Allen spins his wheels, stuck in neutral

"They're wondering why it's not going in - just like I am," said the ever-classy Allen.

You no doubt remember Ray Allen. He's one of the great pure shooters of all time. Smooth as hardened wax. Averaged 26.4 points per game just one year ago. Almost MVP of this year's All-Star Game. Card-carrying member of Boston's vaunted New Three.

When Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett, and Allen sat down for a group interview with ESPN, the players were asked which one they'd like to see take the last shot in a big game. Pierce and Garnett both said, "Ray." (Allen said, "The open man.")

In Game 7 against the Cavaliers Sunday, Allen wasn't even on the court for most of the fourth quarter. He'd lost his job to Eddie House. He'd shot himself to the bench. Brick by brick.

Allen connected on 33 percent of his shots in the conference semifinals, scoring a mere 9.3 points per game. Overall, he shot 38 percent in the first 14 playoff games. Now he's at 30 percent in Round 3.

Watching Allen miss wide-open shots and/or disappear is a little shocking. It not as bad as witnessing Willie Mays with the Mets in the 1973 World Series, but it's on the same path. It's a little like watching David Ortiz try to hit in the first few weeks of the 2008 baseball season. Ray looks lost. He looks like a man suffering a crisis of confidence.

It's a strange place for Ray Allen. His shot is his game. Shooters are not supposed to lose their confidence. Shooters always think the next shot is going in the basket. So why does Ray suddenly look like Jean Van de Velde on 18 at Carnoustie in the 1999 British Open?

Theories are legion . . . Ray is too old (32) . . . When you are a shooter, the legs go first, and Ray's legs are shot . . . The double ankle surgeries finally caught up with him . . . It's much harder to get open in the playoffs . . . Family issues are affecting his game (a convoluted murder plot involving Allen's father-in-law).