Jonathan Kuminga Faces Criticism: Struggles on the Court Raise Questions About His Role and Future With the Warriors

CLEVELAND — The Rocket Mortgage FieldHouse was primed for a coronation. The script was written, the odds were set, and the narrative was all but cemented before the opening tip. The Golden State Warriors, a franchise synonymous with dynasty but currently grappling with the harsh realities of age and attrition, limped into Ohio on Tuesday night. They arrived as shells of themselves, stripped of their armor.

Stephen Curry was in street clothes. Draymond Green was absent. Even the team’s blockbuster acquisition, Jimmy Butler, was sidelined, leaving a void of leadership and star power that felt insurmountable. Vegas bookmakers had installed the Cavaliers as 9.5-point favorites, a line that felt generous given the skeleton crew Steve Kerr was forced to deploy.

It was the kind of scheduled loss that gets buried in the agate type of a Wednesday newspaper. It was supposed to be a night where the Cavaliers feasted on the remnants of a dynasty.

Instead, the basketball world woke up to a shock. The scoreboard read: Golden State 99, Cleveland 94.

In a vacuum, it was a gritty, character-defining victory for a Warriors team desperately trying to keep its head above water in the Western Conference. But beneath the surface of this improbable win lies a troubling, festering storyline that threatens to derail the franchise’s future even as they scrape for wins in the present.

While the reserves and two-way players fought tooth and nail for every loose ball, Jonathan Kuminga—the man paid $48.5 million to be the bridge to the future—was nowhere to be found. Physically, he was on the court for 21 minutes. Spiritually and competitively, he was a ghost.

In a season that was billed as his ascension, Kuminga is currently overseeing his own collapse. And on a night when the Warriors needed him to be a star, he was, to put it bluntly, a liability.

The Missing Ascendancy

To understand the gravity of Kuminga’s performance—or lack thereof—in Cleveland, one must contextuaize the stakes. This is Kuminga’s fifth season in the NBA. He is 23 years old. In the lifecycle of an NBA lottery pick, this is the “leap” year. This is the season where potential is supposed to calcify into production, where athleticism transforms into dominance.

The Warriors banked everything on this trajectory. The summer of 2024 was defined by a contentious, drawn-out negotiation between Kuminga’s camp and the Golden State front office. For months, the organization was effectively held hostage, unable to make peripheral moves or commit to long-term strategies until the Kuminga situation was resolved. The stalemate froze the franchise, creating an undercurrent of tension that lingered through training camp.

The resolution was a two-year, $48.5 million extension. It was a “prove-it” deal with a heavy price tag—$24 million annually for a player the Warriors hoped would finally seize the mantle from the aging core. It was a bet on talent. It was a bet on the future.

Right now, that bet looks like a disaster.

Against the Cavaliers, with the greenest of lights and a usage rate that should have been through the roof in the absence of Curry and Butler, Kuminga wilted. He finished with four points. He shot 1-of-10 from the field. He looked disengaged, lost in defensive rotations, and hesitant on offense.

This wasn’t just a bad shooting night; it was a capitulation.

“You look for guys to step up when the Hall of Famers are out,” said a Western Conference scout in attendance. “You look for the guy who says, ‘This is my team tonight.’ Kuminga played like he was trying not to get noticed.”

A Pattern of Regression

If Tuesday night were an anomaly, it could be written off. Every player, even the greats, has a night where the rim has a lid on it. But this performance was not an island; it was the nadir of a disturbing trend that has defined Kuminga’s season.

The last three games have provided a perfect laboratory to test Kuminga’s readiness. With Stephen Curry inactive, the offensive hierarchy was flattened. The ball was available. The shots were there. The system needed a primary scorer.

In that three-game span, Kuminga has posted the following stat lines:

9 points on 4-of-12 shooting.
8 points on 3-of-10 shooting.
4 points on 1-of-10 shooting.

That is a combined 21 points on 8-of-32 shooting (25%) during a stretch where he was the highest-paid, most athletically gifted player available for Golden State.

On the season, the numbers paint a picture of a player in freefall. He is averaging just 12 points, 6 rebounds, and 2 assists per game. More damning is his efficiency: he is shooting a career-worst 43.8% from the field. For a player whose game is predicated on rim pressure and athleticism, shooting under 44% is catastrophic. It suggests an inability to finish through contact, poor shot selection, and a lack of development in his perimeter game.

The advanced metrics are even crueler. They strip away the highlight dunks and expose the impact on winning. Currently, Kuminga ranks 162nd league-wide in Player Efficiency Rating (PER). He is 183rd in Box Plus-Minus. Perhaps most shockingly, he ranks 485th in Value Over Replacement Player (VORP).

To put that in perspective, there are roughly 450 active players on NBA rosters on any given night. Statistically speaking, Jonathan Kuminga has been less valuable than the last guy on the bench for nearly every team in the league.

The Summer of Discontent

The frustration radiating from the Warriors’ fanbase—and reportedly, from within the organization—is compounded by the memory of the offseason. This was not a summer of quiet work and dedication. It was a summer of posturing.

Reports surfaced repeatedly that Kuminga was unsatisfied with his role under Steve Kerr. There were whispers of trade demands, with Sacramento emerging as a preferred destination. The narrative from Kuminga’s camp was clear: Unleash him, and he will be a star. The Warriors are holding him back.

The irony, bitter and sharp, is that the Warriors are now desperate for him to take the reins, and he seems incapable of holding them.

“He wanted the spotlight,” said one Warriors insider. “He wanted the money. He wanted the role. He got all of it. And now we’re seeing that maybe the role wasn’t the problem.”

