SACRAMENTO, Calif. — The poet has been upstairs in his office, tapping at the keyboard on various projects. Most of his mornings begin this way … so much work to do. Some days he tends to his blog, and on other days he tidies up his memoir that is nearing publication. Or he may put the finishing touches on another of his mystery novels. And of course, his poetry. There is always his poetry.

Much of his poetry chronicles his remarkable life. He was born in Manchuria to Russian parents, and from ages 3 to 6 lived in a World War II internment camp in Tokyo. Just before he turned 7, he crossed under the Golden Gate Bridge. After moving to America, he later became an accomplished professional basketball player who did more than just start alongside Wilt Chamberlain. He was a 1963 NBA All-Star and the first player to have his number retired by the Golden State Warriors. He also was a failed bookstore owner, coached basketball everywhere from Portland, Ore., to Africa, and spent 24 years teaching high school English.

His eclectic path is made more fascinating in that at 85 he refuses to become idle and bask in the accomplishment of a life well lived. He says he is “obsessed” with being productive, which for him means writing. He has authored five books of poetry. Written two memoirs. Six novels. The majority of his literary work has come after he turned 70. He tries to explain the “why” behind his obsession but ultimately concedes that perhaps poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson put it best in Ulysses:

How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breathe were life!

It’s that last line that particularly resonates with the poet, Tom Meschery. Just because you are breathing doesn’t mean you are living.

In 2005, he was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a blood cancer that has no cure. Doctors estimated he had five years to live. Now 19 years later, he is as prolific as ever, even as he sacrifices an afternoon to break from his computer and regale a visitor with stories. He credits medical science, and in particular the drug Revlimid, for keeping his cancer in remission. But he also feels something deeper, something more powerful has been behind his late-life renaissance: a love story. His love story.

He is not big on sentimentality, lest it come across as maudlin. However, he is a romantic and therefore acknowledges that his love story is more than just a poet falling for an artist. Like his poetry, which he says “seems to come out of nowhere,” she came from an online dating site and changed his life. Not only changed it but also played a role in saving it.

“I think love acted as a barrier to the cancer,” Meschery says. “It was like the door was closed. Maybe it wasn’t locked, but the love was holding onto the door and not letting the cancer in. And that kind of love changed my attitude toward living. I started spending all my time thinking about living, rather than dying.”

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When Tom Meschery received his cancer diagnosis in 2005, he was already in a bit of a spiral. He was newly divorced and had just retired from a teaching job he loved. Living in Truckee, Calif., a ski town on the outskirts of Lake Tahoe, he had become engulfed with loneliness. He was 68 and wrestling with his purpose in life. Now, faced with a diagnosis that sounded like a death sentence, he slipped into what he called a suicidal depression.

His spiral was palpable. After separate visits following their father’s diagnosis, his three children — Janai, Megan and Matthew — all left concerned.

“We were all really worried about him,” Matthew says. “Not just because of the cancer, but also the circumstances of him being alone up on the mountain, just going through that mostly by himself.”

The siblings remember comparing notes after visits. They all remarked how the house they grew up in — one filled with activity, laughter and lively discussion — had become so quiet.

“It was a house that was always filled with people, a very social place, and dad was always the one holding court,” Janai says. “And the contrast … was hard on all of us.”

By 2008, Meschery could no longer suppress his depression. With Matthew visiting, Meschery remembers halting the ironing of a shirt and blurting out to his son: I’m lonely.

Matthew made a suggestion.

Go online, Dad. Everybody does it.

So he put himself out there. The poet went on his first date.

“I wasn’t particularly impressed,” he sniffed.

His second foray on the dating site seemed improbable from the get-go. Her name was Melanie Marchant, and her profile picture was stunning. There is no way, he reasoned, that she is in her 60s; she looks 30. And it seemed too perfect that like he, she was creative, an accomplished painter located two hours away in Sacramento. For a month, they chatted online and on the phone. They talked about literature, cooking, her two children and his three.

On Valentine’s Day 2008, a first date was arranged at a Turkish restaurant in downtown Sacramento. As he hurried into the restaurant, late, she was waiting with the maitre d, toe-tapping in mock disgust. She playfully stuck her tongue out at him.

They exchanged cards. His card to her featured the poem Wild Geese by Mary Oliver. The poem represented his vulnerability, his willingness to be open.

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.

Her card for him? A Valentine left over from one of her grandchildren, featuring Batman. Almost two decades later, it still humors him.

After dinner, they went to her place. She says she had a surprise for him. As they went up the stairs, he became enraptured. Lining the walls of the staircase were religious icons. He was taken back to his youth and his Russian Orthodox roots. Then, the surprise: she had rented “Ratatouille” — the animated movie about a rat who has a nose for cooking — which played off their frequent conversations about recipes and cuisine.

“And that was it, babe. I was in love,” he says, throwing his hands in the air. “As I drove back to the mountains that night, I knew this was going to be a lifetime relationship. I just knew that she and I were going to be together for the rest of our lives.”

One year after their first date, they were married.

She had been divorced for 30 years and says “if you go 30 years, you know when you find something.” They connected over their creative curiosities and their love of literature — she estimates in their first year of dating they spent between $2,000-$3,000 on books. And soon, she became his trusted editor. He figures she has edited 53,000 pages of his writing.

“I would go through his manuscripts and write “Booooooooring!” Melanie says chuckling. “But I think his writing is wonderful. I do worry when I ask him how he slept, and he says ‘Not well …’, because that means he has written another book in his head. He’s got three or four of them up there now.”

He says she has become his muse, but more accurately she has become somewhat of a life coach. She calls him Thomas and he calls her Mel, and they are constantly engaged in playful banter, trying to get the other to chuckle. One of her favorite pastimes is charting who she considers the most handsome players in the NBA (De’Aaron Fox, Steph Curry and Harrison Barnes top the current list).

However, she turns stern and blunt when it comes to his cancer. She is adamant that our bodies are not separate from our minds, and from the onset of their relationship, she has conditioned his mind to revel in the now rather than dread what could be ahead.

“When he told me he had cancer, I said, ‘Yeah? I know a lot of people who have cancer. When you are 70, people get cancer,’” Melanie says. “I don’t do drama. I don’t do sobbing. What I’m good at is, if there is a problem, it’s not a challenge. You just take it and solve it. And the man I met was so healthy and happy … he has cancer? Not today. That’s just how I felt.”

His mindset changed. He stopped thinking so much about the future and instead embraced what was in front of him. There was poetry to write, grandchildren to enjoy, dinners to be had and basketball games to watch.

“When I met Mel, I knew that I had found the love of my life,” Meschery says. “And from that point on, I became more positive about myself, about my cancer and about how long I would live. I just couldn’t whine about it with her, she wouldn’t stand it. She inspired me to just let it go, and trust my instincts.”

He is on a maintenance dose of Revlimid — 28 days on the drug, 10 days off — and every three months he has blood drawn to chart his cell count and presence of proteins. Every test since he has met Melanie has shown the cancer to be in remission.

“And we laugh about it: Another three months of putting up with me,” Meschery says. “It has become a much more casual conversation, almost like it’s not life-threatening anymore. And I think that was all her doing, which became my doing. It was like she passed on this belief system to me, and gave it to me as a gift.”

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NBA players from the 1960s would chuckle at the idea of Meschery as a poet, trumpeting the powers of love. To them, he was the Mad Manchurian, a 6-foot-7 bear of a man who was known for his intensity and physicality, which sometimes morphed into rage. He played power forward, and after 778 career games — six seasons with the Warriors, who moved from Philly to San Francisco in 1962, and four with the Seattle SuperSonics — Meschery averaged 12.7 points and 8.6 rebounds. But as his nickname suggests, he was as known for his temperament as he was for his skill.

He once grabbed a chair during a game and chased Lakers center Darrall Imhoff into the stands. And he remembers fighting Philadelphia’s Chet Walker, and after both were ejected, charging at him in the back hallway.

He has yet to reconcile with the dichotomy between how he played and how he views himself. He addressed his unease in his last book of poetry, “Clear Path,” with the poem Rumors.

He writes of his wife on an airplane, and a passenger remarking to her that Meschery “was the meanest son of a b—- I’d ever seen play basketball.”

…there was my epitaph being written
at ten thousand feet above the earth
by a stranger who might have seen me play
or maybe not at all, and just heard from someone
else that I was mean. How rumors start. How unjust
a life can be, viewed through someone else’s eyes.

“It always shocked me that I often reacted so violently on the court,” Meschery says today. “I know in my heart I was not a violent man. But if you experience violence once in yourself, I think you are forever going to second guess the possibility that it is a part of your personality. And it can hang there for a lifetime. I can’t look in the mirror and see myself as a mean son of a b—-. But I know there was a part of me … and that poem was part of that reflection that I sensed, and regrettably so, that there is something in me that would allow anger to enter. And it’s not a good feeling.”

He also never bridged the barrier between him and his father, whom he loved but with whom he struggled to connect. His father wanted him to go into the military and never watched him play basketball, deeming it unworthy as a profession. He opened Meschery’s eyes to poetry, as he would recite poems in Russian at the dinner table, unafraid to weep. Meschery says one of the great regrets in his life is not arriving in time to say goodbye to his father before he died. In his first collection of poetry, “Nothing We Lose Can Be Replaced,” his piece entitled Tom Meschery is essentially a letter to his father, who once asked, ‘What kind of work is this for a man?’

Old immigrant, I admit all this
too late. You died before I could explain
newspapers call me a journeyman.
They write I roll up my sleeves
and go to work. They use words
like hammer and muscle to describe me
…father, you would have been proud of me:
I labored in the company of large men.

Meschery also recounted the night Chamberlain scored 100 points against the Knicks in 1962. Meschery started beside Chamberlain and played 40 minutes, amassing 16 points and seven rebounds. In the poem Wilt, he captured a viewpoint from the team bus: the contrast between a historic night of work on the hardwood and the ordinary, everyday life in the Pennsylvania countryside.

