The NBA may or may not have an officiating crisis. But it definitely has a crisis of confidence, which is the only kind that matters.

Even in the age of big data and AI-generated LeBron songs, we still do not have a reliable way to track if an NBA game was officiated well. This isn’t automatic balls and strikes; we’re talking about whether Giannis Antetokounmpo’s elbow intentionally struck Al Horford in the head during that poster dunk, if Shai Gilgeous-Alexander initiated contact when his defender stupidly jumped at a pump fake for the 19th time, whether Jaden McDaniels gave Jamal Murray adequate landing space on his shot despite every player jumping different distances when they shoot and McDaniels understandably is not staring at Murray’s feet when he’s shooting a three. That kind of stuff.

So people clamor for accountability. Players freak out, including Devin Booker saying in a press conference that Alex Caruso asked the ref to call a technical on Booker and he just did for some reason? Fans of teams that feel they got jobbed lose it, demanding changes (what changes?), oversight (how?) and to please please please stop allowing Gilgeous-Alexander to magnet-pull himself to a defender and get two free throws!

But refereeing is such a stupid concept that there is no possibility to improve, only to complicate. Sure, we have Last Two Minutes reports, but those are simply compiled by other referees offering a different interpretation with the assistance of slow-motion replay — or as I like to call them, completely useless since no referee could ever review every single call of the last two minutes in slow-mo in real time lest they want to make the game completely unwatchable.

Refereeing basketball games is not an exact science; in fact, it’s probably not a science at all. When you consider all the contact, all the dust-ups, all the arm-flailing, all the pump-fake magnetism and all the floppity flops, officiating this environment is far closer to oil painting than it is mathematical proofs. Fouls are interpretations of a fluid game in which contact is legal, and referees must use words like “wind-up,” “follow-through,” “incidental,” and “reckless” (what does any of that mean?) to determine if something is a foul, a flagrant, a technical or nothing at all.

In short, there is really no way to officiate a sport where contact is kind of legal. It’s not like football and hockey (which have plenty of officiating problems), where contact is mostly legal and something has to be fairly heinous to result in a foul for being too physical; basketball allows contact to a certain extent. What that extent is has evolved over time, such as throwing elbows, hand checking, the block-charge and more fun stuff we all complain about. All NBA refs are really doing is trying to keep the game safe and reasonably fair; an impossible task, but one they are heroically trusted with anyway.

The NBA has thus complicated officiating to no end, only watering the roots of an issue that have continued to grow. A blatantly incorrect reading of this situation is that the Oklahoma City Thunder foul-bait more than any other team — they were 17th in free throw attempts per game this season. Nor is it statistically provable to say that teams foul-bait more than ever, as team fouls-per-game has gone down sharply in recent NBA history.

But teams have exploited the infinite complication of officiating to great effect, notably how pace, size and explosive super-athletes can create impossibly subjective interactions. Gilgeous-Alexander bears the brunt of this criticism, given that he’s likely about to be the league’s back-to-back MVP winner, but he wasn’t even first in free-throw attempts this season. Everyone does it, and I think we really peaked with 2022 Giannis Antetokounmpo, who, for two playoff rounds, barreled into Nikola Vucevic and Grant Williams and whoever else dared to oppose him with impossible speed, power and extreme arm-angles that were always some kind of foul. On who? On Giannis? Who knew.

The root problem is that a shooting foul is the most valuable offensive action in basketball. With league-average shooting percentages, two free throws have an expected point-value of 1.57, while a three-pointer is worth 1.08 points and an at-rim look worth 1.20 points (shoutout to Ian Levy for pointing this out to me; it changed my life). If you can get your free-throw percentage up above average (>78 percent), now we’re really cooking something spicy. Gilgeous-Alexander shoots 88 percent from the line, so by far his best option on every possession is to get to the line.

Like with tanking and the draft lottery, if the NBA’s rules provide a clear best option to succeed, smart players and teams will always figure out how to maximize their return. It’s like when the MLB figured out walks were actually good — whatever macho man mentality (and steroids) sustained the “always swing and swing for power” world died in the darkness wrought by sabermetrics and taking a 3-1 fastball that’s a little high.

The NBA public freaking out about officiating these playoffs doesn’t actually want fewer fouls, they just want fouls to feel like fouls — you know, things that aren’t allowed, rather than the calculated, orchestrated manipulations of a subjective rule set and mathematical reality that they have become. A fix would be a point of emphasis from officials that radically expands the scope of “who initiated contact” and categorically refuse to call fouls when the offensive player visually initiates the interaction.

But we all know how that would end: teams and players would reset, take some time to analyze the situation and then find whatever the new best way to get to the free-throw line is. Short of a literal free-throw quota, an insane idea that would turn the game into gladiatorial combat, teams will figure out how to foul-bait even if foul-baiting is outlawed. But an emphasis against offensive player-initiated defensive fouls would be a good start, given that this is all a visual question anyway — as said before, the total number of fouls has decreased in recent years. We’re solving a crisis of confidence, not an actual crisis.

Sports have their own built-in honor codes that are unique and deeply personal, but not flopping is generally agreed upon as lame by the people of the world. And those same people will shed blood, sweat and tearful Tweets when they believe the sanctity of the game they love is under assault. Maybe it isn’t, but it looks like it is. And keeping up appearances is key.