What If the Worst Team Got the First Pick Every Time? How the NBA Would Change Without the Lottery’s Chaos

Imagine an NBA where there’s no ping-pong ball drama, no lottery luck, and no chance for a mid-tier team to jump the line. Instead, if you’re the worst team in the league, the rules are simple: you get the No. 1 pick. Period. No surprises. No statistical hedging. Just pure justice—or perhaps, pure chaos.

In this version of the NBA, Cooper Flagg wouldn’t be lighting it up in Dallas beside Dereck Lively and Luka Dončić. No, he’d be building something from the bottom up in Salt Lake City, wearing the colors of a Jazz team that just slogged through a 17-win season. Instead of joining a franchise on the verge of something special, he’d be the cornerstone of a total rebuild.

Zaccharie Risacher? Forget walking into a rising Atlanta team with a star like Trae Young to shoulder the load. He’s headed to Detroit. Yes, that Detroit—the same team that’s spent most of the last decade stuck in a slow rebuild with more top-five picks than playoff wins. The Motor City would now hold rights to the top French talent back-to-back. First Wembanyama, then Risacher. That’s a different kind of basketball renaissance for a city that once defined toughness and titles.

Rewind even further. Victor Wembanyama—the generational unicorn—wouldn’t be in San Antonio soaking in Gregg Popovich’s legendary wisdom. No, under this system, he would’ve gone to the worst team in 2023. That’s right: Detroit again. Imagine Cade Cunningham, Jaden Ivey, and Wemby on the same roster. A three-headed rebuild monster, rising from the depths with youth, length, and limitless potential.

What about 2022? Paolo Banchero would be dazzling in Houston red instead of Magic blue. He’d be putting up 20+ points a night for a Rockets team in desperate need of identity. Without the lottery, he’d have joined Jalen Green, Alperen Şengün, and the rest of the Rockets’ high-ceiling roster. In a city that’s seen basketball highs and lows, he might already be the face of a new era.

There’s something deeply fair about this hypothetical. The worst teams—those suffering from brutal losing streaks, thin rosters, and fledgling fan interest—would finally get their chance to draft the guy. The can’t-miss. The future. The light at the end of the tunnel. No heartbreak. No missed leaps. No watching teams that finished eight spots higher celebrate a draft jackpot.

This world favors patience and punishes mediocrity. It tells teams: if you’re bad enough, for long enough, you will be rewarded. And maybe that’s how it should be.

But then… doesn’t it also risk something sacred?

The NBA Draft Lottery, for all its controversy, injects uncertainty into a system that could otherwise feel predictable. When the lottery balls drop, it’s as if the league momentarily suspends logic and invites in a bit of madness. It’s how Orlando went from 11th to first in 1993 to snag Penny Hardaway. It’s how the Cavaliers rebuilt post-LeBron not once, but twice—thanks to unexpected lottery fortune.

Under this “worst team gets the top pick” model, that chaos is gone. There’s no suspense. No lottery night drama. No franchises leaping the odds. Just straight standings and a preordained draft board.

But maybe the biggest downside? It incentivizes tanking in a way even today’s system tries to prevent. The flattened lottery odds introduced in 2019 were designed to stop teams from racing to the bottom. If the reward for finishing last is a 14% shot at the top pick—not a guarantee—it discourages blatant tanking. But if that pick becomes guaranteed? What stops a struggling franchise from shutting everyone down by January?

Coaches? Fired. Veterans? Traded. The G-League guys take center stage, not because they’ve earned it—but because losing becomes profitable.

Yet, some would argue that’s a price worth paying. Rewarding the worst teams might create more parity long term. Teams stuck in irrelevance could escape quicker. Front offices would plan more deliberately, knowing there’s no gamble involved. A clear timeline. A clear goal.

In this alternate world, the 2021 draft would’ve been altered too. Instead of Cade Cunningham in Detroit, he’d be in Houston. The Pistons, meanwhile, would’ve gotten their top pick in 2023 and again in 2024. Their fate drastically altered. Houston, too, might be contending already with Cade, Paolo, and Jabari Smith Jr. forming an elite young core.

Think about 2018. The Phoenix Suns were the worst team—and they did get Deandre Ayton. But what if that continued every year? Luka Dončić (who went 3rd that year) would’ve gone to Sacramento instead of Dallas. How would that ripple across the league?

The Warriors dynasty might have been delayed or disrupted. Luka’s presence could’ve changed the Western hierarchy. The Kings, long a franchise of missed opportunities, might’ve had their face of the future earlier.

And in 2003? Cleveland still finished with the league’s worst record, so LeBron likely still lands there. But in 2007, when Portland took Greg Oden No. 1, what if the worst team wasn’t them, but Boston? Does Kevin Durant go green instead? And does that change the entire trajectory of the Celtics, Thunder, and later, the Warriors?

The lottery’s randomness doesn’t just shuffle talent—it reshapes eras.

Still, the fairness argument persists. Why should a team that finished 12th from the bottom get a crack at the No. 1 pick? Why should a franchise that tried to compete and failed barely miss the playoffs—and land a franchise-altering player?

In this “worst gets first” model, you remove ambiguity. The rules are clear. The rebuilds are focused. The worst teams rise faster. The suffering has a purpose.

But maybe the NBA isn’t built for fairness. Maybe, just maybe, it thrives on unpredictability.

Because even though fans groan every time a big-market team jumps up or a rebuilding project stalls, they watch. They tune in. They argue. They analyze. The lottery night isn’t just about odds—it’s about belief. About hope. About what could be.

A no-lottery world would be logical. Predictable. Strategic.

But would it be magical?

Would kids still dream of their favorite team landing the next LeBron or Wemby if the outcome was known by mid-April?

Would fans still flood social media with reactions, or debate conspiracies, or feel heartbreak and joy simultaneously when that envelope is opened?

Would the draft matter in the same way?

It’s a fascinating what-if.

The NBA has long danced between fairness and flair, justice and drama, balance and bedlam. Maybe the lottery is part of the magic. Maybe luck—and the chaos that comes with it—isn’t a flaw. Maybe it’s the point.

But just for a second, imagine: The team that suffers most, gets most. The worst team wins something real. The rebuild begins at rock bottom—with certainty.

That’s a different kind of NBA.

That’s an NBA where the light at the end of the tunnel is brighter, clearer, and guaranteed to shine.