In the world of professional basketball, humility is often a carefully curated public relations strategy. Players are trained to deflect greatness, praise their teammates, and leave the “Greatest of All Time” (GOAT) debates to the pundits on morning television. But every once in a while, the mask slips—or perhaps, the truth just spills out. Recently, Golden State Warriors superstar Stephen Curry shattered that polite silence. When asked to rank his place in the pantheon of basketball legends, Curry didn’t hesitate. His list? Michael Jordan first, Kobe Bryant second, and himself at number three.

The omission of LeBron James—his greatest rival and the player most often compared to Jordan—was deafening. The sports world immediately exploded. Social media feeds filled with accusations of arrogance, delusion, and disrespect. How could a point guard, often criticized for his defense and lack of Finals MVPs early in his career, place himself above the NBA’s all-time leading scorer?

But before we dismiss Curry’s confidence as hubris, we need to take a step back. When you strip away the biases, the Nike marketing campaigns, and the obsession with physical dominance, Steph Curry’s argument for the Top 3 isn’t just plausible; it’s backed by a resume that is, in many ways, superior to the giants he’s chasing.

The Myth of the “Ready-Made” Dynasty

To understand Curry’s greatness, you have to understand where he started. Younger fans might view the Golden State Warriors as a perennial powerhouse, a glamorous organization synonymous with winning. But before Steph Curry arrived, the Warriors were the laughingstock of the NBA. They weren’t just bad; they were historically irrelevant.

From 1995 to 2009, the franchise had a winning percentage of just 37.6%—the third worst in the entire league. They were a graveyard for careers, a place where talent went to die. Walk up to any basketball fan in 2009 and tell them the Warriors would define the next decade of basketball, and they would have laughed you out of the building.

This context is crucial because it highlights the fundamental difference between Curry and his peers. He didn’t join a superteam. He didn’t wait for a franchise to clear cap space for his friends. He was drafted into a dumpster fire and built a palace from the ashes. He transformed a losing culture into a dynasty not by leaving for greener pastures, but by watering the grass where he stood.

The Loyalty Factor in the Era of Player Empowerment

We live in the “Player Empowerment Era,” a time defined by superstar movement. LeBron James changed teams four times. Kevin Durant has played for four franchises. James Harden has forced his way through five teams. Kawhi Leonard carefully manages his exits and entrances. In this modern NBA landscape, the moment adversity hits, stars look for the exit door. “Ring chasing” is praised as business savvy.

Steph Curry stands as the antithesis to this culture. In 2020, the Warriors dynasty seemed dead and buried. Klay Thompson was out with devastating injuries, Kevin Durant had left for Brooklyn, and the team plummeted to a league-worst 15-50 record. The vultures circled. The media wrote obituaries for Golden State, claiming the window was shut.

It would have been easy for Curry to demand a trade. He could have gone on a podcast to complain about the front office or leaked frustration stories to ESPN. He could have looked for an easier path to another championship. Instead, he stayed. He endured the losing, the rehab, and the doubt.

That loyalty paid off in 2022, a championship that stands alone in modern history.

The 2022 Ring: The Ultimate Vindicator

The 2022 NBA Championship was not supposed to happen. According to every analyst, statistician, and talking head, the Warriors were too old, too small, and too “done.” The narrative was that Curry needed Kevin Durant to win at the highest level—that his first ring in 2015 was a fluke due to injuries, and his next two were gifted by a superteam.

Steph took a roster that many considered mediocre—filled with aging stars and unproven youngsters—and dragged them to the promised land. He carried the offensive load in a way few players ever have. His performance in the Finals against the elite Boston Celtics defense was a masterclass. He didn’t just win; he dominated. He finally claimed that elusive Finals MVP, silencing the last remaining critique on his resume.

That 2022 ring is worth more than any “superteam” title because it was won through grit, leadership, and sheer individual brilliance. It proved that Steph Curry is a system unto himself. He doesn’t need to fit into a winning culture; he is the winning culture.

Defying the Laws of Aging

Then there is the matter of longevity. We constantly hear praise for LeBron James’s ability to defy Father Time, and rightfully so. But Steph Curry is performing a similar miracle that goes largely unnoticed.

Guards are not supposed to age gracefully. Their game relies on speed, quickness, and agility—attributes that usually vanish once a player hits 30. Yet, at age 37 going on 38, Curry is still shredding defenses. He is currently averaging elite numbers, putting up 28.5 points per game with efficiency that seems impossible.

Here is a stat that should end the debate: Steph Curry has now tied Michael Jordan for the most 40-point games after turning 30 years old (44 games). Think about that. The player widely considered the GOAT, a physical specimen who dominated through athleticism, is sharing a longevity record with a 6’3″ guard.

Curry isn’t just “hanging around” to pad stats; he is still the focal point of every defensive scheme in the league. He is still the player opposing coaches fear most. While other aging stars transition into playmaking roles or rely on sheer strength, Curry is still running marathons around screens, creating separation, and burying shots from 30 feet.

The Cultural Impact: He Changed the Game

Finally, there is the “eye test” of influence. Very few athletes in the history of sports can say they fundamentally changed how their game is played. Babe Ruth did it with the home run. Wayne Gretzky did it in hockey. And Steph Curry did it with the three-point shot.

Before Curry, the three-pointer was a gimmick or a bailout option. Today, it is the primary weapon of every offense in the world. Kids in driveways aren’t practicing post moves; they are pulling up from the logo. General Managers build rosters entirely around spacing. Defenses have had to stretch their geometries to the breaking point just to account for Curry’s “gravity.”

He didn’t just break records; he broke the sport’s logic. He proved that skill could dominate size.

Conclusion: The Hard Truth

When Steph Curry says he is Top 3 All-Time, it sounds jarring only because we are conditioned to value physical dominance over skill, and accumulation of stats over the context of winning. But if you value building a legacy from the ground up, staying loyal when things get ugly, defying the aging curve of your position, and revolutionizing the sport itself, then his argument is ironclad.

He ranks himself behind Jordan and Kobe—two players who also stayed with one franchise (mostly) and defined a mentality of winning at all costs. By placing himself third, he isn’t being arrogant. He is simply acknowledging that what he has done—resurrecting a dead franchise, winning without a superteam, and changing basketball forever—is a feat that stands shoulder-to-shoulder with the greatest to ever lace them up.

The world might have exploded at his comments, but perhaps it’s time for the dust to settle and for us to see the clear picture: Steph Curry isn’t just a shooter. He is a legend who has earned every inch of his pedestal.