The Story of the First Nike Basketball Shoe: A Complete History and Retrospective

The roar inside the Smart Araneta Coliseum on Tuesday night was a familiar kind of electricity, the sort that crackles when a team stares down the abyss of a straight-set defeat and decides, collectively, to rewrite the script. AKARI’s stunning reverse-sweep of Choco Mucho for the PVL bronze wasn’t just a volleyball match; it was a narrative masterpiece. It got me thinking about other foundational stories in sports, the ones where a seemingly inevitable outcome is upended by sheer force of will and a groundbreaking idea. And frankly, my mind immediately jumped from the hardwood court to the hardwood of a different kind—the basketball court of the 1970s, and the birth of a sneaker that would change everything. To truly appreciate a comeback, you sometimes have to go back to the very beginning. So, let’s talk about the story of the first Nike basketball shoe: a complete history and retrospective.

Before the Air Jordans, before the cultural behemoth, Nike was, in many ways, the underdog staring at a 0-2 deficit. The early 70s were dominated by Converse’s Chuck Taylor All Stars. They were the undisputed kings, the “Choco Mucho” of their era, holding a seemingly unassailable lead in market share and player endorsements. Nike, then known as Blue Ribbon Sports, was making waves in running with the Cortez, but basketball was a fortress they hadn’t breached. The game itself was changing, though. It was becoming faster, more aerial, demanding more from footwear than the simple canvas of the Chuck. The stage was set for an innovation, a Hail Mary play.

That play was called the “Nike Blazer,” released in 1973. It wasn’t called a “Nike” basketball shoe at the time; it was branded as the “Nike Bruin” initially, but the high-top version made for the court quickly became known by the name of its pioneering endorser: Portland Trail Blazers guard Geoff Petrie. This is where the magic happened. Nike did something radical. They took the classic, high-top silhouette everyone knew, but constructed it from a then-revolutionary combination of leather and suede. The difference was monumental. It offered better support, more durability, and a touch of premium style that canvas simply couldn’t match. It was their “25-15” third-set moment—a decisive shift in momentum built on a fundamental improvement in the product. Petrie, a sharp-shooting All-Star, was the perfect vessel for this new message. He wasn’t the biggest name in the league, but he was effective, modern, and represented a new direction, much like a key player off the bench sparking a turnaround.

I have to be honest, looking back, the Blazer seems almost quaint compared to today’s tech-laden beasts. No Air, no Zoom, no carbon fiber plates. But that’s missing the point entirely. Its innovation was contextual and profound. It was the first shoe to truly leverage an NBA player’s name in its marketing in a way that felt integrated, planting the seed for the endorsement empires to come. It signaled that Nike was serious about this game. I’ve held a vintage pair, and the weight of the leather, the robust construction—it feels like a tool, a piece of armor. It wasn’t about gimmicks; it was about building a better base. This foundational move allowed for everything that followed, from the Air Force 1 to the paradigm-shattering Air Jordan I. The Blazer was the gritty, determined win that gives a team the belief to chase a championship.

Which brings us back to the Araneta Coliseum. AKARI’s victory, clawing back from 24-26 and 21-25 to dominate the next three sets 25-15, 25-18, 15-11, is a sports parable. It’s about refusing to accept the pre-written story. In the same vein, Nike’s entry into basketball with the Blazer was a refusal to accept that Converse would own the category forever. They identified a weakness—the outdated materials—and attacked it with a superior solution. They found their “Geoff Petrie,” a key partner to validate their effort. The parallel is striking. Both stories are about a challenger using a focused, strategic adjustment to reverse a daunting tide. One happened in a single, breathless evening; the other unfolded over the course of a few seasons in the mid-70s. But the core DNA is identical: resilience, innovation, and a point-proven mentality.

In my view, we often glorify the peak—the championship rings, the Air Jordan IIIs of the world. But the first, scrappy win, the initial proof of concept, holds a different, more raw kind of power. The 1973 Nike Blazer didn’t dethrone Converse overnight, just as AKARI’s Game One win doesn’t guarantee future titles. But what it did was far more important: it changed the conversation. It announced a new player was in the game, capable of competing at the highest level. It laid the logistical and philosophical groundwork for a revolution. So, the next time you see a stunning comeback or lace up a pair of modern basketball sneakers, remember the blueprint. Remember the team that refused to lose in a bronze-medal match, and remember the leather-and-suede high-top that dared to dream big on the polished hardwood. Every dynasty, in sports or commerce, has its origin story, its own version of a reverse-sweep against the giants.