The Ewing Theory: representing what sports wisdom never can — the impossible
In every science, there are theories that revolutionize their field. Einstein’s theory of relativity, Darwin’s theory of natural selection, Copernicus’s theory of heliocentrism — the list goes on. In the field of sports, one theory rises above them all: the Ewing Theory.
Popularized by Bill Simmons in the early 2000s, the Ewing Theory is quite simple. It occurs whenever a team inexplicably gets better after the departure of their star player, whether through injury, trade, retirement or other circumstances. Prime examples include the Knicks getting to the 1999 NBA Finals after Patrick Ewing’s titular injury, the Nationals winning an NL title after the departure of Bryce Harper, and the Patriots winning three Super Bowls in four years after Drew Bledsoe’s injury.
I myself have been the victim of the Ewing Theory, after a (definitely mutual) breakup with an ex-girlfriend. I thought, “Man, she wouldn’t get better without me.” Turns out she’s graduating magna cum laude from her prestigious university and landed a six-figure tech job, meanwhile I spent the last two hours downing an entire bag of flavor-blasted Goldfish. Safe to say who’s the Ewing here.
While my love life may not convince you of the totalizing force of the Ewing Theory, here are some other inexplicable Ewing-esque moments. Hillary Clinton, face of the Democratic Party, loses to the young and charming Barack Obama. And just like that, the eight-year Democratic presidency drought is over. Fan-favorite actor Richard Harris passed away after the first two Harry Potter films, then boom — we get “Prisoner of Azkaban” and “Goblet of Fire.” If you think these aren’t the best films in the series, you can have that opinion, but know that your opinion is wrong and you should feel bad. Martin Eberhard, founder of Tesla, was ousted as CEO only for the company to land Elon Musk and become a tech bro’s wet dream. The Ewing Theory is all around us.
But like most theories, it isn’t perfect. The Cleveland Cavaliers went from 60 wins to the worst team in basketball after the departure of LeBron James in 2009. “Two and a Half Men” tanked in ratings after Charlie Sheen left. Cal’s own football team has lost three straight after an injury to (all-star in my heart) Chase Garbers.
The Ewing Theory clearly isn’t law. But it matters.
It matters because it represents what sports wisdom never can — the impossible. Talking heads, analytic junkies and social media pundits may think they know exactly what’s wrong with a sports team or how valuable a star player is, but the Ewing Theory defies their conventions. It flips everything we think we know upside down. Losing a star player should never equate to success, yet in rare instances, where the odds seem insurmountable and teams are written off, it does.
Elgin Baylor’s retirement should not have led the Los Angeles Lakers to a 1972 title. The Oakland A’s should not have won a then-record 20 straight games after the departure of Jason Giambi and Johnny Damon. The Indianapolis Colts should not be the best team in the AFC South after losing Andrew Luck. But they are.
The Ewing Theory is the great “unless” of sports. It’s the logic of the guy enveloped by unabashed homerism. It’s the talk of the man drunkenly rambling at the end of the bar. It’s the nonsense your aging grandpa shouts at Thanksgiving dinner. It’s the absolutely ludicrous, never in a million years, tall tale, as if, cockamamy, borderline hallucinatory narrative. But it happens.
In many ways, the Ewing Theory represents the opposite of its nominal counterpart — the scientific theory. Whereas scientific theories require validity and truth in almost all instances, the Ewing Theory is almost always wrong. Teams get substantially worse after losing their star player, 99.99% of the time. But in the one percent of the one percent of times when teams do get better, the Ewing Theory shines.
The theory serves a strong reminder to sports nerds like me that although they think they have it down to a science, they don’t. And they never will. Because the greatness of sports comes from when the seemingly impossible becomes possible. When our expectations are shattered, our myths busted and our hot takes cooled. When we, as a collective fandom, have to admit: “Huh, we were really wrong on that one.”
That’s the Ewing Theory. That’s why we watch the game. And that’s what makes sports, sports.
Michael Brust is a weekly columnist. Contact him at mbrust@dailycal.org. Follow him on Twitter @MikeBesports.