I remember the first time I saw Stephen Curry shoot a three-pointer from what seemed like halfway across the court. My initial thought was, "That's not how basketball is supposed to be played." Yet here we are, a decade later, watching an entire generation of players emulate his style, and witnessing how his legacy continues to reshape what we consider basketball excellence. The recent decision by the league to recall the technical foul called on Meralco big man Raymond Almazan actually got me thinking about Curry's impact in a different light. When the league reviews and corrects calls like this, it's part of ensuring the game evolves fairly—much like how Curry's approach has forced the basketball world to reconsider what's possible on the court.
Curry didn't just change how we view shooting; he revolutionized spacing, ball movement, and even how defenses are constructed across the entire NBA. Before his rise, the idea that a 6'3" guard could dominate the league primarily through perimeter shooting was almost laughable. Traditional basketball wisdom emphasized size, physicality, and working the ball inside. I've spoken with several coaches who admitted they initially dismissed the Warriors' early success as a fluke. They'd say things like, "Live by the three, die by the three." Well, Curry made living by the three not just sustainable but devastatingly effective. His 2015-16 season, when he became the first unanimous MVP after averaging 30.1 points per game and sinking an unprecedented 402 three-pointers, wasn't just a statistical anomaly—it was a paradigm shift. Teams that once prioritized traditional big men suddenly needed versatile defenders who could switch onto guards 30 feet from the basket.
What often gets overlooked in discussions about Curry is how his influence extends beyond just scoring. His off-ball movement creates opportunities that don't appear in box scores. I've spent hours breaking down game tape, and what stands out isn't just the makes—it's the defensive attention he commands even without the ball. Defenders will literally turn their backs on other players just to keep Curry in their peripheral vision. This gravitational pull opens driving lanes for teammates and creates secondary actions that lead to high-percentage shots. The numbers bear this out—during their championship runs, the Warriors consistently led the league in assists and effective field goal percentage, metrics that reflect Curry's spacing impact.
The Raymond Almazan incident, where the league recalled a technical foul, illustrates how basketball institutions are adapting to new realities. Just as officials now review plays to ensure correct calls, the entire basketball ecosystem has had to adjust to Curry's style. I've noticed how youth development programs have shifted dramatically. When I visit local high schools now, I see 12-year-olds practicing 30-footers rather than post moves. The percentage of three-point attempts in the NBA has jumped from 22.2% in Curry's rookie season to over 39% today. This isn't coincidental—it's the Curry effect in action. Some traditionalists complain about the "death of the mid-range game," but evolution has always been part of sports. The forward pass was once considered revolutionary in football too.
What fascinates me most about Curry's ongoing legacy is how he's maintained excellence despite defenses specifically designed to stop him. Teams have tried everything—blitzing him at half-court, switching every screen, even assigning defenders to literally face-guard him regardless of where he is on the court. Yet he continues to find ways to impact games. His work ethic is legendary; I've heard stories about him taking hundreds of shots after practices, sometimes with coaches deliberately distracting him to simulate game pressure. This commitment to craft is something I wish more young players would emulate. It's not just about talent—it's about the relentless pursuit of improvement even after achieving success.
Some critics argue that Curry's style has made basketball less interesting, reducing it to a three-point shooting contest. I couldn't disagree more. Watching him navigate through screens, make split-second decisions, and launch from distances we previously thought were unreasonable has added layers of complexity to the game. The chess match between Curry's movement and defensive schemes is more sophisticated than ever. When I analyze games now, I find myself focusing less on isolation plays and more on the intricate off-ball actions that create advantages. Curry hasn't simplified basketball—he's elevated its intellectual demands.
As Curry moves into the later stages of his career, his legacy is secure but still evolving. The fact that players like Trae Young and Damian Lillard openly credit him as inspiration speaks volumes about his cultural impact. The recalled technical foul on Almazan represents how basketball continues to refine itself—removing incorrect calls, adjusting to new styles, and embracing change. Similarly, Curry's influence continues to push basketball toward greater skill, efficiency, and innovation. I believe historians will look back at this era as the moment basketball fully embraced spatial geometry and probability optimization. The game isn't just different because of Stephen Curry—it's better, more nuanced, and more beautiful to watch. And honestly, I can't wait to see what the next generation inspired by him will bring to the court.
As I sit here watching highlights of Yuki Kawamura's incredible B.League performances, I can't help but feel that familiar mix of excitement and skepticism t