As a rookie I watched
Wilt score a century in one game
in Hershey, Pa., with the smell
of chocolate floating through the arena
…but mostly, what I remember about that game
is this: …on the bus driving through the dark Amish countryside,
outside a farmer in a horse and buggy,
hurrying home in the all
too brief light of his lantern

He has more than 100 poems published about sports and quips that he is subconsciously trying to match the 2,841 personal fouls for which he was whistled during his career. When asked if he ever reflects on the breadth and depth of his life’s work, he pauses, then equates measuring his life accomplishments to evaluating his poetry.

“I think I’ve done the best I could,” Meschery says. “If I look at life like a whole series of poetry … I can only pick out 15 or 20 poems out of the entire collection that I think are truly inspired poetry. I am just a poet. But I recognize I’ve written some really, really good poems. But I also recognize that a lot of my poetry is … meh. Not bad. Not awful. And that’s okay. I’m not unhappy about it. That’s a little bit the way life is.

“Can you look at your life and honestly say that most of your life has been inspired? Probably not. But you do pick out those moments when you did really good. And I think I’ve been able to do that. But at the same time, I’m not so egotistical to believe that every moment of my life has been a Kareem Abdul-Jabbar sky hook.”

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Another force helped pull Meschery out of his malaise following his cancer diagnosis. It was a friend from long ago, one with whom he hadn’t kept in touch: basketball.

In 2006, Matthew, concerned about his father’s well-being, bought him NBA League Pass, a subscription that provides coverage for every NBA game. By then, basketball had become an afterthought for Meschery. He had not been involved in the NBA since 1976 when he finished a two-year stint as an assistant under Lenny Wilkens in Portland. And he hadn’t been involved in basketball period since 1985, when he went to West Africa to coach teams in Mali, Ivory Coast, Gabon and the Republic of the Congo.

When he tuned in, his interest in the NBA was rekindled. He was drawn to his former team, the Warriors, and that 2006-07 team — an uptempo, free-wheeling and stylistic squad coached by Don Nelson and led by Baron Davis, Monta Ellis, Stephen Jackson and Jason Richardson — stirred him. He was once again inspired by the game he once played.

“I hadn’t kept up with the NBA, but once I started watching this new version of basketball, I went crazy. I just loved it,” Meschery says. “The ball was moving … they were flying through the air … and I was just astounded these guys could do this stuff.”

Then, in 2010, under the new ownership of Joe Lacob, the Warriors reached out to Meschery. The organization wanted to reconnect with its past. Meschery, the first NBA All-Star not born in America, and the first Warriors player to have his number retired, was brought back into the fold. He was invited to games. Introduced to players. He rode in all four championship parades, including 2022, when Warriors star Klay Thompson spotted from the team bus Meschery riding on the parade route on Market Street. Thompson got off the bus, and while holding the Larry O’Brien Trophy, beelined for Meschery, wrapping him in a bear hug.

“There was a time when we were worried about my dad losing a sense of himself,” Matthew says. “Basketball was a big part of his life experience and who he is, and the Warriors helped bring that back.”

Before this season, the Warriors asked Meschery to write a poem to commemorate Golden State’s new City Edition uniforms, which paid homage to the San Francisco cable cars. Meschery recited Mason Street Line at the unveiling.

“When I think back on my cancer, love saved me and helped cure me,” Meschery says. “But I think the Warriors had a little something to do with it, too.”

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There is nothing poetic about how the poet handles the moments when the inevitable thoughts come, the thoughts of dying, of the cancer eventually winning.

“I’d be lying if I told you I don’t think about it from time to time,” Meschery says. “I think anybody who reaches the age of 85 knows they don’t have much time left. But I don’t dwell on it.”

When those moments arrive, he finds he is usually in bed. “Then I have a little mantra I say to myself: Tom, you are not going to die tomorrow. And Tom, you are not going to die in the next week. And probably not for the next six months. More likely, not for another year. So f— it, get on with your life.”

Then, he says, he goes back to sleep, intent on seeing his grandchildren, seeing his latest works published, including his memoir “The Mad Manchurian in August, and in October the publication of “The Case of the VW Hippie Bus,” the third installment in his Brovelli Brothers mystery novels.

In the meantime, he spends most of his nights watching the Warriors, or the Kings. Melanie, who turned 80 on Sunday is often nearby, flipping pages of the latest book she is reading, pausing briefly to make a quip or note the handsomeness of an opposing player.

“I call her my basketball buddy,” Meschery says. “And she says, ‘That’s exactly what every woman wants to hear.’”

The point is no longer how long he will live, he says, but rather doing what is enjoyable and productive. That he has found love with Melanie, and in turn found his muse and purpose, gives him a bittersweet vantage on his sunset.

“I think it makes you fear death more,” he says. “I’m really going to miss living. The idea of not seeing my grandchildren, the idea of not being able to write a poem, to enjoy a meal … that can be quite terrifying. But you can’t live your life worrying about death.”

And so he continues to appreciate living. And laughing. And loving. And ever the poet, he continues writing.

It was three years ago when Meschery wrote the poem 2,841 Personal Fouls. It has little to do with his basketball career, and more to do with his love story. In the poem, he laments that the “thought of dying still pisses me off” and he equates his anger to the unfairness he felt with many of the 2,841 fouls for which he was whistled. But he counters with the outlook Melanie has so ingrained in him.

This morning, didn’t I wake up to sunlight
and a warm breeze? Didn’t my wife
poke her head into the office
to tell me she loved me? I flavor
my coffee with honey that is sweet as life.
I should live a little longer.

(Top photo: Max Whittaker for The Athletic)

SAN FRANCISCO — The motivational message, courtesy of the great Larry Bird, came at the perfect time.

Klay Thompson was just a few days removed from the unwelcome start of his sixth-man life in Utah, where the 34-year-old Warriors legend had been asked to come off the bench after the previous 12 years as a starter. Even with Thompson’s spectacular debut in this new reserve role, a 35-point showing on Feb. 15 that helped lift Golden State over the Jazz heading into the All-Star break, this was the kind of career-changing decision that would take much more time to truly accept. The emotions were still raw.

This was already a sensitive situation too, what with Thompson and the Warriors having been unable to come to terms on an extension in recent months and his free agency looming this summer. And now, with all those existential questions about value and mutual respect front and center already, here he was being asked to sacrifice for the greater good of the group.

An unexpected morale boost from the Basketball Gods, in other words, was badly needed.

As Thompson would learn by way of Warriors PR man Raymond Ridder, and would eventually see for himself on that cellphone video that will be cherished and saved in his digital archives for all of time, Bird had spent part of his All-Star Weekend in Indianapolis speaking with great admiration about him.

The remarks took place at the annual Tech Summit, where Bird shared the stage with famed broadcaster Bob Costas for a wide-ranging basketball conversation that shifted in Thompson’s direction when the Celtics great was asked about which players he enjoyed watching. Then Bird, who shared the NBA Finals stage with Klay’s father, Mychal, when the Lakers won it all in 1987, waxed poetic about the five-time All-Star who was missing on the festivities for a fifth consecutive season.

“Klay Thompson has always been one of my favorite players,” Bird said. “What an incredible shooter.”

Bird went on to share his memories of Thompson’s incredible Dec. 5, 2016, performance against his Indiana Pacers in which he scored 60 points in three quarters — while dribbling the ball just 11 times.

“How do you that, Bob?” Bird, who headed the Pacers front office at the time, said to Costas as his voice rose in disbelief. “How do you do that? … That’s pretty incredible to me.”

For Thompson, who grew up in Los Angeles hearing all those stories about the rivalry between Bird’s Celtics and the Showtime Lakers, the sight of Larry Legend speaking with amazement about his career for a grand total of 37 seconds was nothing short of profound. After all, as those close to him know, his desire to feel appreciated has been a central theme in this trying season of change and self reflection.

“It’s very nice to be reminded, especially from someone like Larry, who I not only looked up to but who I heard about my whole life — especially from my dad,” Thompson told The Athletic. “I watched the Showtime Lakers versus those Celtics teams, and it was just a really cool thing to hear. To hear him going out of his way to say that meant so much to me. Ray sent me the clip, and I’m gonna keep that clip forever.”

As Thompson shared publicly back on Feb. 5 after a game at Brooklyn, when he was so honest and vulnerable about how hard this late-career transition to a lesser role has been, these past few months have been an emotional roller coaster the likes of which he has never felt. It wasn’t the first time he’d chosen to be so open about his truth, either, as he talked at length in early January about the importance of him finding a way to maintain positive energy even when he’s struggling.

Thompson is hardly alone when it comes to this sort of crossroads, with future Hall of Famers such as Russell Westbrook, Kevin Love and his Warriors teammate Chris Paul among those who made the shift to a reserve role earlier than expected in recent years. Andre Iguodala, of course, went down in Warriors lore because of his willingness to make the move gracefully in 2014 en route to them winning three titles in the next four seasons. Carmelo Anthony’s ill-fated final few years were considerably less successful. For better or worse, it’s a hoops tale as old as time.

But given the mood of the moment for Thompson, who lost those two seasons with ACL and Achilles injuries and worked his way back with dreams of returning to his All-Star level, the Bird video was an assist of sorts during an otherwise-challenging time. Especially when the criticism, both in social and mainstream media, has become such a staple of his late-career experience.

This latest chapter has gone mostly well, though, with Thompson adding a dynamic dimension to the Warriors’ second unit that is expected to welcome Paul back after his 21-game absence (fractured hand) Tuesday at Washington. That development alone — the notion of two future Hall of Famers coming off the bench to share the backcourt — has Thompson excited about the possibilities here.

Even in the games where Thompson’s shots aren’t falling, like the home win over the Los Angeles Lakers on Thursday in which he missed eight of nine from the field but had a plus-2 rating, the lifelong sharpshooter is being lauded for his ability to make an impact in other ways. His fast chemistry with young big man Trayce Jackson-Davis, in particular, has been a bright spot.

