The six skills, explained

One scale, six unequal skills

All six skills share one scale, and it is stingy at the top:

Only a handful of names in the whole game hold a 99. The bottom is just as real: a center who never took a jumper is a punchline at Jumpshot, rings or no rings, which is what makes him a trap in round one. These are 99OVR’s editorial ratings for this game, not official NBA numbers.

The scoring page walks through the whole OVR pipeline. The short version: the skills are not equal partners. Jumpshot and Handles combine into shot creation, Finishing and Athleticism into rim pressure, Defense is scaled by Athleticism, and Playmaking counts twice. Six synergies add a small bonus when your stolen ratings clear a bar together:

Synergies read the ratings you stole, not any one player, so your finishing and athleticism can come from different decades. The bonuses land before the diminishing-returns curve, so they buy the most in builds not already near the ceiling. Time Machine and Same Era Squad reward the decades you stole from instead.

Jumpshot

Touch and range: the pull-up, the catch-and-shoot, the shot a defense has to close out on. The skyhook counts as finishing. Elite means a shot defenses planned around; average is a starter who hits open looks; a weakness is a big who shot only when ignored. The punchline band is full of famous centers — Shaquille O’Neal, Dwight Howard and Rudy Gobert all live there.

In the build. Jumpshot is the base of shot creation, the largest slice of a Best Player offense. Handles decides how much of it survives: about three-quarters behind a punchline handle, all of it behind an all-time one. It anchors Shake & Bake and Gravity Well. Shooting guards weight shot creation most and centers least; the positional builds guide covers each target.

Who sets the standard. Jerry West and Sam Jones stand out in a set-shot 1960s; Rick Barry and Pete Maravich carry the 1970s; Larry Bird and Dale Ellis a 1980s league that barely shot threes; Reggie Miller the 1990s; Ray Allen and Dirk Nowitzki the 2000s. Then Stephen Curry becomes the measuring stick for everyone.

The misread. Scoring is not shooting. Wilt Chamberlain’s 1960s card reads “50.4 PPG · 25.7 RPG,” and his jumpshot is still a weakness. Field-goal percentage on a big usually measures dunks: Shaq’s 1990s card shows “58% FG,” and his 2000s note adds “Free throws excepted.” Trust the note.

Handles

Ball control, and getting somewhere a defender doesn’t want you to go — judged honestly for a 1960s with no crossover vocabulary. Elite handles come with signature moves that have names; bigs and catch-and-shoot specialists fill the weakness band.

In the build. Handles never counts on its own. It multiplies your Jumpshot inside shot creation, which makes it, point for point, the skill that moves OVR least. Its real payoff is Shake & Bake, which needs it and Jumpshot both at 86 or better, and it matters more to guard targets than to bigs. It is the cheapest round to misjudge for your OVR, though its grade counts as much as any other.

Who sets the standard. Oscar Robertson tops the 1960s; Pete Maravich and Earl Monroe the 1970s; Isiah Thomas the 1980s; Tim Hardaway and Allen Iverson the 1990s; Iverson, Jamal Crawford and Chris Paul the 2000s; Kyrie Irving and James Harden the 2010s; Irving and Luka Doncic the 2020s. Irving’s 2020s note calls him “the finest ball-handler who ever lived.”

The misread. The scoring champion is not automatically the best handler. George Gervin’s 1970s card reads “27.2 PPG · scoring title, 1978,” but the Iceman scored on finger rolls and jumpers, and Maravich and Monroe handle it far better in the same pool. Assists don’t prove it either: Mark Jackson’s 1990s note — “Backed you down for 20 seconds, then found the shooter” — describes an elite passer, not a dribble artist.

Finishing

Converting near the basket: layups, dunks, post moves, floaters, the skyhook. Elite finishers are the players defenses fouled rather than let score; a weakness is the jump-shooting specialist who rarely got to the rim.

In the build. Finishing is the base of rim pressure, and Athleticism decides how much of it survives — around 70 percent behind a punchline athlete, all of it behind an all-time one. Lob City pairs it with Athleticism; Post Office with Playmaking. Rim pressure weighs most for centers and power forwards and least for point guards, the mirror image of shot creation.

Who sets the standard. Wilt Chamberlain and Elgin Baylor in the 1960s; Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Julius Erving in the 1970s; Kareem, Kevin McHale and Adrian Dantley in the 1980s; Shaquille O’Neal across the 1990s and 2000s; then LeBron James and Giannis Antetokounmpo, with Zion Williamson joining them in the 2020s.

The misread. Hops are not finishing. Spud Webb won a dunk contest at 5-foot-7, and his finishing is modest at best — the dunk title is an Athleticism clue. Volume shooters mislead the same way: Reggie Miller scored from distance, and his finishing is ordinary.

