The Complete Guide to Half Court Basketball Court Dimensions and Layout

As someone who’s spent more hours than I care to admit on, around, and even measuring basketball courts, I’ve always been fascinated by how the geometry of the space dictates the drama of the game. We obsess over player stats and highlight reels, but the court itself is the silent, unchanging rulebook. Today, I want to pull back the curtain on the half-court, the battleground for countless pick-up games, intense training sessions, and, as a recent thrilling match reminded me, some of the most incredible comebacks in professional play. You might have seen the headline: "UP fired a 5-0 blitz from 21-24 down to save three set points and draw first blood from out of nowhere over the Taft towers." That sequence, a desperate and brilliant surge, didn’t happen in a vacuum. It happened within the precise, pressurized confines of a half-court. Every drive, every close-out, that game-saving steal and transition bucket—all of it was constrained and catalyzed by the lines beneath their feet. Understanding these dimensions isn’t just for architects; it’s for players and fans who want to appreciate the chessboard on which this athletic chess is played.

Let’s start with the absolute non-negotiables. A regulation FIBA and NBA full court is 94 feet long by 50 feet wide. Now, bisect that. Your standard half-court is, logically, 47 feet in length from the baseline to the half-court line, and retains the full 50-foot width. That’s your canvas. But the magic is in the details within that space. The three-point line, for instance, is a great example of a dimension that feels universal but isn’t. In the NBA, it’s a sweeping 23 feet 9 inches from the basket at the top of the key, curving out to 22 feet in the corners. In FIBA play, which governs most international competitions, it’s a uniform 22 feet 1.75 inches, or 6.75 meters, all the way around. That’s a massive strategic difference. A corner three in the NBA is significantly shorter, which is why you see offenses specifically designed to exploit that patch of hardwood. Personally, I prefer the FIBA arc. Its uniformity removes a geometric loophole and places a premium on pure shooting skill over positional hunting, but I’ll admit the NBA’s version creates more offensive variety.

Then there’s the key, or the paint. This is the war zone. In the NBA, it’s 16 feet wide. In FIBA, it’s a narrower 4.9 meters, or about 16 feet 1 inch, but it’s shaped differently—a rectangle instead of the NBA’s traditional wider rectangle. The restricted area arc under the basket, that small semi-circle you see, has a radius of 4 feet in all professional leagues, a critical zone for determining charging fouls. The free-throw line is 15 feet from the backboard, and the backboard itself juts 4 feet into the court from the baseline. Now, why does this dry data matter? Let’s go back to that 5-0 blitz. When a team is down 21-24 and facing set points, the court literally shrinks. Defenders can overplay, knowing the offense has less time and space to operate. The 50-foot width feels like 30. The passing lanes seem narrower. A successful defensive stop often hinges on using the sideline as an extra defender, funneling a ball-handler toward the corner where, guess what, the baseline and sideline meet to trap them. That steal that likely sparked the comeback? It probably happened because a defender understood the spatial relationship between the three-point line, the sideline, and the ball-handler’s options, exploiting a corridor that’s only about 4 or 5 feet wide. The subsequent fast break, however short, utilized every inch of that 47-foot sprint to the other basket, with the trailing defender’s angle of pursuit dictated entirely by the court’s width.

For us mere mortals playing at the local gym or installing a court in a driveway, these dimensions are often aspirational. A typical residential half-court might be squeezed into a space 40 feet by 40 feet. You’ll almost certainly have to compromise. My strong recommendation? Protect the key. If you can’t have a full 16-foot lane, at least ensure there’s a clearly marked, proportional area. The relationship between the basket, the free-throw line, and the edge of the paint is fundamental to developing proper post play and driving angles. A three-point line, even if it’s just chalk or tape at a non-regulation distance, adds a layer of strategy that a simple "make-it, take-it" game lacks. I helped a friend lay out his court last summer, and we prioritized a 15-foot free-throw line and a 19-foot arc (we didn’t have the space for a true corner) over absolute width. The games there are fantastic because the core spatial challenges are preserved. You learn to navigate traffic, use the glass, and understand that a shot from the "wing" is different from one at the "top," even if our wings are a few feet closer than Steph Curry’s.

In the end, the dimensions of a half-court create a framework for chaos. They set the boundaries for possibility. That stunning 5-0 run to steal the set wasn’t just a display of heart and skill; it was a masterclass in spatial efficiency. The team that was down likely started pressing, using the full 94 feet of the full court to create turnovers. But the scoring bursts themselves—the quick hitters, the isolation plays, the clutch three-pointer—all unfolded in the half-court set, where every screen was set at a precise angle to the elbow (that intersection of the free-throw line and the key), and every shot was a calculated risk based on distance from the hoop. The court is a stage with measured markings, and players are the actors who bring the script to life, sometimes rewriting it entirely within those fixed lines. So next time you watch a game or step onto the blacktop, take a second to appreciate the lines. They’re not just paint; they’re the parameters of poetry in motion. Knowing them, in my experience, doesn’t just make you a better analyst; it can make you a smarter player, appreciating the subtle geometry that turns a defensive stand into a fast break, and a near-certain loss into a legendary, out-of-nowhere victory.