Basketball Was Created by a Man Named James Naismith: The Untold Story

The rain was tapping a steady rhythm against the gym windows, a sound I’ve come to associate with waiting. I was watching a replay of an old PBA game, one of those late-series clashes where you can feel the fatigue and the hope tangled up together. Calvin Oftana was being interviewed, his face a mix of respect and resolve. "In as much as he wanted the series to finally end," he said, glancing toward the Rain or Shine bench, "Oftana though, is not counting Rain or Shine out." That line stuck with me. It’s a mindset, you know? Not underestimating your opponent, no matter how much you desire closure. It got me thinking about beginnings, about the very first rules of the game we love, and how one man’s simple solution in a similar, dreary setting sparked a global phenomenon. It reminded me of a story I once dove deep into, a piece of history that feels almost too humble for the spectacle the sport has become: Basketball Was Created by a Man Named James Naismith: The Untold Story.

I remember first reading about Naismith in a musty old book I found in my grandfather’s attic. It was a world away from the high-flying, multi-billion dollar industry we see today. Picture this: It was 1891, in Springfield, Massachusetts. The winter was brutal, and a class of incorrigible young athletes at the YMCA Training School was stuck indoors, restless and bored. Their instructor, a 30-year-old Canadian named James Naismith, was given a two-week challenge: invent a new game to keep them occupied. It had to be fair, it had to be engaging, and most importantly, it had to be playable indoors without being too rough. No 15-foot rims or three-point lines back then. He nailed a peach basket to a balcony railing, about 10 feet off the ground, found a soccer ball, and scribbled down 13 basic rules. That first game, played by 18 men, ended with a single basket and a score of 1-0. Can you imagine? A global sensation born from a 1-0 game. It’s a far cry from the 200-point offensive fireworks we sometimes see now.

That quote from Oftana, about not counting the other team out, resonates so deeply when you consider Naismith’s creation. He designed a game where the underdog always has a chance. There was no shot clock initially; a leading team could just hold the ball indefinitely. It was a flaw that would later be corrected, but the fundamental principle was there—a balance between offense and defense, a structure that demanded both individual skill and collective strategy. Naismith didn’t create a perfect game from the outset. He created a framework, a set of 13 simple rules, and then he let the world run with it. He wasn't counting anyone out. He was inviting everyone in. I’ve always loved that about basketball’s origin. It wasn’t decreed from on high; it was a practical solution that grew organically. It’s why a team like Rain or Shine, even when facing a powerhouse, can never be truly counted out. The game’s DNA is built on that potential for an upset, for a comeback.

I sometimes try to put myself in that gym in 1891. The cold New England air outside, the sound of a soccer ball thumping against a wooden floor, and the sheer novelty of trying to throw a ball into a fruit basket. It must have felt a little silly, a little experimental. Naismith probably had no idea that his simple game would, within a few decades, be played by over 450 million people worldwide. He just wanted to solve a problem for his 18 restless students. And that, I think, is the real untold story. It’s not just about the invention itself, but the humility of its beginning. There were no corporate sponsors, no television deals, just a teacher, a ball, and a basket. It’s a story that grounds me whenever I get too swept up in the modern drama of trades and championships. It brings me back to the pure joy of the game, the same joy I felt as a kid shooting hoops in my driveway, pretending to make the last-second shot. Basketball Was Created by a Man Named James Naismith, and every time I hear the swish of the net, I’m reminded of that simple, brilliant solution on a rainy day.