I’ve always had a tough time doing book reviews. I’m only able to devote a few minutes here and there to actually sitting down and reading, so it takes me a while to get through a typical book. Combine that with the kind of turnaround that people want for a (or any) review, and I often wonder if someone that claims to have read an entire book is actually telling the truth.

In the interest of full disclosure, when Bill Simmons’ 700-page The Book of Basketball landed on my front stoop, I decided then and there that I’d read the first few chapters and then post about it. After all, Christmas is coming up and people are probably wondering if this opus is a worthwhile gift for the beloved basketball fan in their life. (It is.)

Anyone familiar with Simmons’ work on ESPN knows that he’s an engaging writer who uses an easy-to-read, conversational style littered with funny pop culture references. His book is no different. As a former collegiate player, I often take exception to his knowledge of the game. I’m not talking about history — if there’s one thing that’s clear about this book, it’s that Simmons understands how the NBA got from Point A to Point Z.

I’m talking about things like his propensity to gripe about a player’s willingness to shoot three-pointers instead of attacking the rim. While his instincts are right that it’s better to penetrate, if the player in question suddenly starts to pass up every open three and attack the lane, defenders will adjust and play off of him, ultimately taking away (or better defending) his penetration. The player needs the threat of the three to keep defenders honest, even if he only makes 30% of his shots from downtown.

Here’s another example from page 121 of Chapter 3 — entitled “How the Hell Did We Get Here? — Simmons’ thorough history of how the NBA became what it is today. Here he discusses how Julius Erving was a terrible television analyst.

Julius Erving (’97). Hands down, the worst studio analyst of all time. And that’s a strong statement. Only two years before, Joe Montana appeared on NBC’s NFL show and may have been dead for all we knew. I remember waiting for Jonathan SIlverman and ANdrew McCarthy to jump in right before every commercial ad wheel Montana’s corpse out of the TV frame. Still, it wasn’t surprising that Montana stank–we didn’t like him for his personality, just for banging hot blondes and winning Super Bowls. It’s not like our expectations were high. But Doc was one of the few NBA stars to successfully strike that delicate balance between “articulate spokesman and ambassador” and “slick dude who lives for dunking on heads.” It was incomprehensible that Doc would suck on TV. Seeing him stammer awkwardly on the air, say nonsensical things like “Great players make great plays” and perform the deer-in-the-headlights routine was a little disarming. Every time the camera homed in on him, you could actually feel the tension in the studio. It was tangible. Before one Houston-Utah playoff game, Doc made history by predicting, “I think the key for Houston will be when Hakeem gets the ball , how fast he decides to either shoot, dribble or pass.” That’s an actual quote. I remember my old roommate Geoff and I spending the next fifteen minutes trying to determine what other options Hakeem could possibly have had on a basketball court, ultimately deciding on these: (a) turn the ball over, (b) call time out, (c) pass out, (d) shit on himself, or (e) drop dead. It was an unforgettable moment, as evidenced by the fact that I can remember where we were watching the game when it happened. Poor Dr. J. Some people just aren’t meant to be on television.

That excerpt pretty much sums up Simmons’ writing. There’s a reference to another sport (via Joe Montana) followed up by a humorous reference to “Weekend at Bernie’s.” There’s also an anecdotal, first-person account of a funny/strange event (Dr. J’s analysis) coupled with a first-name reference to one of his friends (Geoff).

Only his criticism of Erving’s analysis isn’t valid. Dr. J was talking about how quickly Hakeem decided to make a move; he wasn’t implying that there was more to do on the court than pass, dribble or shoot. As one of the greatest post players of his day, Olajuwon was constantly double-teamed. He had to either (a) make a quick post move and try to score before the other defender arrived, or (b) wait for the double team and pass the ball out, hoping to create an open shot for one of his teammates. Whatever route Hakeem chose would have a huge impact on any game in which he played. I’m not arguing that Erving was a good television analyst. Hell, I don’t even remember him in the studio. But in this case he was making a valid basketball point and 25 years later, Simmons still doesn’t get it.

Qualms aside, The Book of Basketball is an easy read. Simmons begins in the prologue with the story about how he first became a Celtics fan, discusses “The Secret” (unselfish play) in the first chapter, devotes the next chapter to what he describes as the unnecessary explanation of why Bill Russell was better than Wilt Chamberlain, tackles the “How the Hell Did We Get Here?” question in the third, ponders the 33 biggest “What-Ifs” in the fourth and ponders the legitimacy of all the MVP winners in the fifth. The next several chapters are dedicated to his “Hall of Fame Pyramid,” where he ranks the best players of all time. To close the book, he writes a chapter about the 20 best single-season teams in history, and creates an all-time team of 12 players who all know “The Secret” and would complement each other perfectly.

The Book of Basketball is a good buy for fans of his work on ESPN or NBA nuts who want a humorous (but informative) take on the league’s history.