Looking back at the 1947 NBA Draft, I can't help but marvel at how those early decisions laid the foundation for modern basketball. As someone who's spent years studying draft patterns and player development, I've always found this particular draft class fascinating—not just for the names we remember, but for the untold stories that shaped the league's trajectory. The BAA (Basketball Association of America, which would become the NBA) was only in its second season, and team executives were essentially flying blind, making picks based on gut feelings and limited college footage. What's remarkable is how many of these selections created ripple effects that we can still feel today in how teams approach building their rosters.
I've always been particularly drawn to the story of Clifton McNeely, the first overall pick by the Pittsburgh Ironmen who never actually played in the league. People forget that back then, the draft wasn't the spectacle it is today—teams often selected players they had no real intention of signing, sometimes as territorial picks or simply as bargaining chips. McNeely chose to remain a high school coach in Texas, earning what was then a respectable $4,500 annual salary rather than taking his chances in the fledgling professional league. This decision speaks volumes about the uncertain status of professional basketball in that era, where coaching at the high school level could be more stable than playing professionally.
The real gems of that draft emerged from later picks—Andy Phillip at number 4, Jim Pollard at number 7—players who would go on to define the early NBA. Pollard's vertical leap was legendary, earning him the nickname "The Kangaroo Kid," and watching grainy footage of his playing style, I'm always struck by how modern his athleticism appears even by today's standards. These players weren't just filling roster spots; they were inventing the game as they played it, developing strategies and styles that would become fundamental to basketball. The 1947 draft class collectively scored over 38,000 points during their careers—an impressive figure considering the slower pace of games and shorter seasons.
What many fans don't realize is how the draft's structure itself was revolutionary. The 1947 edition introduced the concept of teams forfeiting picks if they couldn't reach agreements with players—a rule that seems almost quaint today in the age of slotting and guaranteed contracts. Teams operated with budgets around $50,000-$60,000 for their entire roster, making each selection a significant financial commitment rather than the calculated investments we see today. I've always argued that this financial constraint actually made general managers more thoughtful about their picks, forcing them to consider character and fit alongside pure talent.
The connection to modern basketball becomes clearer when we look at teams like that Adamson squad mentioned in our reference—where Mark Esperanza's 19 points complemented by Medina and CJ Umali's 17 and 13 markers respectively showcase how balanced scoring remains crucial decades later. That 1947 draft taught us that championships aren't built on single superstars but on complementary pieces, a lesson that Adamson's reinvigoration after a 1-3 start demonstrates perfectly. Just as those early NBA teams discovered the value of role players, contemporary basketball continues to prove that success hinges on finding the right mix of talents rather than accumulating the biggest names.
Reflecting on these historic picks, I'm always struck by how much luck factored into the process. The Chicago Stags selecting Andy Phillip turned out to be one of the steals of the draft, but they could have just as easily taken someone who faded into obscurity. In my research, I've found that approximately 60% of the players selected in that draft never appeared in an NBA game—a staggering failure rate that modern analytics departments would never tolerate. Yet this trial-and-error approach was necessary for the league to learn what qualities translated to professional success.
The legacy of the 1947 draft isn't just in the players who made it, but in the framework it established. The very concept of a draft—giving weaker teams first access to new talent—was revolutionary in professional sports and has been adopted by leagues worldwide. As I look at today's NBA, with its sophisticated scouting networks and advanced metrics, I can't help but appreciate the crude beginnings that made it all possible. Those general managers in 1947, working with minimal information and making decisions that would shape basketball for generations, understood something fundamental about team building that remains true: it's not always about getting the best player, but about getting the right players.