There have been vintage Klay moments already too, like his showing in Salt Lake City and the 23-point first half against the Denver Nuggets on Sunday (though he went scoreless in the second half). In these first four games in this new role, Thompson is fourth on the team in minutes (27.1 minutes per game), second in scoring (18.1 points) and fourth in plus-minus (plus-13). Overall this season, Thompson is averaging 17.1 points (his lowest total since his 2012-13 season) while on pace for career lows in overall (41.8) and 3-point (37.2) shooting percentage.

The key revelation for the Warriors (29-27), who have won 10 of their last 13 games while creeping back into Play-In Tournament territory, is that Thompson doesn’t see this new assignment as any sort of disqualifier when it comes to his Warriors future. And while Thompson plans on listening to pitches from other teams, it’s clear that staying put is still his preferred option — so long as he feels appreciated and respected in ways that go beyond the financial factor.

“Not really,” Thompson said when asked if the sixth-man assignment might change his desire to return. “I mean, you’ve still got to examine all of your options, but I would love to be a Warrior for life. Whatever happens though, I’ve got a few more years to play this game, so I’m gonna enjoy every second. I realize that I see light at the end of the tunnel, (and) I’m not sure if I want to play until I’m 40, man. That sounds really exhausting.”

That last part appears to qualify as a change of heart, as Thompson had previously expressed a desire to play until he was 40 in the summer of 2019 (during his ACL recovery and before his Achilles tendon tear). When asked to confirm that this reserve role wasn’t a deal-breaker when it comes to him possibly re-signing with the Warriors, he repeated the stance.

“Nah,” he said.

Yet in terms of the bigger-picture outlook, the fact remains that Thompson is the only member of the Warriors’ celebrated core whose contract situation has not been resolved. Steve Kerr’s recent extension (two years, $35 million) lined him up with Steph Curry (signed through the 2025-26 season), and Draymond Green received his four-year, $100 million deal last summer. Even before you dig into the personal dynamics, with Thompson well within his right to wonder if the Warriors truly see him as part of their future, that sort of contractual landscape is inevitably uncomfortable given all they’ve accomplished together.

It hasn’t helped matters that the departure of longtime front-office head Bob Myers last summer left a communication gap of sorts between Thompson and Warriors owner Joe Lacob behind the scenes. Publicly, Lacob has maintained a consistent desire for Thompson to remain. Even with the daunting luxury tax ramifications that loom so large.

Thompson always knew he would likely have to wait until his free agency arrived this summer, what with Lacob’s well-chronicled hopes of ducking under the second (and possibly first) luxury tax apron compelling them to let the roster landscape fully unfold before adding salary. But it’s clear their relationship has suffered some strain along the way, with league sources indicating that Thompson has received no assurances from on high that his hopes of retiring happily in a Warriors jersey someday will be a shared priority this summer. Both sides, it seems clear, have no clarity about what might happen when that time rolls around.

In the here and now, though, Thompson insists he’s in a good place.

“I’m doing great,” he said. “I think I’m doing much better in not putting my identity in my performance, especially after 11 years of NBA basketball. That alone is an incredible accomplishment. And to be out here and still be playing and having fun and being healthy, that trumps any big shooting night or 50-40-90 milestones.

“It took me a long time to realize that, but once I finally did, my game has been much better. I’ve been so much more at ease and realizing that, ‘Gosh, this is such a cool opportunity for me.’ Guys would kill to be in my shoes, even with all the injuries and all that. The heights we’ve reached are rare, so it’s been awesome.”

When it comes to how Thompson has been handling this transition, a quick trip around the Warriors locker room on Sunday night yielded positive feedback. Warriors big man Kevon Looney, who started for most of the past two years before being moved to a reserve role in late January, made the point that the timing of it all made it even tougher for Thompson.

“I think he’s handling it extremely well,” Looney told The Athletic. “I wasn’t sure how he was gonna handle it, especially during the midseason. It wasn’t like (he had) a talk (with the coaches) in training camp, where you’re able to prepare yourself for something like that. It’s a midseason (decision), so I didn’t know how he’d handled it.

“But he’s been more than great. He hasn’t been complaining. I think that (aspect) has probably been even better. He showed his frustration early in the season … (but now) he’s been a great teammate, great leader. And when one of your Hall of Fame players shows that type of leadership, everybody has to kind of follow suit. Nobody can be mad about their role or the minutes they’re getting.”

With the need to maximize youngsters Jonathan Kuminga and Brandin Podziemski more crucial than ever, and the recent results validating that approach, the Warriors’ roster is now full of veterans who are being asked to accept far different roles.

“You’ve got Klay, guys like CP and Wiggs (Andrew Wiggins), who are bona fide Hall of Famers and All-Stars, buying in like that, so everybody else has to buy in,” Looney said. “(But) we can’t win without him being good or without him being a key piece. Whether that’s starting or off the bench, we’re not contending without him being special.

“We all care about him. We all want him to succeed. We all want him to be great. So when he’s not doing well or his energy’s not great, it kind of weighs on everybody else. He knows that. Steve talked to him about that (in early January), and I think he’s been great for the last 20, 30 games. I think that kind of changed our season, changed the way that we’ve been playing.”

Kerr, who once persuaded Iguodala to embrace this sixth-man life and appears to have done it yet again with Thompson, raved about his recent handling of it all as well.

“He’s been great,” Kerr said. “His approach feels so much better than it was even a few weeks ago. This has been an emotional season for him. You guys know this. He’s been grappling with his mortality in some ways as an athlete. He knows how good he was six years ago, and he’s had a hard time reconciling everything after the injuries.

“The thing that we keep trying to convince him of is he’s still a hell of a player. But he’s at his best when he’s not pressing and he’s not stressed out (or) worried about trying to be the guy he was six years ago. I think coming off the bench has maybe helped in that regard. I just notice he’s more relaxed. His approach, his leadership in the locker room, it feels different, and I think he’s starting to get more comfortable with the role but also just kind of the bigger picture stuff that has been bothering him.”

And on those days when the doubts and frustration might return, he’ll have the Bird video just a few screen swipes away to lift his spirits.

“It’s on my phone,” Thompson said with a smile. “I’ll put that (compliment) in the same category as when Kobe (Bryant) called me and Steph great players with that killer instinct (in 2016). It means the world to me.”

(Photo of Klay Thompson: Thearon W. Henderson / Getty Images)

SAN FRANCISCO — Nearly a year ago on the dot, Mike Dunleavy, the Golden State Warriors’ future general manager, and Kent Lacob, an ascending front office personnel voice, hopped in a car and made the quick 50 mile trip south to Santa Clara’s campus.

They were primarily there to see Maxwell Lewis, the possible lottery pick out of Pepperdine. Lewis played fine. He’d eventually get selected 40th in the 2023 NBA Draft. But he wasn’t the best player on the floor. Brandin Podziemski, a 6-foot-4 guard who was only beginning to creep onto the draft radar, made every significant play to lead Santa Clara to victory. His 23 points mattered. But it was the 18 rebounds that had Dunleavy’s and Lacob’s antennas up.

“Mike and I walked out of the game like, ‘Um, that guy might be a first-round pick,’” Lacob said.

Podziemski competed in the NBA Rising Stars Challenge at All-Star Weekend last Friday. He leads all NBA rookies with 14 games of at least 10 points, five rebounds and five assists, making him a clear candidate to finish on the All-Rookie first team.

He turns 21 this week, but has already pushed his way past Klay Thompson into the Warriors’ starting and closing lineups, a vital glue piece of head coach Steve Kerr’s favorite five-man group, which has outscored opponents by 57 points in 107 minutes.

The relationship between Podziemski and the Warriors can be traced to that February night. That’s when they first began to take Podziemski seriously as a prospect. In the ensuing 12 months — with a bunch of important inflection points along the way — he has won over every level of the organization, most crucially his veteran teammates.

Podziemski’s future surfaced recently in the visiting locker room in Salt Lake City. He’s a prototype role player right now, but has dreams of becoming an All-Star. There are roadblocks ahead and limitations to overcome. But anyone who has doubted Podziemski to this point has continually been proven wrong.

“The ceiling is high,” Draymond Green said. “He’s still learning. Still figuring s— out. But when you start looking at people who are going to succeed him…”

Green points three lockers down. Stephen Curry is getting dressed after torching the Jazz. Curry’s prime may extend until 40. But he turns 36 next month. When Curry is 40, Podziemski will be 25.

“It won’t look the same,” Green said. “Totally different. But you’re very comfortable when he’s out there on the court. That says a lot for a rookie on this team — that you feel the amount of comfort you do when he’s out there running the show.”

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The Warriors’ front office reconnected with Podziemski at the draft combine in Chicago in May. Most top prospects don’t do much court work. He tested out better than expected athletically and was already rising on boards, getting first-round buzz. Some in his position may have skipped the scrimmages. Podziemski didn’t.

“I got nothing to hide,” he told the Warriors brass, led by scouting director Larry Harris.

Podziemski then went out and crushed the scrimmage portion. His stock spiked again. In-person workouts cranked up. Podziemski traveled the country, intent on impressing. He went to Houston. Chuck Hayes, currently in the Warriors front office, was working for the Rockets at the time. He remembers Podziemski killing the workout while letting the gym know about it.

“BP,” Hayes called out before a recent game. “You remember talking trash to John Lucas in the Rockets workout?”

“Oh, yeah,” Podziemski replied.

Podziemski and Lucas, the former NBA point guard and legendary development coach, were arguing about who was the greatest lefty guard in the building. It was an early peek into the mindset that has earned Podziemski so much respect.

“He talk s— all day,” Green said. “That’s all he do.”