The juxtaposition between his offseason demands and his in-season output is jarring. While Kuminga was reportedly focused on his contract status and his usage rate, other peers in his draft class were refining their games.

Take Jalen Johnson of the Atlanta Hawks. Entering the league in the same draft class, Johnson plays a similar position and possesses a similar athletic profile. This season, Johnson has exploded into an All-Star caliber wing, dominating games on both ends of the floor. He is the player Kuminga was supposed to be. The comparison is no longer a debate; it is an indictment of Kuminga’s stagnation.

The “Jimmy Butler” Factor

The context of this season makes Kuminga’s struggles even more damaging. The Warriors went all-in on a final championship window by acquiring Jimmy Butler. It was a move that signaled they were done waiting for the “Two Timelines” plan to naturally converge. They needed to win now.

However, the acquisition of Butler, combined with the existing contracts of Curry and Green, left the Warriors with a top-heavy roster. The depth was gutted. The margin for error was razor-thin. The logic of the roster construction hinged on one variable: Jonathan Kuminga being a reliable third or fourth option who could carry the load when the veterans sat.

With Butler, Green, and Curry all out against Cleveland, the safety net was gone. This was the scenario the front office feared. They paid Kuminga $24 million this year to be the insurance policy. Instead, the policy bounced.

The Rise of Pat Spencer and the Fall of Hierarchy

Nothing illustrated the bizarre reality of the current Warriors more than the closing minutes in Cleveland. As the Warriors clung to a lead in the fourth quarter, Jonathan Kuminga sat on the bench. He played only 21 minutes, benched down the stretch by Steve Kerr, who has always prioritized winning impact over draft pedigree.

Closing the game for Golden State was Pat Spencer.

For the casual fan, the name Pat Spencer might draw a blank. A former college lacrosse superstar who transitioned to basketball, Spencer is the antithesis of Kuminga. He was not a lottery pick. He was not handed millions based on “upside.” He clawed his way through the G-League, fighting for a two-way contract, playing with a desperation that Kuminga seemingly lacks.

Spencer finished the game making winning plays—diving for loose balls, making the right rotations, hitting timely shots. He led the Warriors to victory not with talent, but with force of will.

The visual was striking: The $48.5 million lottery pick in warmups, watching the lacrosse player close out an NBA game on the road. It was a triumph for Spencer, but a humiliation for Kuminga. It reinforced a narrative that has dogged Kuminga for years: he feels entitled to minutes he hasn’t earned, while others earn minutes they aren’t expected to get.

The Trade Market Reality

The question now facing the Warriors is: What do you do with Jonathan Kuminga?

During the summer, his trade value was theoretical. It was based on the idea of what he could be. Teams like Sacramento or Indiana might have looked at his athletic profile and thought, “We can fix him. We can unlock him.”

Now, a quarter of the way through the season, his trade value is plummeting. Who is trading meaningful assets for a player shooting 43% from the field, demanding $25 million a year, and ranking 485th in VORP?

The Warriors are stuck. They cannot trade him for equal value, because his value has never been lower. They cannot rely on him to help them win, because he is actively hurting the team on the floor. And they cannot simply bench him permanently, because his salary is too large a percentage of their cap sheet to let rot.

It is a front-office nightmare. They are tethered to a sinking asset.

The Standings and the Dogfight

Despite the heroics in Cleveland, the Warriors are in a precarious position. They sit at 12-12, hovering at .500. In the unforgiving Western Conference, that is good for eighth place.

They are just one game in the loss column ahead of the Memphis Grizzlies. They are only two games clear of the Portland Trail Blazers. The difference between the 6th seed (guaranteed playoffs) and the 11th seed (lottery) is often a matter of three or four bad weeks.

The Warriors are entering a stretch where they cannot afford passengers. If Curry, Green, or Butler miss extended time, the team simply does not have the talent buffer to survive Kuminga’s regression. They are headed toward the Play-In Tournament—a volatile, single-elimination scenario that no team wants to face.

To escape the gravity of the Play-In, the Warriors need internal improvement. They don’t have the assets for another major trade. The improvement has to come from Kuminga. And right now, there is zero evidence that it is coming.

Untrustworthy and Unusable

Steve Kerr is known for his patience, but he is also ruthless when it comes to effort and execution. His decision to limit Kuminga to 21 minutes in a game where the team was missing three starters speaks volumes. It signals a complete loss of trust.

When a coach looks down his bench in a tight game and chooses a two-way player over his high-priced forward, the message is loud and clear: You are not helping us win.

Kuminga has become unusable in high-leverage moments. His decision-making is slow. His shot selection is erratic. His defensive focus waxes and wanes. For a team with championship aspirations—however fading they might be—he is a broken link in the chain.

The Verdict

The Warriors escaped Cleveland with a win, thanks to the heart of their role players and the grit of Pat Spencer. But the victory is a band-aid over a bullet hole.

Jonathan Kuminga was supposed to be the future. He was supposed to be the bridge. Instead, he has become an anchor.

With a $24 million salary this season, Kuminga is being paid like a star. He is playing like a prospect who isn’t ready for the G-League. The pouting of the summer has transitioned into the paralysis of the winter.

If Kuminga wants to salvage his career in Golden State—or even his value around the league—the time for talking is over. The time for demanding touches is over. He needs to look at Pat Spencer, a man who played for his life on Tuesday night, and understand what professional basketball actually looks like.

Because right now, Jonathan Kuminga is the most expensive problem on a team that can no longer afford them. And if this regression continues, the “Ascendant Season” will be remembered as the year the Warriors’ future finally ran out of time.