best be explained by the baseless theory that the league rigged it. Seeking clicks and engagement, otherwise credible YouTube channels and podcasts—some backing and others rejecting the conspiracy theory—have reinforced this by using the word ‘RIGGED’ in the thumbnail or title of episodes. It is in the groundwater and the zeitgeist, even if it makes zero logical sense.
The supply and demand of championships stack the raw math against every team, and those odds grow longer for small-market clubs and ineptly run front offices. This leaves teams in long stretches of irrelevance with no end in sight. If you are a Washington Wizards lifer, the post-2019 flattened lottery odds have flattened your spirits year after year.
Combine this perception of long-suffering fanbases ‘deserving’ something for seeing their team lose a metric ton of regular-season games (and not getting it) with the notion that the Dallas Mavericks received an illicit kickback from the league for shipping Luka Doncic to the Lakers, and the howling of ‘this is rigged’ was Thanos-level inevitable. Yet that does not make it empirically true.
The final ingredient? The NBA is not immune to the societal rise of distrust in institutions. This flame is shamelessly fanned by those who profit by creating and maintaining an audience. The outrage machine must eat. Plus, it just feels good for those who need an occurrence so zany to make sense.
Ernst and Young certifies the legitimacy of the lottery at all phases. Team and media representatives monitor the lottery as the ping pong balls are selected. This is not simply a one-ball drop. This is a combination lock of multiple balls pulled to arrive at a combination pointing towards a team. Zach Lowe stated on his podcast that the last of the four balls that would determine the winner of the first pick could have landed on several teams.
The Ringer’s Zach Lowe showing off the circled numbers for Portland and Dallas.
The Zach Lowe Show / The Ringer
According to Lowe, the first three numbers - 10, 14, & 11 - meant that the ground was set for teams to jump up, given that the lower numbers represented teams with higher odds. Team reps from those franchises were shooting each other knowing looks—they might get jumped.
For the fourth and deciding number, tons of options remained. If 6 is pulled, it is the Portland Trailblazers drafting Cooper Flagg. If the last ball was a 1, the Washington Wizards win the lottery. A 2 and it’s in the New Orleans Pelicans. A 3 and it’s the Brooklyn Nets. A 4 has the Toronto Raptors doing a happy dance. The number 8 gives it to the Chicago Bulls. A 9, and they are lighting the beam in SacTown.
The best chance in that moment of truth, according to Lowe, was easily the San Antonio Spurs. They had 3 possible draws that would match them up with the number one pick, given the combination in place with the first three numbers pulled. A 5, 12, or 13, and it is a front line of Wemby and Flagg, a reign of terror in the West for a decade or more.
Instead, it was only the number 7 that could have saved the Dallas Mavericks. A fanbase that deserved the stroke of luck, a General Manager that did not, and an owner that, by Tim MacMahon’s reporting for ESPN, will not allow this blessing to go unrealized—no matter his GM’s penchant for doubling down on stupid.
To believe the league ‘rigged’ the draft, means accepting that the ball with the 7 on it was magically selected through some sort of undetectable means in front of media, team reps with competing interests, and accounting firm staff. You must also believe that multiple levels of conspirators would risk federal prison. Likely charges would include: Wire Fraud (18 U.S.C. § 1343), Conspiracy to Commit Fraud (18 U.S.C. § 371), Honest Services Fraud (18 U.S.C. § 1346), Racketeering (RICO Act – 18 U.S.C. § 1961), amongst others, with prison time ranging from 5 to 25 years.
Such a revelation would damage the NBA irreparably, akin to the 1919 Chicago Black Sox and the 2015 FIFA scandals. The NBA would never recover its reputation. Sponsorships and TV deals would tank. A new league would likely form out of the ashes once it was clear that the NBA was an albatross around the neck of professional basketball.
It is unthinkable. There is no proof. There is a massive incentive for it not to happen. Yet, listen to the crackpots, and the dots are connected on the corkboard with thumbtacks and yarn in about ten seconds.
Between 2000 and 2016, the league attempted 6,255 shots beyond half court, making 165 of them. That is a hit rate slightly higher at 2.6 percent than the 1.8 percent chance Dallas had to win the lottery. While unlikely and difficult to separate narratively from surrounding events, this lottery outcome is slightly more difficult than an in-game half-court shot. When those are hit, no one claims a grand conspiracy because it happens right in front of us. We have evidence all around us of improbable events, and it is this sort of long shot (pun intended) that makes sports a compelling, unscripted human drama in real time.
After consummating the worst trade in league history, the Dallas Mavericks lucked out. It is not some slimy backroom make-good. It is not a sign that Nico Harrison is suddenly a genius. It does not make the Luka trade good basketball business. It was not and never will be. It is, though, a reprieve for neophyte ownership and a respite for a beleaguered fanbase.
Conspiracy theories comfort the rattled mind at the price of rotting it from the inside out. They tell a malleable story to reinforce biases and make quick sense of a complicated, random world. The truth, by comparison, is both staggering and a bit boring. Few teams have ever reached the conference finals and then secured a top ten lottery pick the following year. No team had completed that two-year cycle twice in a row until the Dallas Mavericks just did. Sometimes, the universe is a goofy place.