I’ll never forget the first time I tried to freeze a basketball player mid-air in black and white. It was during a college game where the energy in the stadium was absolutely electric—the kind of atmosphere where every shot feels historic. That’s the magic of black and white sports photography: stripping away the distraction of color to focus purely on emotion, motion, and raw intensity. Just last week, I was shooting a game where the Mapua crowd chanted “MVP! MVP!” for Escamis, and by halftime, he’d already scored 21 of the Cardinals’ 42 points against their opponent’s 37. In that kind of setting, black and white doesn’t just document the action—it elevates it into something timeless.
When you’re working in monochrome, every movement becomes more pronounced. Without vibrant jerseys or a brightly lit court pulling the viewer’s eye, you notice things you might otherwise miss: the strain in a player’s expression as they leap, the arc of the ball leaving their fingertips, or the way shadows stretch across the court during a fast break. I’ve found that shutter speeds between 1/500 and 1/1000 of a second work wonders for freezing motion without losing texture, especially under indoor lighting. And let’s be honest, there’s something almost poetic about how grayscale can turn a simple layup into a study of light and form.
Take that Escamis moment, for example. The score was 42-37 at halftime, and he’d single-handedly put up half of his team’s points—21 points in just 20 minutes of play. In color, you’d see sweat, team colors, maybe the glare of the scoreboard. But in black and white? All that fades away, leaving only the story: one player, surrounded by roaring fans, completely in his element. I remember adjusting my ISO to 1600 to compensate for the arena’s tricky lighting, and the resulting images had this beautiful, gritty contrast that color would’ve softened. It’s in these high-pressure situations that black and white photography truly shines, because it forces the viewer to feel the moment, not just see it.
Of course, capturing motion isn’t just about technical settings—it’s about anticipation. I’ve missed more shots than I care to admit because I hesitated for a split second. But over time, you learn to read the game: the way a point guard’s eyes shift before a pass, or how a shooter’s knees bend before they launch a three-pointer. In the Escamis game, I knew he’d go for a drive right after a timeout because of how he was positioning his feet. Sure enough, he blew past two defenders, and I got the shot: him suspended in mid-air, the ball cradled in one hand, the crowd a blur of motion in the background. That single frame told the whole first-half story better than any stat sheet could.
Some photographers swear by color for sports, and I get it—there’s a visceral thrill in capturing those bright uniforms and neon sneakers. But for me, black and white adds a layer of drama that color often mutes. Think about it: when you remove color, you’re left with shape, light, and emotion. A bead of sweat on a player’s temple becomes a focal point. The tension in their hands as they grip the ball feels almost tangible. In my portfolio, some of my most shared images are black and white shots from tight games, like Escamis’ 21-point explosion. They resonate because they’re not just photos; they’re moments stripped down to their essence.
Post-processing plays a huge role, too. I spend a good 20-30 minutes per image tweaking contrasts and highlights to make sure the motion doesn’t get lost. Sometimes I’ll darken the background to make the athlete pop, or add a slight vignette to draw the eye toward the action. It’s a delicate balance—overdo it, and the photo looks artificial; underdo it, and you lose that dynamic energy. But when you nail it, the result is worth every minute. I’ve had viewers tell me that my black and white sports photos feel like stills from a classic film, and that’s exactly the vibe I’m going for.
At the end of the day, black and white sports photography is about more than just documenting wins and losses. It’s about preserving the soul of the game. Whether it’s a buzzer-beater or a quiet moment between plays, removing color lets us see the sport in a new light. So next time you’re at a game, try imagining it in monochrome. You might be surprised by what you notice—the flow of players across the court, the emotion in the stands, the sheer artistry of motion frozen in time. And if you’re lucky enough to capture a performance like Escamis’, where one player dominates so thoroughly that the crowd chants his name, well, that’s the kind of moment black and white was made for.