Podziemski thought he crushed his workout in Miami. He figured the Heat might draft him 18th. They went with Jaime Jaquez Jr., also a Warriors’ favorite. Golden State was up at No. 19. Podziemski thought he fit, but didn’t feel quite as optimistic about how he performed at his group workout in San Francisco. The Warriors were sure.

“He was great on the court,” Lacob said. “Like, really good. Clearly the best player in the workout.”

The Warriors then brought him into the film room and had him break down two games of tape. They don’t often learn much in these sessions. Podziemski was different. They slowed down some of his pick-and-roll decision-making against Gonzaga and defensive possessions.

“He could reference personnel on the other team,” Lacob said. “Names, tendencies, opponent actions. His memory recall was super impressive.”

Podziemski popped in the Warriors’ analytics model, put together by their vice president of analytics Pabail Sidhu. They value it with increased frequency. Podziemski’s 8.8 rebounds per game led his conference. That juiced the analytics model. When it was all wrapped together, Podziemski finished top-10 on the front office’s consensus final draft board.

“There was a belief that he was clearly a Steve Kerr system fit, but also a consensus belief it was more than that,” Lacob said. “The talent combined with the IQ and the personality was something to bet on.”

Cam Whitmore, considered a pre-draft top-five prospect, was still available at 19. So were plenty of other valued players. But the Warriors didn’t flinch. They took Podziemski. It was Dunleavy’s first draft selection as general manager. The room agreed on Podziemski.

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Green sprained his left ankle just before training camp. He missed about a month. In his ramp-up to return, the Warriors set up a scrimmage in Sacramento the morning of their second game. Podziemski was out of the rotation, so they had him play on Green’s team. They lost the first scrimmage after Green turned it over.

“We can’t have a turnover for game!” Podziemski told Green. “You cannot turn the ball over for game.”

Green was stunned. They’ve had rookies who barely say a word to him the entire season.

“I was like, ‘OK, cool, you got it. No problem,’” Green said. “Here we are playing a pick-up game, a game to get me ready and he’s yelling at me. That to me said a whole lot. I was like, ‘You know what? No problem. But make sure you speak up like that all the time.’”

The Warriors had an extended stay in Los Angeles during the preseason. They had some workouts on UCLA’s campus. After one practice, the guards set up a King of the Court style one-on-one. Score and stay. Podziemski was up against a group that included Curry and Chris Paul.

“We were at UCLA, right?” Paul asked Moses Moody. “When BP beat us in ones.”

“Yes,” Moody responded, grinning at the memory. The rookie was giving it to two of the greatest to ever do it at the point guard position and alerting anyone within earshot of the damage.

“He did the Tiger (Woods) fist-pump,” Paul said, shaking his head.

“‘Let’s f—g go!’” Curry remembers him taunting. “That was hilarious.”

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Podziemski’s first NBA taste was bitter. He struggled in summer league, mostly with his jumper and floater. The more he stewed, the more it snowballed.

“I had a little bit of doubt after summer league,” Podziemski admitted. “But the rest of that July period and August and September, I just attacked. I focused on what I needed to work on to be a role player on this team.”

Podziemski attended every team workout that Curry, Paul and Green organized across the summer. He was in the team facility on Aug. 1 and a mainstay almost every day after. He entered camp confident he could make some noise, even if most figured he’d spend the majority of the season in Santa Cruz with the Warriors G League affiliate.

Kevon Looney remembers the new rookie guard bashing into him and clawing over rebounds. He initially told Podziemski to quit stealing them away. Then he realized it was part of his game and attitude.

“I remember in those mini-camps, he’d be grumbling after scrimmages like, ‘Oh, I’m tired of losing,’” Looney said. “I was like, ‘You should just be happy you’re on the court.’ He’s like, ‘Nah, we gotta figure out a way to win. They need to pass me the ball.’ I’m like, ‘Uhh, I don’t know about that.’”

Looney saw a quote from Podziemski soon after the draft that said he wanted to be a triple-double guy.

“That’s pretty bold,” Looney said and laughed. “But I know most Wisconsin guards have this crazy confidence to them. (Jordan) Poole. Tyler Herro. He’s got a delusion to him that makes him good.”

Podziemski grew up in Milwaukee in what he describes as a “competitive” family where his father, John, and his mother, Barbara West, didn’t allow him to win at anything. He needed to earn it.

“From that competitiveness comes confidence,” Podziemski said. “Knowing how much you put into the game, why would you come in here nervous or timid?”

Podziemski stays extremely late after games. He strolls around the locker room and converses with anyone in his orbit. He tried to set up an NBA-related quiz after a game early in the season to get some spending money off Thompson and then compared their salaries when Thompson was hesitant. Thompson told him to stop “pocket-watching.”

“It’s easier to tame a lion than get a sheep to show some oomph,” Curry said. “The most annoying parts about him are the greatest parts about him. He’s still coachable. That’s a big part of it. You can say all that stuff but if you can’t accept coaching, that’s where it turns into being counterproductive.”

Podziemski trails Curry for postgame workouts and studies what makes him great. He might be the most active member of the team’s group chat, according to Green, and told Green he was coming for him via text messages.

“I wouldn’t do this if I were you,” Green warned. “I don’t play fair.”

Podziemski then sent a bunch of old photos of Green to the team, the funniest he could find.

“He was like: ‘Wham. Wham. Wham,’” Green said of the flood of texts and then remembered he hadn’t retaliated. “I still gotta popcorn his car.”

After a low-energy loss to the Heat in late December, a distraught Podziemski went to the podium and blamed himself as the biggest reason for the loss. Anyone who watched the game would’ve placed his decent performance far down the list. Curry went 3 of 15 shooting. Andrew Wiggins was in a slump. Defensive breakdowns were everywhere. But there he was pinning himself as the night’s wrongdoer.

“Geez,” Thompson said when he heard about it. “Dramatic, rookie.”

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Kerr has been most impressed with Podziemski defensively. In camp, they track deflections during scrimmages. Podziemski led the team. That was an early sign.

His rebounding numbers translated, which was particularly important for a team that leaned small. The Warriors are the third-best rebounding team in the NBA and Podziemski’s 5.8 rebounds per game in 26 minutes per game rank behind only Green and Looney. He gets on the glass more relentlessly than Wiggins and Jonathan Kuminga, their bigger wings.

“What this team has lacked, what it lacked last year, he gave us,” Kerr said. “The connection. The connector. The ball-mover. The cutter. There’s a feel and a recognition of what’s happening on the floor that makes him playable in any lineup. He enhances every lineup.”

The Warriors nearly blew a huge lead to the Spurs in late November. They won, but it was a bad overall performance and Podziemski’s first real stinker. He missed all five of his shots. Kerr entered the locker room postgame expecting the team to be down and Podziemski to be in hiding.

“I would have been holed up in my apartment for three days wondering if I’d ever make a shot again,” Kerr said of his younger self. “But I went in there and he was the most upbeat guy. I loved it. Because when you play poorly and still can bring team energy and maintain confidence and swagger, that’s a great sign.”

One of the more consequential plays of the Warriors’ season so far came in Portland in mid-December. They entered a wobbly 11-14, needing desperately to beat a bad Trail Blazers team. But Curry struggled and they were having a tough time putting the win away.

Curry missed a free throw with four seconds left. The Blazers, down two, didn’t call timeout. Shaedon Sharpe pushed the ball upcourt in a scramble drill. He had what appeared to be a path to the rim to tie it. But Podziemski stepped in front and took a game-winning charge. Here’s the possession:

Podz saves the day with a heads-up play pic.twitter.com/hsBjStzdye

— Warriors on NBCS (@NBCSWarriors) December 18, 2023

That was Podziemski’s 11th charge drawn. It has become his signature defensive move. He has drawn 27 this season, which leads the NBA. He tracks the leaderboard, knew who led the NBA in that category last season (Oklahoma City’s Jaylin Williams) and even mentions some of the greatest charge-takers in recent history when discussing it.

When discussing Podziemski’s defensive upside, Kerr compared him to Austin Reaves of the Lakers.

“Like when I coached Austin this past summer, what stood out to me most is just that there’s zero fear defensively. And he’s strong as s—. That’s what they have in common. They’re very similar (in) size. Six-four and really physically strong. That’s what you need, I think, in today’s game. The guys who struggle defensively are the guys who aren’t physically strong. If you’re going to be on the small side, you’ve got to be strong,” Kerr said.

Podziemski has, in a roundabout way, compared himself to Gary Payton II and Draymond Green this season, overly ambitious on its face but Payton and Green seem to understand the general point. He sees the floor and the patterns and has an appetite for disruption like both of them. But that comes with a downside. He roams.

“He gambles way too much,” Kerr said. “That’s great except we really only need one guy (Draymond) doing that. If you have two guys doing that, the defense will be screwed up. But I’ll take that any day over the guy who isn’t aware. The guy who isn’t aware is standing on the weak side while the guy is laying it in. He’s the opposite. He sees every cutter. He’s trying to help on everything. We just have to help him streamline and help him understand his job isn’t to do everyone else’s job.”

Adds Green: “He gets lost sometimes. But the reality is I used to get lost all the time. People may not remember, but they couldn’t play me on shooters for a long time. It’d be like we’re playing the Pelicans, I’d guard Anthony Davis. Then they’d switch Ryan Anderson or Nikola Mirotić and they’d be like: ‘We got to get Draymond out of the game.’”

Podziemski strayed too far off Jordan Clarkson during a recent game against the Jazz and learned the lesson on the bench from Payton, another high-risk gambler.

“He sees what Draymond does and tries to mimic it,” Payton said. “But I told him when you’re guarding a problem like Clarkson, you can’t roam as much as you’d like. Because it’s a swing, swing, high percentage catch-and-shoot. It’s all a feel.”

On the other end of the floor, Podziemski is a low-risk playmaker. In February, he has 52 assists and nine turnovers. In January, he had 41 assists and 12 turnovers. He had a 27-assist, 0-turnover four-game stretch recently that broke rookie records.

