The Aesthetic: Tyrese Maxey and the NBA's best ground game

There is a certain optical illusion that happens when an explosive running back hits a hole. From our shot-for-television perspective, we can see the set-up, the stutter step to align timing and trajectory with the quarterback, the hand-off and then the running back disappearing into the mass of bodies at the line of scrimmage, seeking a window of space that is invisible from our elevated, perpendicular viewpoint.

And then, when things work as intended, they come bursting back into view, accelerating out of the scrum at what feels like superhuman speed. For many of football's transcendent rushers, it's the product of honest-to-goodness magic, the kind of outlier acceleration that separates sports heroes from NFL NPCs. But it also seems faster because they've briefly disappeared from view and are suddenly sprinting out of the void, in the opposite direction, away from the giants who have been pushing upfield trying to close the gaps they've blasted through.

It's the illusion of time suspended, a blink spell that allows one person to slip through, against the flow of time and space while momentum carries the defense, inexorably, toward a target that has already escaped their grasp.

Different sport, different dynamic; but this season I've been getting the same vibes from watching Tyrese Maxey attack the basket.

The Aesthetic is an irregular column series, treating basketball as a purely artistic medium. Check out the entire project at A Unified Theory of Basketball.

Tyrese Maxey is in the midst of a breakout season. His scoring and assists have taken huge leaps with an increase in offensive responsibility. His energy is an engine for the 76ers' offense (even if he's often just sprinting into a high-post entry pass or dribble hand-off and the slow creep of a Joel Embiid isolation).

All of that development has been fueled by his increasingly precise touch around the basket and creative body control in the air, burgeoning awareness of the halfcourt chessboard, the ability to bend the game to his own internal chronometer and an already rock-solid jumper whose legacy and gravity builds with every make. But the most striking tool in Maxey's basketball toolbox is still pure burst, the ability to change directions and summon acceleration against the grain of a defense.

Watch how he fakes the dribble hand-off to Tobias Harris and then sprints past four Magic defenders before anyone realizes what's happened.

Or how he explodes past Nickeil Alexander-Walker and then beats Karl-Anthony Towns to a spot, even though Towns has an 18-foot head start.

A high-screen, a mass of bodies, and suddenly he's out the other side like a rocket, like Adrian Peterson with a head full of steam.

The geometry of an NBA court means we don't ever really get to see Maxey at top speed. By the time he's beaten the defense, he's already slowing down to adjust his launch angle for the layup or dunk. He never gets the chance to burn through a secondary, losing a safety with a slight shift of the shoulders and then out-running everyone to the end zone. But in a way, it makes what he does even more impressive. Imagine if, instead of bowling over a linebacker, Derrick Henry had to stop on a dime, drop from 60 to 0 in one stride and then drop in a teardrop floater.

The power running game has, arguably, never been less essential to the NFL than it is right now and it seems like a rarity in the NBA as well. Everyone is airing it out on offense and 3-pointers are at an all-time high.

There are still elite drivers but Shai Gilgeous-Alexander, Luka Doncic and Giannis Antetokounmpo beat their defenders one-on-one with footwork, timing, length and body control — more like elite wide receivers isolating against a lockdown corner. Jalen Brunson and Cade Cunningham have power in their drives, but they're not blasting past contact, they're seeking it and carrying it — three yards and a cloud of dust. De'Aaron Fox is Devin Hester, trying to turn every defensive rebound into an all-out sprint to the promised land. Trae Young is ... a backup quarterback running the wildcat on every down and trying to draw a roughing the passer penalty?

But I'm not sure anyone uses their blockers quite lik Tyrese Maxey, setting up a lane and then exploding through it. In aesthetic terms, it's a beautiful incongruity, a familiar and breathtaking feet of athleticism transposed into a different setting. But in practical terms, I think it matters for the Philadelphia 76ers.

Joel Embiid is incredibly agile for his size but it's the way his touch and agility and backed by incredible force that makes him so effective. They can all do similar things but Embiid's strength and power are what set him apart from the finesse of Karl-Anthony Towns or Chet Holmgren. All that creates lumbering, plodding quality to the 76ers, again, even if Embiid is light on his feet. Even his jumpers present like overhand haymakers from a heavyweight.

Maxey's burst, his vision, his ability to see space and then move his body through it before the defense can close the gap gives the 76ers a big-play ability they've never really hard in the Embiid era. The big man's gift is doing the impossible, scoring over and through a defense with no visible seams, no obvious holes to exploit. Maxey's gift is finding those holes and turning them into something easy, a footrace to the rim that he's going to win more often than not.