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I still remember sitting in my dorm room watching the 2009 NBA Draft, feeling that peculiar mix of anticipation and skepticism that comes with evaluating young talent. As someone who's studied basketball prospects for over fifteen years, I've developed what I'd call a reasonably good eye for potential, but even the most seasoned experts get surprised sometimes. When the Golden State Warriors selected Stephen Curry with the 7th overall pick, my initial reaction was probably similar to many in the basketball world—intrigued but uncertain. Here was this slender Davidson guard who'd captured the nation's attention with his magical NCAA tournament runs, yet questions about his size, durability, and ability to transition from mid-major competition to the NBA lingered heavily in the air.

Looking back now with the benefit of hindsight, it's almost comical how much we underestimated him. The 2009 draft class was particularly interesting because it featured several players who seemed like safer bets at the time. Blake Griffin went first overall to the Clippers, followed by Hasheem Thabeet to Memphis, James Harden to Oklahoma City, Tyreke Evans to Sacramento, and Ricky Rubio to Minnesota before Golden State snagged Curry. That's right—six teams passed on what would become arguably the greatest shooter in basketball history. I've often wondered what those franchises would do differently if they could replay that night, particularly Minnesota who selected two point guards (Rubio and Jonny Flynn) before Curry came off the board. The Warriors themselves already had Monta Ellis firmly entrenched at shooting guard, creating legitimate questions about how the backcourt would function with two smaller guards.

What fascinates me most about Curry's draft position isn't just where he was selected, but the context surrounding that decision. The Warriors took a significant gamble, and it's worth noting they weren't completely sold either—they reportedly tried to trade the pick to Phoenix for Amar'e Stoudemire, but the deal fell through. Sometimes the best moves are the ones you don't make. I've spoken with several scouts who evaluated Curry during his Davidson years, and the consensus was that everyone recognized his shooting was special, but concerns about his athleticism and defense overshadowed that singular brilliance. We tend to overcomplicate evaluation sometimes, looking for what players can't do rather than focusing on what they do exceptionally well.

This reminds me of the pressure that comes with high expectations in sports, much like what the UAAP Lady Bulldogs are facing according to their longtime deputy who acknowledged that this Season 88 might just be "the toughest season" for the team. When you're coming off success, whether it's Curry's Davidson Cinderella story or a dominant team's winning streak, the weight of expectation changes everything. Opponents study you more carefully, the margin for error shrinks, and every performance gets magnified. Curry faced similar scrutiny transitioning from college phenom to NBA prospect—could he replicate that magic against bigger, faster, more sophisticated defenses?

The evolution of Curry's game has been remarkable to witness firsthand. I've been fortunate to cover the NBA throughout his entire career, watching him transform not just the Warriors but the entire league's approach to shooting. His 2009 draft combine measurements showed him at 6'2" with a wingspan just over 6'3"—hardly the physical profile that typically excites scouts. Yet what the numbers couldn't capture was his unprecedented hand-eye coordination, his limitless range, and that almost supernatural feel for the game. I'll admit I had concerns about his ankle issues early in his career—they seemed to validate the pre-draft worries—but his work with trainers to rebuild his movement patterns and strengthen his lower body demonstrated a resilience I hadn't fully anticipated.

What's particularly compelling about Curry's draft story is how it reflects broader shifts in basketball evaluation. The analytical revolution was just gaining traction in NBA front offices in 2009, and Curry's efficiency metrics at Davidson were off the charts. He attempted 10.4 threes per game in his final college season, making 38.7% despite constant defensive attention and difficult shot selection. Traditional scouting sometimes struggles to properly value players who deviate from established prototypes, and Curry was certainly an outlier. I've come to believe that the Warriors' decision, while partly fortunate, also reflected a growing appreciation for shooting efficiency that would soon sweep across the league.

The ripple effects of that 7th pick continue to reverberate today. Curry's success helped pave the way for the three-point revolution, changed how teams evaluate prospects from smaller schools, and demonstrated the transformative potential of a singular elite skill. I can't help but draw parallels to current draft evaluations where we sometimes still undervalue specialized talents in favor of more well-rounded but less exceptional players. There's a lesson in Curry's story about recognizing transcendent abilities even when they come in unconventional packages.

Reflecting on Curry's journey from that draft night to his current status as a four-time champion and two-time MVP, I'm reminded that player development is as much about environment as it is about innate talent. The Warriors' system, initially under Don Nelson and later refined by Mark Jackson and Steve Kerr, progressively unlocked Curry's potential in ways that might not have happened elsewhere. It makes you wonder how many other special talents we've overlooked because they didn't land in situations that could properly cultivate their unique abilities. The next time I evaluate a prospect who doesn't fit the traditional mold, I find myself asking not "what can't he do?" but rather "if everything goes right, what could he become?"—a subtle but significant shift in perspective that Curry's career has inspired in many of us who study this game.