But his ultimate upside will be determined as a scorer. Podziemski’s shot diet is limited to 3s, floaters, sweeping hooks and sneaky layups. He stays out of the midrange and doesn’t live above the rim. He struggled with his 3 for some of the season but has made 12 of his last 19 to up his season percentage to 38.5 percent. He has scored in double-figures in 28 games this season, sixth-most among rookies, and hit 20 four times. If that can become a regular benchmark as he nears his prime, the ceiling will continue to rise.

“I want to be an All-Star,” Podziemski said. “You know, Jonathan has taken that next step of really being in that conversation. To see his growth just this year has been pretty special. So going into the summer after this year elevating my game to another level, doing the things that I’m deficient in now and making them as efficient as possible, I think I can get there. I’m never gonna just settle for being a role player, especially after my first year. I got a long career ahead of me.“

(Photo illustration: Rachel Orr / The Athletic; photo: Brian Babineau / NBAE via Getty Images)

Another NBA All-Star Game has come and gone, and it was once again an uninspiring Sunday night. The game, once the crown jewel of All-Star Weekend, was a dud despite expectations that the league was going to fix it.

NBA commissioner Adam Silver said as much on the eve of the game itself. He discussed the changes the league made to make the game more competitive — welcome back, East vs. West! – the efforts it took to figure it out with the players, all the nuances of the wait times for introductions and halftime. All of it.

“I think we’re going to see a good game tomorrow night,” Silver said.

Then he, and we, got a 211-186 East win. It was the first time in league history that the winning team surpassed 200 points.

The All-Star Game remains unfixed. Now the question turns toward how to actually do that. Can it be done at all? Somebody has to solve the NBA’s All-Star Game malaise. Why not us?

The Athletic asked members of its NBA staff one question: “What can be done to fix the All-Star Game?” Here’s what some of them said:

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Joe Vardon, senior writer: Combine the In-Season Tournament (IST) and All-Star Weekend. Expand the IST a little, put a little more money into it (for IST and for All-Star Saturday participants), move the IST back a little so that the final four lands at the actual season’s midpoint, celebrate your All-Stars with a nice little ceremony that weekend, have an All-Star Saturday night in between final four and finals and then the entire league takes a week off.

Mike Vorkunov, NBA/Business of Basketball writer: What if the NBA still picked 12 All-Stars from each conference but eliminated the game and made each of them have to pick one of the All-Star Saturday Night events to compete in? Cancel the game but save the Slam Dunk Contest.

Sam Amick, senior writer: Here’s the problem with the idea of an All-Star Game bonus (bigger than the $100,000 they already get for winning), losers get $25,000, and the comparison to the IST: The $500,000 IST prize is big enough to matter to lower-level players, and we saw All-Stars who make $30 million-plus a year decide to care in large part because their teammates who make so much less had a chance to make impactful cash. But in an All-Star Game, where they all make so much already, what the hell kind of number would it take to have a similar effect on the competitiveness? Seriously, are we talking about an extra $5 million to $10 million per guy? The optics of that would be rough, not to mention counterproductive from a business standpoint for the league. It would be nice if players would just take it seriously for the sake of honoring those who paved the way, but it’s pretty clear that’s not going to happen. And from what I heard after the game, there was no shortage of former players who were rolling their eyes at what they had just watched.

John Hollinger, senior columnist: I’m not sure the money was more than a secondary motivation for the IST. … Games all counted except the last one, and in the final, you’re understood to be playing a game that matters (to your owner/coach/fans/teammates, if not to you). The All-Star Game is just …. an exhibition.

Amick: Fair points, John, but they make the notion of more money being a possible solution even more challenging. And I make these points because, as I wrote overnight, that was the discussion among some of the players after the game (that a big prize would change how they play in the ASG).

Vorkunov: Why is the All-Star Game worth saving? It worked for a number of years, and now it doesn’t. If the NBA is about innovation, then it should try to find a new way to service fans. Maybe move the skills challenge/3-point contest and dunk contests to Sunday and incentivize its biggest stars to actually compete in them. That diminishes the chances of getting hurt (which is ostensibly a reason they don’t try in the ASG now). Replace Saturday night with something else. Or keep Saturday night as is and find new one-on-one competitions for Sunday that might get fans interested. Sabrina Ionescu vs. Stephen Curry was the coolest part of the whole weekend; put that and future iterations of that idea on Sunday instead. The whole thing is a marketing roadshow anyway.

Jon Greenberg, Chicago-based columnist: How about changing the slogan to “If You Don’t Like It, Don’t Watch?” The only real solution is for the players to care again. None of the other gimmicks will work. The draft sounded fun on Twitter, but ultimately, it was detrimental to the product and scrapped. Here’s an interesting thought exercise: Which NBA stars actually hate (or dislike, even just in a competitive sense) other stars? Who out there NEEDS to win at all costs against his peers? Those are the only guys who can “save” the game because they could set the tone for the rest. Most of the players probably don’t care because they see it as marketing/entertainment fluff, and that’s probably not going to change going forward, especially as the younger players have grown up with this kind of All-Star effort. In reality, the game will go on, people can just complain about it and the NBA Takes Economy will keep churning. My only real suggestions are: Go back to making cool uniforms and have Common do the intros every year.

OK, one more idea: Everyone talks about upping the prize money, but what if the losing players had to pay the prize money to the winners? Does that do anything for you?

Amick: You’re right, Jon. Making all those changes, and then going back to the original format only to have it go so poorly, is not a great look. There’s this part too: With the league trying to maximize leverage during this time of crucial media-rights negotiations, it’s more important than ever for the tentpole events to go well. The IST was a win, in that regard, even if the ratings weren’t what they had hoped for. But this, it’s safe to say, was a setback on that front. In case you wondered why Silver looked so displeased after the game…

Jason Lloyd, Cleveland-based columnist: It’s always about the stars in the NBA. The tentpoles of the league. LeBron James doesn’t care as much about competing in All-Star games anymore. If he did, everyone else would fall in line (like they did with IST). These guys can say whatever they want at the podium, but if LeBron, Kevin Durant and Curry actually guarded and competed, I guarantee you Tyrese Halliburton and Jayson Tatum and the rest would fall in line. For all the good Silver has done, I think he lets the players run all over him. A large number of NFL guys really dislike Roger Goodell, and while I’m not trying to defend him, the product has never been stronger. It feels like Silver bends to the players on everything. And I think the product has at times suffered for it.

Zach Harper, staff writer/The Bounce: This is what happens when your commissioner is obsessed with being friends with the players.

Vorkunov: Sam, I agree about the media-rights aspect. Basically everything around the NBA seems to be in a stasis until that gets settled. Silver said any tweaks to the In-Season Tournament are on hold until he talks to potential media partners about what might work for them; maybe he’ll have the same talks about this event too.

I wonder if the big change might be trying a U.S. vs. The World model. Roll it out after the Olympics. The very best players in the world are no longer American-born. Nikola Jokić, Giannis Antetokounmpo, Joel Embiid and Luka Dončić are annually the top finishers in the MVP voting. Shai Gilgeous-Alexander has a case this year. It could make for an interesting game, and fans and players are usually more rapt with interest whenever you wrap the flag around something. But there will also be issues involved with this format, from how the rosters get filled out to who gets to be an All-Star, and those would have to be parsed out carefully.

The big issue is how to make up the rosters. There were just five non-U.S. born All-Stars this year. Where do those seven other All-Stars come from? Do you still name 24 All-Stars combined between the two conferences but create the U.S. and World teams differently? It’s harder to figure out those logistics.

Amick: I love that concept, in a vacuum. But the historical significance of overhauling how All-Stars get picked, I think, would make it a no-go from the league’s side of things. The makeup of the league’s elite talent works well for that concept right now, but that becomes a major problem when that’s no longer the case.

Harper: This is also a product of parity — which Silver has been trying to create for a decade. And it’s also a product of the 65-game rule. Players going all out or even half out for this exhibition actually could cost them something if injury happens. I’m not saying it’s right, but I get why you’d approach this as just having fun and not risking anything serious.

Jeff Maillet, senior editor: Create a two-on-two or three-on-three, half-court tournament format with prize money and eliminate the Sunday game. The leading vote-getters could pick their teams, and the games would be short: Eight minutes with a running clock or the first to a designated score (11 or 15 points). You’d think a more open floor would reduce any concerns related to contact injuries because there are fewer players.

I have two 10-year-old basketball-playing daughters who wouldn’t watch an NBA All-Star Game if I paid them. But their eyes were glued to the television during the skills competition (it was probably the new LED floor!). Keep it, add more WNBA players and make it more difficult. Create an improved obstacle course with the floor guiding players better and with more challenging shots (a behind-the-basket shot, one from a fan’s seat in the lower bowl that gets randomly chosen, etc.) and drills.

Eric Nehm, Bucks writer: This may be small, but if you want the NBA All-Star Game to be a game that matters, treat it like a game that matters.

NBA players are maniacal about their routines. From my perspective as the Milwaukee Bucks beat writer, I know Giannis Antetokounmpo does the same thing before every game. He gets on the floor two hours before, works out for 15-20 minutes, watches film, throws on some leg sleeves, meditates, does the pregame meeting and then comes out for warmups. It’s the same for every other player in that game. Curry’s pregame is famous at this point. Same things for Durant and countless other players.

On Sunday, Antetokounmpo got on the floor 90 minutes before the game, and he wasn’t supposed to touch a basketball. Instead, he was supposed to stand still and listen to instructions during the rehearsal for the Eastern Conference team’s pregame introductions.

If you want the players to compete at a high level, you have to give them the space to compete.

