Seven years ago today...

...this happened.

I have long considered myself something of a connoisseur of the slam dunk.  I like to take a dunk, watch it several times from many angles, and then break it down.  Most people, I think, don't do this.  Consider how a dunk is generally described as a sudden, rapid, explosive event.  We exclaim, OH MY GOD!, when we see a nasty dunk because a nasty dunk is shocking.  A nasty dunk does not ring the doorbell and wait; it kicks in the door like SWAT.  A nasty dunk interrupts, and interrupts quite rudely the flow of a basketball game.  There's no buildup, and the viewer gets no time to prepare.  A nasty dunk is a lot like a car wreck.  This is why your initial emotional reaction to a nasty dunk is shock and disgust.  Amazement only sets in upon subsequent reflection, upon realization that it was only an amazing feat of athleticism, not a car wreck.

A dunk, however, is not so swift (pun intended) that it can't be analyzed as a process.  Take a nasty dunk and watch it a dozen times, each time focusing on some singular component of it.  Examine the takeoff, the landing, and the finish itself.  Watch the stanchion shake, the rim snap, and the ball bounce back up off the floor.  In doing this the process of a slam dunk will begin to reveal itself. 

Analyzing a dunk as a process allows one to identify the particular qualities that make an incredible dunk so goddamned mesmerizing, which in turn allows one to objectively compare and contrast the best dunks.  Ever wonder why dunk countdowns are almost always completely screwed up?  It's because the dunks haven't been analyzed and ranked in this regard; too few components of the process have been considered.

Looking at the process of Stromile Swift's dunk on Tyrus Thomas, I have reached the following conclusion about it: Changes in speed throughout the process is what makes the dunk look completely freaky.  And it's one of the freakiest dunks of all-time.

Swift begins rather methodically as he steps out of a pick-and-pop and into a pump fake.  He takes one casual dribble into the paint and plants his feet around the dotted semicircle.  It takes about three and a half seconds for all this to develop, and it doesn't appear as though anything unusual is about to happen until the very moment that it does.

Swift suddenly explodes off the floor with reptilian quickness.  In a fraction of a second he has elevated several feet off the floor.  Momentarily he appears suspended in midair as he torques his body and cocks the ball so far behind his head it nearly contacts his shoulder blades.  In just four seconds the process has gone from slow, to fast, to frozen.  Then, like a catapult being activated, Swift's arms swing forward in a blur.  Back to fast.  The force of the finish snaps the rim like a tin can and jolts Tyrus Thomas off balance.  The net becomes tangled around the rim and the shot clock quivers.  The aftermath is as if the United Center had experienced a minor earthquake.  Oh my goodness!, Stacey King exclaims in the background as play-by-play man Neil Funk's speech slows, presumably as a result of disbelief.  "Monster," utters Red Kerr.  Shock and disgust.

The entire ordeal, from the pick-and-pop to the moment the camera pans away from the shaking stanchion, takes roughly eight seconds.  The brevity in which it all unfolds is remarkable.  Swift probes into the paint, erupts toward the rim, appears to freeze in midair, and damn near tears the basket down in a matter of mere seconds.  Such abrupt shifts in speed over such a short duration; it is this sort of fast-twitch athletic ability that allowed Swift to dazzle us with dunks like this.

One need not go to such depth to comprehend the power and ferocity of Stromile Swift on Tyrus Thomas.  But an analysis of the process does reveal the unique nuances that distinguish it from other remarkable power jams.  Where many awe-inspiring dunks are beautifully fluid, this one is irresistibly wicked, jagged and raw.  Simply put, Swift exhibits explosive, violent athleticism on a higher plane.

That there are only three existent angles from which to view this dunk is an absolute travesty.