The first time I watched Steph Curry hit a three-point shot, he stood maybe 10-feet back from the line and launched the ball with, it seemed, all the strength his tiny frame could find. The ball went so high that it looked like he was trying to throw it into the rafters. But it dropped through the basket as if guided by some unseen force. The mesh moved, but just a bit, like it was caught in a light spring breeze.
A lucky shot, I thought. Then he did it again. Okay. And he stepped back, and did it again and again.
It was 2001. It was ludicrous. He was 13 years old, but looked 11, tops. He was all bones. Maybe 100 lb. He had to heave each shot with his entire body. But every shot went down.
It was magical.
I’d cut class with some friends to watch Dell Curry’s son shoot. I was in Grade 12 at Brampton Christian Academy, and Curry was in our gym playing for our hated rivals, Queensway Christian from Toronto.
He was an eighth grader on their junior squad. We only had time to see the warm-up before we were shooed back to class.
But it was enough. Magic, I told my friends. Pure magic.
Of course, to all of you, none of this will seem surprising. Steph Curry hitting a three is, quite literally, an every-game—no, every-quarter—occurrence. This year he broke his own record for most three-pointers in a season, for the second straight year. By the end of the season he will have hit more than 100 treys beyond his previous history-making mark. He is about to win his second MVP award, having put up what some will argue is the best individual season in history.
It’s certainly sad that my greatest achievement in sport is being able to sit at a bar marveling at a Warriors game and declare that I saw Curry first. But I did. At least before 99 percent of you. And tired as the anecdote has become, it serves an important point in understanding why Curry is such a captivating athlete. His ability to shoot from anywhere on the court—a game-changing talent—is just one facet of his ability. He controls the pace of the game. He sees things his counterparts can’t. He does whatever he wants.
But he’s different from other superstars, because he doesn’t seem superhuman. Nike infamously lost out on a marketing deal with Curry by misunderstanding his mass appeal. He is not the same kind of superstar as LeBron James or Kevin Durant. They are superhuman, with bodies built to accomplish extraordinary things. Curry still looks like he’s all bones. Nobody followed his high-school career. Then he went to Davidson—a place you had never heard of before he became the NCAA scoring champ in 2009. Even then, six teams passed on him that year, before he went seventh overall to the Warriors in the NBA draft.
Since the beginning we have looked at Curry, and thought, Okay—but really?
His athleticism isn’t immediately apparent, until he touches a ball and does miraculous things. That’s his magic. And it’s his appeal.
Most kids can only dream of being LeBron, but they look at Steph Curry and see possibility.
This season, as the Warriors chased down the Bulls’ 72-10 mark, Curry fully emerged as the face of the NBA. He has earned every bit of hyperbole thrown his way. He was incredible in 2013. He was astounding in 2014, when he won his first MVP trophy and championship.
Now he’s blown the past away. He’s on pace to finish the season leading the league in points, steals and obviously three-pointers. He has the highest true shooting percentage in the league, the most win shares, and will finish the season with one of the best player efficiency ratings ever.
Curry has already earned his place among the greatest basketball players in history. Where will he end up in the all-time ranks? The ball’s in the air—and it’s hitting nothing but net, again, again and again.