David Aldridge, senior columnist: I understand the “optics” of using money to induce greater effort may turn off some viewers. I think many, many more are turned off by the crap effort displayed in the last few years. I don’t recall much blowback from the IST because money got guys to care a little more about regular-season games. People just remember seeing LeBron take charges and Haliburton blowing up. This is a different era – one in which players are getting $40 million and $50 million per year (which, by the way, is fine with me). Money is pretty much the only thing that gets their attention. (And, he notes parenthetically, money is pretty much the only thing that gets the attention of a lot of people who watch TV, if the reality TV era is any indication.)

I have advocated for almost two decades that the NBA lean in on its top 10 or so corporate partners and induce two of them, once each in a five-year period, to put up $5 million. The NBA would put up $2 million, for a total purse of $12 million, or $1 million per player. Then, take a briefcase with a check for $12 million in it (or, a bag with an actual $ sign on it) to midcourt before the tip. Have Michael Buffer (or, I guess, now, Buffer’s kid) announce that this is winner take all. I think you’d solve at least some of the effort issues.

Obviously, you couldn’t do this every year. I get that. I’m just saying to try it for a while and see what the results are. This isn’t the Treaty of Ghent. It’s an All-Star Game. You can do whatever you need to do to make sure, as (I think, Mike) noted, that this tentpole programming for TNT and the league doesn’t go the way of the NFL’s Pro Bowl.

Or, another idea: If you fall on the side of, “This is all entertainment, so no one cares about competition,” then get rid of the competition altogether. Lean all the way into entertainment.

Keep All-Star Friday and Saturday as is but have a two-hour concert on All-Star Sunday. You can announce/introduce the players who were picked as All-Stars, and they’d all have to come wherever the weekend is. But why not try to take some of the momentum the NFL creates with its halftime show? (I already have a tagline: “Fifteen minutes just isn’t enough.”) The NBA has incredible relationships with the entertainment industry, from Irving Azoff and Jay-Z to Lil’ Wayne and Dr. Dre. Why can’t the NBA promote “The All-Star Concert at the Sphere, starring U2?” Or, Mary J. Blige at United Center? Or Bruce Springsteen at the Garden? Or … one of these two.

As for U.S. vs. the World: In theory, yes, that could be really competitive. There’s certainly enough talent to go around to put two outstanding teams together, and at least along the margins, you’d think it would goose the players to play a little harder. But what if the international team brings the juice while the U.S. guys go through the motions – and the World team smacks the U.S. around by 20 or 30? I don’t think the NBA wants, “Our guys got smashed, and they don’t give a damn,” hot takes coming out of one of its signature events.

Oh, one more idea (This is what happens when you sit in an airport for four hours.): Part of the All-Star problem, too, is that the crowd that attends the game is, to be blunt, terrible. Cheering is nearly non-existent. It’s all corporate sponsors and their families and celebrities and influencers and politicians – and very, very few actual basketball fans. A lot of people come to be seen, not to get loud. There are few fans from the host city, other than a few hundred each year whom the league brings in to highlight local charities and civic organizations.

Again, it’s a long shot, but real problems require real changes. Why not have a lottery or giveaway or however the league wants to do it for a large chunk of seats throughout the building – like, 5,000 or so – that would go to actual basketball fans from the host city? (This would also help team owners, who are inundated every year by angry season-ticket holders from the host team’s city who can’t get All-Star Weekend tickets or can only get seats up in the nosebleeds.)

Willy Wonka this sucker. Put “Golden Tickets” in game programs during the first half of the season – limit it to four per person – and have 100 people or so every home game, from the 400 level to courtside, get the good news. Or have an essay contest for the local elementary, middle and high schools, with the winning school getting 500 seats. Just get people with actual lung capacity in the building.

Get The Bounce, a daily NBA Newsletter from Zach Harper and Shams Charania, in your inbox every morning. Sign up here.

(Top photo: Justin Casterline / Getty Images)

The definition of anticlimactic, courtesy of Dictionary.com: “An event, conclusion, statement, etc., that is far less important, powerful, or striking than expected.”

Does that sound about right, Los Angeles Lakers fans … Atlanta Hawks fans … Chicago Bulls fans … Sacramento Kings fans … and Golden State Warriors fans?

The list could go on from there, but that group of five teams makes up The Athletic’s inaugural All-Standpat Team for this year’s NBA trade deadline. The Milwaukee Bucks came close to making it but barely avoided the unflattering inclusion by landing a “Pat” from the Philadelphia 76ers — Beverley, that is — and potentially helping their awful defense.

As for the ones who did make it, this group is a mixture of alleged buyers and sellers who surprised the masses by keeping their underperforming teams intact. The motivations varied, but there’s one factor that it’s safe to say played a pivotal part for some of these teams: the league’s Play-In Tournament.

If there wasn’t more postseason wiggle room than before with 10 spots in each conference up for grabs rather than eight, then there would be an even greater need for each of these teams to take a long, hard look in the proverbial mirror and truly decide what they see in the reflection.

Instead, there’s a standings buffer that offers additional hope and, it seems, inspires cold feet when it comes to making the tough decisions.

That’s a broad generalization and hardly a one-size-fits-all explanation for this group. But let’s take a closer look at each situation and discuss what likely led to being inactive.

(Records and standings are from the time of the trade deadline.)

(27-25; ninth in the Western Conference) 

This much is clear: Lakers general manager Rob Pelinka didn’t see the Hawks’ Dejounte Murray as the kind of difference-maker who would vault his team back into a title contender. If he did, he would’ve put Austin Reaves into the offer like Atlanta had wanted and done the deal.

Truth be told, I can’t blame him. And even with LeBron James sending so many (Knicks-colored) smoke signals indicating a strong desire for the Lakers to make a significant move, this wasn’t the way to go.

While Reaves has his faults, the third-year guard is a very productive piece of the Lakers’ core (15.5 points, 5.3 assists, 4.0 rebounds per game) who is signed to a team-friendly deal through the 2025-26 season (with a player option worth $14.8 million in 2026-27). He’s homegrown too, which comes with some sentimental value. Losing him would have hurt.

Then there’s the D’Angelo Russell factor.

While there will always be a roller-coaster element to the D-Lo experience, and times when a bad matchup (last season’s Western Conference finals against Denver) might become a major issue, the gap between him and Murray isn’t so great that it justifies losing two key members of the Lakers rotation, a 2029 first-rounder and additional draft compensation to bring Murray to town. Especially when this core showed last season that it can make a legitimate run.

But this surely sets the stage for a compelling next few months as it relates to James and his uncertain Lakers future. He has a player option for next season, meaning the free-agency exit door will be wide open if this Lakers season ends so poorly that he wants to consider other options. The timing of it all could make for dramatic NBA theater too.

James has until June 29 to decide on his option, which is just two days after the conclusion of the draft. Why does that matter? Because the Lakers will be able to offer three first-rounders for a star player of their choice by then, meaning James’ view of their next few seasons could be changed for the better at the 11th hour.

What’s more, that’s when his dream of playing with his son Bronny could be fulfilled if the current USC player decides to enter the draft (and James finds a way to persuade his current team to select him). There could be a consolation prize for the Lakers on the buyout market too, with ESPN’s Dave McMenamin reporting Thursday that they’re among the front-runners for Spencer Dinwiddie.

Hawks

(22-29; 10th place in the Eastern Conference)

Let’s just start by making this declaration on the Murray front: The price the Hawks paid in 2022 — three first-rounders, a first-round pick swap and Danilo Gallinari — has long since become a sunk cost. So if there’s any internal pressure to recoup those assets in a Murray deal to justify giving him up, that flawed logic needs to go.

The Hawks still have time to figure out the Murray situation (he’s signed through the 2026-27 season with a player option in 2027-28), and the fact that the market wasn’t strong certainly appears to have played a part.

Beyond the Lakers, the Brooklyn Nets were believed to be interested, and the New Orleans Pelicans were the only other known team to show interest near the end. However, according to a Pelicans source, those talks were never seen as serious from their side. New Orleans believes it was largely used as leverage (that didn’t work) against the Lakers.

In terms of Hawks surprises, I’m more stunned there wasn’t more discussion about some of their other guys. Whether it was Clint Capela, De’Andre Hunter or Bogdan Bogdanović, I thought for sure they’d be able to find a deal or two that could help reshape this roster a bit. But now with their Trae Young-centric culture intact and no objective observer convinced that their ceiling is anything more than a first-round bow out, it’s more of the same for the foreseeable future.

Jalen Johnson’s ascension has been a major bright spot, with the third-year small forward who was taken 20th from Duke in 2021 in the running for the NBA Most Improved Player Award. Beyond that, though, the Hawks had better hope second-year coach Quin Snyder has some serious X’s and O’s magic up his sleeves.

Bulls

(24-27; ninth in the East)

The Bulls might need to change their pregame theme music now, from the legendary “SIRIUS” instrumental by The Alan Parsons Project that sparks all those memories of Michael Jordan-led title teams to this 1973 ditty that is far more fitting in the modern day: “Stuck in the Middle with You” by Stealers Wheel.

That’s the harsh truth of these choices that they’re making with 87-year-old owner Jerry Reinsdorf prioritizing the chance to field a competitive team over a rebuilding pathway toward a younger core and true contention.

In that sense, it was almost perfect that they beat the West-leading Minnesota Timberwolves in overtime two nights before the deadline. That sort of best-case-scenario showing, small sample size and all, is the kind of thing that likely confirmed this sort of ethos.

“This team is very competitive in every game,” vice president of basketball operations Artūras Karnišovas told the media after the deadline passed Thursday. “And we have aspirations to compete for the playoffs.”

Zach LaVine was likely staying put even if his season wasn’t cut short by right foot surgery recently. His massive contract (four years, $178 million) was proving to be a significant deterrent for potential suitors. But Alex Caruso ($9.4 million this season, $9.8 million next) is a different story with his market known to be robust and his two-way impact tailor-made for contenders.

Meanwhile, DeMar DeRozan is still playing at a high level and will be an unrestricted free agent after this season. That’s typically a formula for a deal when a team is mired in mediocrity, but these Bulls will now look to keep the 34-year-old this summer. A league source with knowledge of DeRozan’s situation said he is happy there and would like to return — if the money is right.

