What Does It Mean to Get Cut From an NBA Team?

I remember the first time I saw an NBA training camp cut happen in person. It was during my time working with a G League affiliate, and the moment felt like watching a balloon slowly deflate. The player—a second-round pick who’d shown flashes during summer league—got called into the office after morning shootaround. When he emerged twenty minutes later, his practice jersey was already off, and he carried a small duffel bag. Nobody needed to ask what happened. That image has stuck with me for years, partly because it’s so common yet so poorly understood from the outside. What does it really mean to get cut from an NBA team? Is it purely about talent, or are there invisible factors at play that fans never see?

Let me tell you about a specific case that changed how I view roster decisions. I once worked closely with an undrafted Filipino-American guard trying to make a roster spot. He wasn’t the most athletic guy on the floor, but he had this incredible feel for the game—the kind of player who always seemed to be half a second ahead mentally. During training camp, he asked the coaching staff exactly what they needed from him. Their response became something he later shared with me in his own words: "Tinanong nga niya ako kung ano puwedeng ibigay sa team. Sabi ko, basta galing sa puso, kahit ano naman ibigay mo sa team, basta willing ka." In translation, he emphasized that whatever you give the team, it must come from the heart, and willingness matters most. He lived that philosophy, diving for loose balls during meaningless scrimmages, staying late to help rookies learn plays. Yet when final cuts arrived, his name was on the list. The reason? The team had guaranteed contracts elsewhere and needed a third point guard with more vertical explosiveness. Statistically, he was shooting 48% from three during preseason, but the front office prioritized archetypes over individual excellence in that specific slot.

This situation highlights the brutal economics behind NBA cuts. Teams carry only 15 standard contracts during the regular season, with only about 510 total roster spots available across the league. When you consider that approximately 60 players get drafted each year plus another 100+ undrafted free agents fighting for spots, the math becomes terrifying. Getting cut isn’t always about being "bad" at basketball—sometimes you’re the 16th best player in a system that only values 15. I’ve seen All-Rookie team members from college waived because their skills overlapped with an established star. The emotional toll is massive too. These athletes have often dedicated 15+ years to reaching this level, only to be told they don’t fit—sometimes for reasons completely beyond their control like contract guarantees or positional logjams.

So what separates those who survive final cuts from those who don’t? From my observations, it’s about demonstrating irreplaceable value in narrow niches. The player I mentioned earlier eventually found his way back through a two-way contract, but only after reinventing himself as a defensive specialist. He spent 6 hours daily studying opponents’ offensive tendencies, something that didn’t show up in box scores but eventually caught the attention of analytics staff. That’s the paradox—to avoid being cut, you often need to become less of an all-around player and more of a surgical tool. The league currently values 3-and-D wings so highly that I’ve seen teams keep players shooting below 30% from deep simply because they have 7-foot wingspans that disrupt passing lanes. Meanwhile, skilled big men who can’t switch onto guards get waived despite putting up 12 points per game in preseason.

The solution isn’t just working harder—everyone at that level works hard. It’s about working differently. I now advise young players to identify one thing they can do better than 90% of the league and obsess over it. For some, that’s corner three-point shooting (where the league average is about 38% but specialists can hit 45%). For others, it’s offensive rebounding positioning or screen assists. The Filipino-American guard I mentioned eventually carved out a 5-year career by becoming arguably the best in the NBA at drawing charges—a tiny niche that kept him employed. Teams will forgive limitations if you have one elite skill that fits their ecosystem. What gets players cut is often being "good but not great" at multiple things while having no defining specialty.

Looking back at all the cuts I’ve witnessed, the ones that hurt most are always the players who took the "whatever comes from the heart" approach too literally. They gave everything emotionally but didn’t strategically align their development with market demands. The NBA isn’t fair—I’ve seen about 70% of cuts influenced by financial considerations rather than pure basketball merit. But the survivors understand that making a roster is like solving a puzzle where you need to be the exact missing piece. My advice to any player facing cut decisions? Study the roster like a general manager would. If the team already has three ball-dominant scorers, your 20-point preseason game matters less than your ability to space the floor or defend multiple positions. Getting cut doesn’t mean you’re not an NBA player—it often means you’re not the specific type of NBA player that particular organization needs at that exact moment. And as the league evolves with new CBA rules and advanced analytics, that calculus only becomes more nuanced and merciless.