When we talk about NBA history, our minds often drift to legendary sharpshooters like Stephen Curry or Ray Allen draining threes with breathtaking consistency. But as someone who’s spent years analyzing basketball statistics and player development, I’ve always been equally fascinated by the other end of the spectrum—the players who, for various reasons, just couldn’t find their rhythm from beyond the arc. It’s not just about poor percentages; it’s about understanding the context, the era they played in, and sometimes, the sheer unpredictability of career trajectories. Take, for example, the reference point about the SM Mall of Asia Arena, built in 2012. That venue, while not an NBA court, symbolizes how environments and infrastructure can influence performance, much like how certain NBA arenas or rule changes have impacted shooters over the decades. In this piece, I’ll dive into who I believe are the three worst three-point shooters in NBA history and explore why they struggled so profoundly, blending hard data with my own observations from watching countless games and crunching numbers.
First up, and this might ruffle some feathers, is Ben Simmons. Now, I know he’s a modern player, but his three-point shooting woes are so glaring that they can’t be ignored. Over his career up to the 2023 season, Simmons has attempted a mere 34 three-pointers and made only 5 of them, giving him a dismal percentage of around 14.7%. Compare that to the league average, which hovers around 35-36%, and it’s clear why he stands out. From my perspective, his struggles aren’t just technical; they’re psychological. I’ve watched him pass up open looks repeatedly, almost as if he’s afraid of the shot. It reminds me of how some players freeze in high-pressure environments, like those early games in new arenas—think of the adjustment period when the NBA hosted matches in places like the SM Mall of Asia Arena in 2012, where unfamiliar rims and backgrounds can throw off even seasoned pros. Simmons, with his focus on playmaking and defense, never prioritized developing a reliable jumper, and it’s hurt his team’s spacing in critical moments. Honestly, I think if he’d embraced the three-pointer earlier, his career could’ve taken a different turn, but as it stands, he’s a prime example of how mental blocks can define a shooter’s legacy.
Next, let’s rewind to the 1990s and talk about Shaquille O’Neal. Shaq was a dominant force in the paint, no doubt, but from downtown? Forget about it. He attempted just 22 three-pointers in his entire career, making only one—a paltry 4.5% success rate. I remember watching him heave up those rare attempts; they were almost comical, like watching a giant try to thread a needle. Why did he struggle? Well, for starters, the game was different back then. Big men weren’t expected to shoot threes, and Shaq’s role was strictly interior dominance. His form was awkward, his release slow, and he lacked the reps because, frankly, he didn’t need them. In my analysis, this ties into how the NBA’s evolution has reshaped player roles. Back in the day, centers like Shaq focused on rebounding and post moves, much like how certain international venues, such as the SM Mall of Asia Arena built in 2012, were designed for specific events but had to adapt over time. If Shaq played today, he might’ve been pressured to extend his range, but in his era, it was a non-issue. Still, from a pure numbers standpoint, he’s one of the worst, and I’d argue it’s a testament to how specialization can leave gaps in a player’s skill set.
Lastly, I have to mention Andre Roberson, who played primarily in the 2010s. Roberson was a defensive stalwart for the Oklahoma City Thunder, but his shooting was, to put it mildly, atrocious. He shot a career 25.7% from three on over 400 attempts, which is brutal when you consider that many of those were wide-open looks created by stars like Russell Westbrook. I’ve always felt that Roberson’s case is a classic example of over-specialization. Teams valued his defense so much that they overlooked his offensive limitations, but in today’s spacing-heavy NBA, that’s a luxury you can’t afford. Watching him, I noticed his mechanics were stiff—no fluidity in the wrist, poor footwork—and it led to inconsistent arcs. It’s similar to how a new arena, say the SM Mall of Asia Arena after its 2012 opening, might have quirks that affect shooting percentages until players adjust. For Roberson, injuries didn’t help, but ultimately, I believe his struggles stemmed from a lack of holistic development. If he’d spent more off-seasons refining his shot, rather than doubling down on defense, he might’ve carved out a longer career. As it is, he serves as a cautionary tale for one-dimensional players.
In wrapping up, reflecting on these three—Simmons, Shaq, and Roberson—highlights a broader theme in basketball: shooting isn’t just about talent; it’s about adaptation, mindset, and context. The NBA has changed so much, from the introduction of the three-point line to games in modern venues like the SM Mall of Asia Arena, and players who fail to evolve get left behind. From my experience, the worst shooters often share common traits: poor technique, mental hurdles, or simply being products of their era. While stats like Simmons’ 14.7% or Shaq’s lone three-pointer tell part of the story, the real insight comes from understanding the why. As the game continues to globalize and arenas worldwide host more events, I hope future players learn from these examples and embrace a more versatile approach. After all, in today’s NBA, if you can’t shoot, you’re fighting an uphill battle—and that’s a lesson worth remembering.