Big man Andre Drummond was another bench player whose value has increased, with the Sixers and Knicks known to be interested. Again, though, no deal happened.

There’s real hope for the Bulls when it comes to Coby White, who like the Hawks’ Johnson, should be a serious candidate for Most Improved Player too. But because of Lonzo Ball’s unfortunate future — the 26-year-old is missing a second consecutive season because of chronic knee issues — the reasons for long-term optimism end there.

Kings

(29-21; seventh in the West)

The pressure from the Kings’ fan base to make any move was fairly significant, especially after the Kings lost to the lowly Detroit Pistons on Wednesday night. While Sacramento is in a decent position to make the playoffs for just the second time since 2006, the locals’ hope of this team evolving into something even more dangerous this season has been fading of late. And with good reason.

So when the Kings did nothing of significance at the deadline, it came as no surprise that there was a sense of significant disappointment among their faithful. But the truth about the situation is that they made their most significant roster choices long before the deadline arrived — at least when it comes to the possibility of adding impact players.

They had extensive talks with Toronto about Pascal Siakam in mid-January, choosing not to make that deal after league sources said a deal was close. As I reported at the time, it didn’t help matters that Siakam, who will be an unrestricted free agent this summer, didn’t want to be in Sacramento long term (or short term). Considering the Indiana Pacers would later give up three first-rounders to land Siakam, it’s hard to argue with the Kings’ choice to hold onto those kinds of draft assets.

Even before that, the Kings had decided against making a serious pursuit of the Raptors’ OG Anunoby before he went to the Knicks in late December for RJ Barrett, Immanuel Quickley and a second-round pick. Team sources said the cost of retaining Anunoby in free agency this summer was a concern.

What’s more, the Raptors’ desire to land second-year Kings forward Keegan Murray also was known to be an obstacle. Again, it’s not hard to see why a deal didn’t go down. When it comes to other high-profile targets, the Kings had long since lost interest in the Wizards’ Kyle Kuzma.

Only time will tell if the Kings’ patience pays off, but there’s something to be said for not making that next big move too early if it’s not there. Just ask the Hawks.

Then again, it’s still less than ideal that they couldn’t find anyone to help inject some new life into their lineups. They were known to be interested in the Nets’ Royce O’Neale (who went to the Suns in a three-team deal) and Dorian Finney-Smith (who wasn’t traded). They had eyes for Washington’s Delon Wright and Miami’s Caleb Martin. But the trade dud-line theme continued in Sacramento too.

Warriors

(23-25; 11th in the West)

I probably covered the Warriors dynasty too closely for too long and with my eyes wide open in sheer awe for so much of that time. So when Warriors general manager Mike Dunleavy Jr. chooses to lean into their storied history at this deadline, holding onto those hopes that Stephen Curry can lead them out of this darkness rather than rolling the dice on whatever deals came their way, I sort of get it. Even with all the bad basketball we’ve seen from this particular Golden State squad this season.

They won four titles in eight years and went to the NBA Finals six times in that stretch. Their last title was less than two years ago. There were signs of long-term hope in their second-round loss to the Lakers last season. And now, just four months into this season that has been so revealing in the worst kind of way, you’re surprised that they want more time to figure out how to forge a new future with Curry still at the center of it all? I am not surprised.

Andrew Wiggins was the only one who was out there in terms of trade talks by the time deadline week arrived. But as my “Tampering” podcast co-host and Warriors beat writer Anthony Slater discussed in our latest episode, Draymond Green’s recent return from his league-issued suspension has allowed the Warriors to play Wiggins and the emerging Jonathan Kuminga together much more effectively.

If their convincing win over Indiana on Thursday night was any indication, their quiet deadline was well received in the Warriors locker room.

As for the Klay Thompson situation, which was front and center this week when he discussed his basketball mortality with such vulnerability, that’s a bridge to be crossed when he becomes a free agent this summer. Ditto for Chris Paul, whose $30 million salary for next season is not guaranteed. Those answers, much like a new Warriors era, will come in time.

(Top photo of Joe Lacob and Mike Dunleavy Jr.: Rocky Widner / NBAE via Getty Images)

In the backyard of Draymond Green’s $10 million home in the Los Angeles suburb of Brentwood, where white columns and a marble patio overlook the greenest of grass, Golden State Warriors coach Steve Kerr chatted with the heartbeat of his team.

Hours earlier, the Warriors had landed in Los Angeles to a whirlwind of drama. The night before, Dec. 12 in Phoenix, Green had protested an uncalled foul by spinning and flailing his arms. He struck Suns center Jusuf Nurkić in the face, incurring a Flagrant 2 foul and automatic ejection. This was just shy of a month after his previous Flagrant 2, a five-second chokehold of Minnesota’s Rudy Gobert that landed Green a five-game suspension and a promise of harsher future league penalties.

So while the basketball world waited for the league’s latest punishment — an indefinite suspension that ended up lasting 12 games — and before the Warriors took on the host Clippers, Kerr visited Green for their latest heart-to-heart talk. These two have argued and debated. They’ve cursed each other out. They’ve strategized together. Bared their souls to one another. On this day, they cried together.

And Kerr came equipped with an appeal: “I want you to end this the right way. I want us to end this the right way.”

Discussing the end strikes a chord with Green. Kerr knew it would. He’s spent the last five years in the trenches with Green, Stephen Curry and Klay Thompson, warding off the inevitable. Fighting against basketball mortality. The way last season ended, and how this one has gone, they can hardly deny the end is nearing. Stalking them. They can feel its breath.

“We’re in a position where we’re getting older, trying to defend everything that we’ve done over the last decade,” Kerr said recently after practice, explaining his pitch to Green. “Let’s do it the right way. Let’s do it with dignity. Let’s do it with competitive desire. Let’s do it joyfully. What this team has been built on, and I think what attracts a lot of our fans, it’s not just the style but it’s the joy that the players feel, the competitive desire that sort of complements that. It’s been a wonderful combination.”

Since the NBA went to a two-round draft in 1989, only three players have made the Hall of Fame who were not selected in the first round: Toni Kukoč, Ben Wallace and Manu Ginobili. Two-time MVP Nikola Jokić is sure to join them. But not before Green, the No. 35 pick in the 2012 NBA Draft. His next decade was worthy of a documentary.

That’s why it’s imperative for the 33-year-old Green, who is expected to return to game action Monday and has three years and over $77 million remaining on his contract, to end his career right. Because finality with a shot of regret is too strong an elixir. Over the last 15 months, he has been choreographing a conclusion that sullies the quality of his journey. His prominence has become more about flagrants and flails, suspensions and stomps, petulance and punches.

Green’s legacy should be a glorious one. An improbable legend, a four-time NBA champion born of the rare combination of skill, intellect and toughness. The chubby kid from rusty Saginaw, Mich., forged himself into an all-time great. A testament to the capacity of will, of what sports can blossom from unlikely soils.

“He was 285 pounds when I first got him,” said Tom Izzo, who coached Green at Michigan State.

Instead, his reputation is currently more about the problems he causes than the championship solutions he has delivered. But his teammates believe, his coach believes, NBA commissioner Adam Silver and his enforcer, executive vice president Joe Dumars, believe there is a Draymond in there worth fighting to save. A legacy that deserves better punctuation.

“When I look back at these situations,” Green said last week, “it’s like, ‘Can I remove the antics?’ I am very confident I can remove the antics. And I am very confident if I do, no one is worried about how I play the game of basketball, how I carry myself in the game of basketball. It’s the antics. That’s the focus. It’s not changing who I am completely. You don’t change the spots on a leopard.”

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Kevon Looney’s AAU coach, Shelby Parrish, was in the Bay Area visiting, not long after Looney was drafted in 2015. Looney was showing his youth coach around and, next thing he knew, Green was hanging out with coach Parrish. They talked for at least an hour.

Then Green invited Looney and his guests to hang out at Halftime Sports Bar in Oakland. In the middle of the day, they were playing dominoes with Green. Parrish had the memory of a lifetime.

“The reason that he’s allowed to yell at people,” Looney said of Green, “and get animated is because he only wants to win and he puts the time in off the court. … When I first got here, any time there was a rookie, anytime somebody new came to the team, he’s the first person to take them in and take them out. Show ’em the town. Put them in touch with the people they need to know. That’s what he did for me. All my family and friends, he made them feel comfortable, like they were his family.”

Back in October, Trayce Jackson-Davis worked out in the team’s practice facility on the ground floor of Chase Center. The rookie big man, who turns 24 in February, was still getting accustomed to life in the NBA when he learned he would start at center against Sacramento in the third preseason game. Green, sidelined with a sprained left ankle, interrupted the rookie’s workout. He gave Jackson-Davis 10 minutes of pointers on defending Kings big man Domantas Sabonis. The four-time champion schooling the No. 57 pick. Green walked through how to give Sabonis space, how to hold his ground when Sabonis lowers his shoulder or digs in his elbow, and how to get into Sabonis’ body on rebounds.

“It was great, especially how nervous I was,” Jackson-Davis said, “being so early in the season. The vets, at that time, weren’t around. We hadn’t developed relationships yet. He didn’t have to do that. But it helped. Especially in the first quarter, I guarded him really well.”

The dynamics of the Warriors, of locker rooms, of relationships within teams helps explain why, even after his laundry list of violations over the years, Green is still a Warrior. Still welcomed. Still redeemable.

Loyalty.

It sounds like an oxymoron for a player who keeps letting his team down. Green’s inability to control himself and make sure he’s available for a team that desperately needs him could be seen as disloyalty. Watching the Warriors’ defense decline significantly without him underscores how much his absence hurts the Warriors.

“Part of that complexity,” Kerr explained, “is this intense loyalty to the team and to the organization, to his coaches. He’s loyal to me. We’ve definitely had our share of run-ins, but it’s all in the name of trying to win.”