Playmaking

Vision and passing: creating shots for teammates and running an offense, judged independently of how much a player scored. Elite playmakers bend an offense around their reads; a weakness is a finisher or shooter who ends possessions rather than starting them.

In the build. Playmaking counts twice: inside offense, and again directly in the final OVR blend. That direct share skips the diminishing-returns curve, so once the rest of a build is strong, a point of playmaking buys more OVR than a point of anything else at every target except center, where Defense still edges it. It anchors Gravity Well and Post Office, and point guards weight it most.

Who sets the standard. Oscar Robertson in the 1960s; Nate Archibald and Kevin Porter in the 1970s; Magic Johnson, the 1980s measuring stick; John Stockton in the 1990s; Steve Nash, Jason Kidd and Chris Paul in the 2000s; Paul and Rajon Rondo in the 2010s; Nikola Jokic in the 2020s.

The misread. Playmaking is not a point-guard monopoly. Jokic is a center, Bill Walton’s 1970s note says he “passed like a point guard,” and Arvydas Sabonis and Chris Webber rate as real playmakers from the frontcourt. The reverse trap is the score-first guard with a decent assist number: Allen Iverson’s “31.1 PPG · 5.4 APG · MVP” is a far better answer in the Handles round than in this one.

Defense

Stopping people: on the ball, at the rim, in the passing lanes and on the switch. Elite defenders changed what opponents tried at all; the bottom bands belong to scorers and stretch bigs whose teams hid them.

In the build. Defense is the only skill that carries a whole side of the formula alone. Offense is split among three ingredients; your defensive score is your one Defense steal, scaled by Athleticism (which keeps roughly four-fifths of it behind a punchline athlete). It is over a third of a Best Player OVR and half of a center’s, so for an ordinary build at any target but point guard it is the most valuable skill of the six. No-Fly Zone, which lands on that whole score, is usually the strongest two-skill synergy.

Who sets the standard. Bill Russell is the measuring stick. Walt Frazier and Bill Walton define the 1970s; Sidney Moncrief, Michael Cooper and Mark Eaton the 1980s; Hakeem Olajuwon, Scottie Pippen and Dikembe Mutombo the 1990s; Ben Wallace and Bruce Bowen the 2000s; Kawhi Leonard and Tony Allen the 2010s; Victor Wembanyama, Draymond Green and Alex Caruso the 2020s.

The misread. Rebounds are not defense. Kevin Love and Enes Kanter in the 2010s pool and Zach Randolph in the 2000s pool post big rebounding lines and are liabilities here; Kanter’s note says his defense was “a rumor with a forwarding address.” Real stoppers barely register in a box score: Bowen’s line is “6.6 PPG · corner three · the toes.”

Athleticism

Speed, lift, explosion and the motor to use them. Elite athletes are the dunk-contest names and the guards who got end to end in a blink; a weakness is the below-the-rim craftsman.

In the build. Athleticism never counts by itself. It scales Finishing into rim pressure and Defense into the defensive score, and it unlocks Lob City and No-Fly Zone. As the last round, it is the one steal you make knowing who supplied the rest: a great athlete behind elite finishing and defense multiplies both and may tip you into a synergy; behind weak ones, he has little to amplify. Center and power-forward targets lean on it most.

Who sets the standard. Wilt Chamberlain in the 1960s; Julius Erving and David Thompson in the 1970s; Michael Jordan, the measuring stick, in the 1980s; Shawn Kemp in the 1990s; LeBron James and Dwight Howard in the 2000s; Giannis, Russell Westbrook and Zach LaVine in the 2010s; Ja Morant and Anthony Edwards in the 2020s.

The misread. Great defenders are not automatically great athletes. Mark Eaton’s 1980s card is a Defensive Player of the Year with “5.6 BPG,” and his athleticism is a punchline; Tim Duncan and Jokic won with craft, not lift. Age matters too: a late-career card does not keep a player’s prime bounce, so the 2000s Wizards Jordan is a different athlete from the 1990s Bulls one.

How ratings travel across decades

Every decade uses the same scale, but each pool was written with its era in mind. The 1960s pool keeps the set-shot era honest: most jumpshots are modest by design, with West, Sam Jones and Paul Arizin as the deliberate exceptions, while its centers carry towering finishing and defense because the sport ran through them. The 2020s pool reflects skill inflation — nearly everyone shoots, including most bigs — yet the rim-running center without a jumper stays a punchline on purpose.

A consistency check sits on top. Renowned specialists — famous leapers, all-time shooters, Defensive Players of the Year, historic ball-handlers, elite table-setters — are guaranteed an elite rating at their specialty in their prime, whichever pool the card comes from. It is a floor, not a promotion, and it is tied to the decade and, on franchise rosters, to specific prime stints. The deep-bench franchise cards, generated from historical box scores, get the opposite treatment: caps stop a tiny sample of perfect shooting from passing for all-time finishing.