By Derek Bowden – Special Contributor to SportsCarolina Monthly
When I was 16 years old, I thought I had the meanest cross-over in the state, even though I pretty much only played ball on the pickup courts in my city. I had a complete disregard for the word “range” altogether, and when I did put somebody on skates, step back and hit a 35 foot three-pointer, it felt like I had just put a knife in the hearts of the feeble and weak. It made my saliva taste like blood. And it didn’t matter that I had probably put up 30 or 40 ill-advised shots and turned the ball over 20 times throughout the hours of non-stop games to 16, because that one moment of glory was worth hearing your friends bitch and complain about not passing the ball when you hear an entire park of ballers go crazy.
Stephen Curry’s game is a direct manifestation of that feeling. He isn’t out there overpowering guys with his physical prowess like Lebron and Shaq. He isn’t breaking the laws of physics off the baseline or coming down the lane with a backboard shattering slam. Curry is out there representing the guys that can’t do that. The guys that are on the court working those handles, seeing the game from no closer than 10 feet from the hoop without a bit of reckless abandon. Legends are coming out of every corner of the museum to criticize his performance, and downplay what it takes to do what he does in today’s game. In reality, he has perfected what the majority of basketball fans are capable of, at the highest of competitive levels. Everybody wants to dunk, but not everybody can dunk. I can watch videos of Vince Carter the rest of my life but I can’t go try to figure out how to jump over a 7 ft. Frenchman without a trampoline and a good insurance policy. When I watch Curry play, at 32 years old, I get the same feeling I got when I watched the And-1 tapes and ran outside to the court across the street at 4:30 in the morning to work on that cross-over. I feel inspired.
Part of that inspiration comes from seeing him do something that I want to go do. As somebody that has played ball for 27 years with a passion, watching him work Chris Paul made me want to find somebody next Sunday afternoon to embarrass in front of his friends. More of that inspiration comes from the joy that he seems to express throughout the game. He knows what he’s doing when he puts you on the floor. He knows what it looks like as he is pulling up a half second before you realize it’s too late to raise a finger in his direction. The way I felt that one time busting left, and breaking right, leaving a guy with a twisted ankle and a broken heart as I nail that 35 footer for no reason, is exactly how he feels pretty much the whole time he’s playing. It makes you wish you called out of work just to go to the Y to bust somebody’s ass. It makes you want to jump in the game of 21 your nephews are playing and show them you had the meanest cross-over in the state when you were 16 years old.
