NBA Jerseys in Biggest Need of a Redesign

There's nothing like an NBA uniform to make you question what decade you're in. For every look that gets it right, there are two or three that might be getting it right in the 1970s or '80s. 

Others look pretty bad from any historical vantage point (sorry, Orlando).

The New Orleans Pelicans didn't have much of a choice about changing uniforms. There's a new bird in town, and the duds need to reflect that. While I wasn't convinced by the decision to make this operation about the Pelicans, I do like the look. It has a distinctly NOLA vibe, minus the smell. Which is a good thing.

While other organizations do have a choice about changing uniforms, many are making the wrong one. 

We can sit idly by while these eye-sores tarnish the franchises we hold near and dear. We could wait for players to get fed up or for their owners to get wise. We can keep promising the next generation a better tomorrow, where every single uniform in this league looks spiffy, where every logo proudly pops.

Or we can do something about it.

Better yet, we can pretend to do something about it.

Atlanta Hawks

This jersey is great, a model toward which other jerseys should strive. Whoever's idea it was to replace the word "Atlanta" with "ATL" should be promoted. They should be in charge of any and all responsibilities requiring good taste. This one's a winner.

I'm also digging the font, which is significant given the prevalence of the mind-bogglingly tacky fonts on jerseys these days.

Now all the Hawks have to do is destroy all of their other jerseys—especially the blue one.

One minor issue: that blotch of navy blue under the arms—what's going on there? It's almost a stripe, but then it just kind of stops. It looks like a sewing accident.  

Milwaukee Bucks

The only thing I don't like about the Milwaukee Bucks' uniform is that it makes me feel like I'm in a forest—camping, lost or living a real-life version of the Blair Witch Project. 

Otherwise, they're fine. Fine in the most predictable, "where does this team play again?" kind of way. The Milwaukee Bucks need to do something to stand out, to differentiate themselves from the rest of pack and cut symbolic ties with all that middling recent history.

My solution is for the organization to hold a contest for local artists to see who designs the best new jersey. The prize (tons of stuff autographed by Brandon Jennings that's going to get thrown out otherwise) goes to whichever design depicts the scariest, most intimidating image of deer—perhaps a "Revenge of Bambi" motif—something that would communicate that "We're not your No. 8 seed anymore" sentiment (however inaccurate said sentiment may be).

The Bucks may find themselves in another first-round battle with the Miami Heat, but this time LeBron and Co. will be thoroughly confused about what they're looking at.

Utah Jazz

OK, Utah, this is between me and that "J" of yours. You know, the one that doesn't look anything like a "J." The "azz" coming afterward is the only reason I know it spells Jazz. What you do with your logo is your own business, but I have to see these jerseys every single time I fall asleep watching a Jazz game.

Just kidding—I love the Jazz.

But we've got to do something about this uniform. That's no laughing matter.

The difficulty going forward is designing a jersey that's contemporary and fashionable while still ostensibly related to jazz. It's a difficulty, you see, because nobody actually listens to jazz. One option is changing the logo to a photo of Kenny G's face, but that's the worst option ever. The only other thing I associate with jazz is elevators at Macy's, which is hard to convey graphically—though perhaps worth the attempt.

So how about this. How about throwing tradition to the wind and—while we're changing the uniforms—coming up with a new nickname for the franchise altogether?

Maybe something that actually has to do with Utah.

Sacramento Kings

There's a reason the Sacramento Kings only used the two-toned purple and black jersey for one season. Even in the early '90s—when Mark Wahlberg was doing this—someone, somewhere realized they were making a huge mistake.

Their counterparts—the primary road jersey—are an improvement insofar as they aren't ridiculous. But be warned: They are even purpler. So purple, in fact, that they ranked atop at least one list of professional sports' worst uniforms. That list included hockey.

Sacramento's solution is within tantalizing reach.

The black alternate jerseys. They're almost right on the mark. The retro-looking Kings inscription is the right idea, but I'd tone it down even more, simplifying the overly wavy cursive and abolishing that crown-punctuation for the "i" in Kings. Nothing an afternoon of knitting can't fix.

Orlando Magic

You know what's never, ever made me think of magic?

Stripes.

Not once. But whatever you want to say about the merits and historical staying power of the stripe, it's primarily the opportunity cost I'm concerned about. There's so much more you can do to a jersey, so much fabric with which to make magic.

I say we make some magic, a design that screams "I'm going to Disney World!...Just after we get out of the draft lottery, rebuild, make it back to the playoffs and win a title. Then, maybe, if we're still feeling like it...we're going to Disney World!"

It should scream all of that. The Orlando Magic are the single best argument for the NBA allowing ads on jerseys. Finally a legitimate excuse to cover Nikola Vucevic in Disney characters.

Phoenix Suns

Goran Dragic's face speaks volumes. Is he worried about measuring up to Steve Nash's legacy? Bummed about being part of a rebuild? Remembering simpler times? Dragic's feelings aside, Phoenix Suns fans won't get over Nash without a radical new redesign. 

And I mean radical—maybe doing away with all "sunny" imagery altogether, replacing it with sad rain clouds and just a faint ray of sunshine piercing through. If you look closely enough into those rain clouds, maybe you can just barely make out the shape of Nash's face. 

In other words, these are difficult times. The Nash era never lived up to its fullest potential, and life thereafter has only made Suns fans more appreciative of what they once had. 

Whoever just designed the Suns' new logos is going to be really mad about having to start all over again. 

Minnesota Timberwolves

If cartoony, non-threatening fonts are your idea of a good time, the Minnesota Timberwolves' jerseys have you covered. Even the much-improved black alternates don't make up for that font—especially with the blue piping thwarting their attempts at a bold, sleek design.

Minnesota's not far off.

Finding a better font won't be hard. The appropriate decision-makers literally just need to take the next font they see, wherever they are, whatever they're doing. That font will be better. I'd guarantee that but for the risk said decision-makers could conceivably be doing exactly what they were doing when they came up with the original font...like intently studying the Big Book of Fonts You Wouldn't Wish on Your Worst Enemy.

Eradicating the slate blue may be a tougher sell. It dominates the primary road uniforms, and it's one of the team's core colors. 

No one said this was going to be easy.