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Ohio State's Shannon Scott helps pull teammate Aaron Craft to his feet during the Buckeyes' NCAA Tournament loss to Dayton. Both are strong defenders and poor shooters, typical of the flawed OSU team, says Bill Livingston..

(AP)

BUFFALO, N.Y. –- Like many other football coaches, Ohio State’s Urban Meyer likes to scout prospects who also play basketball.

Meyer wants to see how they move, how they compete. Players get more chances to demonstrate their athletic ability in basketball than in football, because the playing field is less crowded and the competitive results are less dependent on teammates’ contributions.

“I don’t care how they shoot,” Meyer said.

Does anyone?

It is a given in the basketball of today that players are stronger, run faster, can jump higher, are better fed and are more closely scouted.

In the wake of a 60-59 loss to Dayton in the round of 64 in the NCAA Tournament here Thursday afternoon, one must wonder: How did the flagship university of Ohio field a team of so many top-level athletes and so few basketball players?

The Buckeyes used to have no continuity because of too many players who were passing through on their way to the NBA Draft lottery. This year, they probably had no NBA players, particularly since their most nearly dependable scorer, LaQuinton Ross, saw his NCAA Tournament run end almost before it began.

Before the AAU gravy trains, before the dunk-centric highlight shows on ESPN, before the video games endowing players with superhero abilities, stories of deprivation and dedication, of obsession and compulsion, characterized many of the game's better players.

Dick Barnett was the Cleveland Pipers' best player in the short-lived American Basketball League in the early 1960s. He was also the pride of the team's ground-breaking racial pioneer coach, John McLendon, who later coached Cleveland State.

Barnett possessed his own motivation and manifested it by shooting alone in the dark on the playgrounds of Gary, Ind.

The Cavaliers' World B. Free a generation later used the same cat's eyes to sight and sink baskets in the night in the tough Brownsville section of Brooklyn.

Recruiters looking for Barnett or Free could find them by the sound of the thumping ball in the middle of the night.

Their upbringing made the great LSU and NBA power forward Bob Pettit look soft. Pettit brought a lamp out to the basket at the family home in Baton Rouge, extension cords strung in a maze behind him, so he could play on after sunset.

Some basketball skills are learned. Some are determined by environment.

Every time Dee Brown, Illinois' most publicized player on the 2005 NCAA runners-up, shot a layup from the left side with his right hand, purists wanted to butt their heads against walls.

Aaron Craft made such a wrong-handed shot to give Ohio State a lead in the last 15 seconds that did not stand up against Dayton Thursday.

Years ago, North Carolina's Bobby Jones became ambidextrous around the basket, not as a natural gift, but because the family car was always parked on the right hand side of the driveway. If he wanted to practice, Jones had to learn to go to his left. From such circumstances, a career was made.

As a little boy, Aaron Craft used to do lateral mobility drills at his father's basketball camp while carrying a heavy brick in each hand. He developed upper body strength and quickness that way. A different parking place for the car might have done as much for his offensive versatility.

Former Cavaliers sharpshooter Mark Price used to ask players at his summer camp, "How many shoot 50 jump shots a day?"

A fluttering flock of hands would wave.

“How many shoot 100?”

Not so many hands.

“How many shoot 500?”

The hands were all down.

Price shot that many and more.

Basketball is a game in which skills can be improved in isolation. The loneliness of the long-distance shooter is as accurate a perception as that of the long-distance runner. If a player is willing to put in the time, given proper mechanics, he will improve as a shooter.

Vertical jump, one of the big, athletic measurements you hear about today, was not a strong point of two of the most publicized players of the past century, Bill Bradley of Princeton and Jerry Lucas of Ohio State. Both were academically gifted players who worked mentally and physically to improve their games.

Bradley had practiced for two hours a day since he was 9 years old. He had unusually wide peripheral vision, and when he was on center stage as the nation’s best player, he could pick up the feints and cuts of teammates in the wings.

Lucas had keen 20/10 eyesight, the same as legendary World War II fighter pilot and jet test pilot Chuck Yeager. Lucas could read the spin on the ball like a great hitter in baseball and adjust his rebounding position accordingly.

Both saw possibilities in the game other players did not, using their perceptions and their basketball intelligence. Both had the developed skill sets of basketball players, enhanced by an ability to think the game rather than physically overwhelming it.

Both would have cared who could shoot and who could not.