You become a sports fan, because you really like certain sports. You choose which teams you root for pretty randomly. I became a San Francisco Giants fan because my little league team, back in Indiana, went to a ballgame in Cincinatti, and I got to meet Willie McCovey. I became a San Francisco 49ers fan, in the NFL, because, hey, I was a fan of one San Francisco sports team, so why not root for San Francisco in other sports. I had never been to San Francisco when I made those decisions–in fact, I was just a kid, living in Indiana. And all my friends thought I was weird not to root for the Reds like a normal person. But the Giants and 49ers were my teams forever after. (I loved the Indiana college basketball team, of course, and the ABA Indiana Pacers. I was that much a Hoosier). It was just serendipity that I grew up and married a girl from Northern California.
Sometimes, though, you just fall in love. You have no connection to a particular group of athletes. You just like watching them play. Or like rooting against them. I love basketball, and have my whole life. But I’ve never rooted for LaBron James. I respect him. He seems like a good guy. He’s a wonderful basketball player. I just always find myself rooting against his team. No idea why.
It’s all weirdly random. I was a fan of San Francisco sports teams, not Northern California ones. I never cared about the Oakland A’s, or the Oakland Raiders. For that matter, I didn’t root for the Golden State Warriors. I suppose I knew they played their games in Oakland, but I didn’t care. They weren’t very good, and for me, they were just another team. I just didn’t care.
Except, for the last two years, I do care. I have a crush. I am absolutely, madly in love with this particular iteration of the Golden State Warriors. And I know why. They play the most beautiful basketball on the planet. They are so marvelously constructed, so wonderfully well coached. Everything I value about the game of basketball, they excel in. They play team ball, sharing the ball, switching on defense, rebounding as a team, then running down the floor for yet another fastbreak. I’m a Hoosier, and that doesn’t just imply a fan of basketball, but a particular kind of basketball; team ball, built on defense and jump shots and quick, short, accurate passing. That’s the Warriors. As with the best basketball teams, they play with a kind of sloppy discipline, a relaxed intensity. They’re cool. They’re a real team.
And their best player doesn’t look he should be as good as he is. Stephen Curry is 6’3″. Tall-ish for a basketball player, but he looks short next to the other NBA players. He’s skinny and not very athletic looking. He insists that he’s capable of dunking a basketball, and his teammates say he’s done it in practice, but that’s not really his game; he’s not a great leaper. He’s not very strong. And he’s a bit slow, honestly; in a footrace, he’d probably finish close to last on his team. (Though he’s exceptionally quick laterally, with out-of-this-world hand-eye coordination).
What he is is a genius at playing basketball. He’s the most extraordinary shooter I’ve ever seen, with an instinct for that moment when the other team is poised to win a game, when a three-point jump shot will feel like a dagger to the heart. He’s a sleepy assassin, who looks a bit bored even while he’s nailing the important shots. He’s got an exceptionally quick release, and shoots with enough arc on his shot that even much taller players can’t block it. And he sees the floor better than anybody. He has a knack for it, for knowing which of his teammates is open, or going to be open, and precisely what kind of pass will get the ball to him.
There are guys like this, who just show up from time to time. Joe Montana was too short to be an NFL quarterback; too skinny, with insufficient arm strength to make the big throw. But he was the greatest leader in the sport, with the best field sense, and he became the greatest quarterback of his day. Wayne Gretzsky was thin, slow, unathletic. And the greatest hockey player of all time. These guys are just intuitively brilliant. It’s about sight, I think, and anticipation. They can see the game unfold, with a knack for seeing what’s likely to happen, and how they can exploit the situation as it develops.
He’s got a tremendous team surrounding him. Draymond Green is a strong, powerful forward, a stalwart defensive player and a fine shooter. Klay Thompson is a marvelous shooter as well, and a tough, battling defender and rebounder. Harrison Barnes is a young guy, probably the best pure athlete on the team, quick enough at 6’10” to guard anyone. Andrew Bogut is a big bruising inside presence. And the Warriors have put together the best bench in the league, with a series of veterans, former All-Stars, who have somehow agreed to set aside egos and do what’s needed for the team to win: Andre Iguodala, Shaun Livingstone, David Lee, Mareese Speights, Leandro Barbosa, Brandon Rush. Their coach is Steve Kerr, one of Michael Jordan’s favorite former teammates, and when you watch them play defense, you can see MJ’s influence; they’re just tenacious.
Above all, though, they have Curry. I don’t know him, of course, though last night I was as charmed as anyone when, during the post-game press conference, his two-year old daughter told him to ‘be quiet, Daddy.’ He seems very nice; bright and articulate, and not as ferociously competitive as his game suggests. He’s a beautiful athlete, though. And I’ve become a Warriors’ fan.