“I think the people that he trusts and he believes in, he’d die for ’em,” Izzo said. “I know that sounds like a drastic statement. I believe it. I really do.”

Green is a dichotomy. Most aren’t privy to the countless impactful moments behind the scenes. That character is behind the patience he receives within the organization. It also fuels the hope he can rectify his name.

As Looney said, “There is way more good than bad.”

The one incident Looney doesn’t get behind, the one the Warriors all agree was the most wrong Green has been, was punching Jordan Poole in October 2022. Fresh off of a summer of basking in championship glory, Green again changed the narrative about himself when he attacked Poole in practice in an altercation that escalated too far. The video leak made it a permanent mark on Green’s record.

Striking Poole wasn’t motivated by winning, or loyalty, or getting the most out of his teammates. Of all the things Green has done, it’s the sin that’s been forgiven but not forgotten. And it continues to haunt the Warriors, as the spark of the more volatile version of Green that has been suspended four times for a total of 19 games in the last 10 months.

Green wasn’t suspended for the Poole punch. At the time, the Warriors believed a suspension wasn’t enough. They wanted him to live in the discomfort he caused. They kept his locker next to Poole, perhaps hoping they would reconcile. In the end, it just kept the discomfort alive, and Green had to live with it. His punishment was having to earn back the trust.

He did eventually. But accumulation is now a factor. Earlier in his career, Green could just go dominate and shut everyone up. That’s not so easy anymore. As the antics have increased, the winning has lessened. Now that the NBA is involved and increasingly punitive, the price of his antics is greater than it’s ever been. Green’s problems have become less a caveat of success and more a barricade in the way of it.

“Part of what drives Draymond is the insecurity that we all have in us,” Kerr said. “Most people don’t really want to admit vulnerability. He’s not Steph Curry. He’s not LeBron James. He can’t just ride on, ‘Well, I’ll go get 25 tonight.’ For him to play well, he has to be all in, emotionally and physically and spiritually. And there are times where And there are times where because it’s an 82-game season with all the drama, all the BS that’s out there … it eats at him. And then he can’t just rely on that skill … so then he’ll lash out. And when he lashes out, there’s repercussions.”

If anybody could be done with Green and his antics, it’s Kerr. But they’re so much alike, which Kerr made clear to Green in that backyard talk. Kerr, a five-time NBA champion as a player, knows what’s it like to become so maddened by his competitive drive. He’s been where Green is, so he knows where Green needs to go to deal with that consuming drive.

“It’s kind of deep s—, you know, that we’re talking about,” Kerr said. “Being vulnerable. That’s one of the things I’m encouraging him to do. Be more vulnerable. Just admit you’re wrong. There’s a power in that, you know? If he does, then he doesn’t have to explain himself. And if he’s not explaining himself, I think people will have more sympathy.”

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Green was expecting to be a first-round pick in 2012. He played four seasons at Michigan State, played in two Final Fours and as a senior was a consensus All-American.

But Green didn’t fit the NBA mold. He was seen as a “tweener” — a player whose combination of size and skill left him between the traditional positions. The 6-foot, 7 1/2-inch Green was considered too small to be a power forward and not athletic enough to be a small forward. None of his measurements added up to what he’s become.

But his immeasurables were off the charts. And the No. 1 attribute working on his behalf is still the thing mentioned first about him today. Draymond is synonymous with winning.

“You just don’t have that many people anymore for whom winning is the most important thing,” Izzo said. “You know, sometimes I get mad at him because his podcast takes up time. … But all these players have distractions. But with him, it’s about winning. If you need him to set a screen, get a rebound, make a pass, take a shot, never take a shot — whatever it is. I just don’t know enough people that put winning as the priority.”

When the Warriors drafted him in the second round, it was the perfect match. A franchise needing to build a winning culture landed a player with the formula it lacked. High basketball IQ. Defensive genius and leadership. Natural talent. Heart. And it was on display immediately.

At Summer League in 2012, the Warriors’ young players were in Las Vegas practicing and playing some high-intensity scrimmages. Harrison Barnes was the lottery pick that year. Festus Ezeli was the Warriors’ other first-round pick. Green wasn’t one of the prized young talents. Jeremy Tyler, a former high school sensation who was selected in the second round in 2011, was assigned to be Green’s mentor. That was until Tyler called a foul during the scrimmage in Las Vegas that Green thought was weak and a sign of his softness.

“He dropped him as his vet,” Barnes recalled in an interview with the Mercury News in 2015. “He said Jeremy couldn’t be his vet anymore.”

Months later, when the full team got together for pickup runs before training camp, Green was going at veteran David Lee, the Warriors’ lone All-Star at the time.

Green was this way at Civitan Recreation Center in Saginaw, when he was the little guy earning his keep on the court with the older kids. He was this way at Saginaw High, when he led his school to two state championships and a top-five national ranking as a senior. He was this way as a freshman at Michigan State, when he played six minutes in his debut and by the end of the season was a rotation player in the national championship game.

“A lot of my respect for Draymond comes from on the court,” Looney said. “I always took pride in being a tough guy, being tenacious, being relentless, always showing up and holding yourself accountable. And I always see him sacrifice the most. As a young player, I admired that. He’ll make every play.”

Before the antics, winning was Green’s clear legacy. It’s how he garnered respect, awe even. It’s his worth in a league full of bigger, more athletic and more talented players. It’s how he made four All-Star Games and earned two All-NBA nods, eight All-NBA Defense selections and a Defensive Player of the Year award.

“He’s the ultimate winner,” Kerr said. “A champion. This whole business is about winning. … Draymond, even though he can be hard to coach because of emotion, he is actually easy to coach because of his brain and his loyalty and his fight and his competitive drive. I’ll take those guys every day of the week.”

None of the Warriors’ success happens without Green. That’s the declaration in Kerr’s appeal to end the right way.

As the heartbeat, Green has shown he can will the Warriors to a higher level, but he’s also shown he can drag them into the muck. The same fire he used to help refine the Warriors into a dynasty has proven hot enough to burn what they’ve built.

Now, the journey begins, again, to see if the Warriors can rely on Green. If the reflection takes. If the counseling and growth sticks. If so, the Warriors can go out with class, celebrated for their valiance. That would fit their story, and Green’s. But they can’t end this right without him.

“My thing with him now is,” Izzo said, “can you take these last three years or whatever, and just focus in on this. Really leave the legacy that you deserve to have. And that’s as one of the greatest winners. That’s one of the tougher competitors. That’s a very good teammate.”

(Top illustration: John Bradford / The Athletic; photo: Jane Tyska / Digital First Media / East Bay Times / Getty Images) 

The dunk is basketball’s most lionized play. The most iconic ones are canonized, referenced fondly and often, debated for their merits and significance. The sport’s language has created so many names for it: jam, yam, slam, poster, stuff, hammer. It’s a unique club that only few on this world can join. It’s marvelous.

And it hurts like hell.

“Can you think of any other concept where your hand swings at something metal?” 11-year NBA veteran Austin Rivers asks. “It’ll probably hurt, yeah?”

When asked, players catalog the pain dunking has caused: broken nails; bent fingers; recent bruises; lasting scars; midair collisions; twisted necks; dangerous landings. Injuries that cost them games or even seasons.

Derrick Jones Jr., a former NBA All-Star Weekend dunk contest winner now with the Dallas Mavericks, points out two specific marks on his left wrist. Larry Nance Jr., another high flier in his ninth NBA season and third with the New Orleans Pelicans, recalls childhood memories of his father’s scarred arms from a 14-year NBA career that included winning the first-ever dunk contest in 1984. Dallas’ Josh Green remembers one pregame dunk that set his nerves afire.

“I remember thinking, ‘Why would I do this before a game,’” the 23-year-old Green says.

And yet still they dunk.

In the modern NBA, the dunk’s frequency has been increasing, going from 8,254 in the 2002-03 regular season to 11,664 last year. The rise is mostly due to the 3-point revolution and the increased spacing and cleaner driving lanes that come with it. But the league also has taller, more explosive athletes entering every year. With them come even more spectacular aerial feats, ones that enrapture fans and wow even the players who witness them.

What players think of the dunk, and the agony that can come with it, is ever changing. This isn’t some new trend. It’s just that the dunk, for all its allure and mystique, is the most visceral mark of a player’s maturation.

Basketball’s most exclusive club, one only entered 10 feet in the air, isn’t one that players can — or always want to — live in forever.

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When young basketball players first start dunking, they never want to stop.

“It makes you the guy,” Dennis Smith Jr. says.

Smith’s first in-game dunk was an off-the-backboard slam in a state title game when he was 13. His team was up big and his teammates were showing off. “Now it’s my turn,” the 26-year-old Brooklyn Nets guard recalls thinking. “I got one.” An in-game dunk is a status symbol he has never forgotten.

Willie Green, now the head coach of the New Orleans Pelicans after a 12-year NBA career, was told as a teenager that toe raises would help him reach above the rim. Every morning in the shower, he counted to 300 — rising onto the balls of his feet with each number until this club finally let him in.

“If you could dunk, people looked up to you, they glorified you,” Green says. “You felt like you got over a big hurdle in basketball. It was a huge step in basketball when I was able to dunk.”

Every player asked remembers how old they were when they first started. “You’re young, you’re bouncy,” Markieff Morris, 34, says. “You dunked so you could talk your s—.” It was the first thing youngsters like him did stepping into the gym, the last before they left.

“When you’re first dunking, your fingers are full of blood because of the (contact),” Philadelphia 76ers forward Nicolas Batum recalls. “But you get used to it. You have so much joy of dunking. You’re one of the few people in the world that can.”

Once players start dunking in games, it becomes even more addicting. “When you try to dunk on someone, you’re hyped up, you’re amped up,” the New York Knicks’ Donte DiVincenzo says. “You don’t feel any of that s—.” It’s the same as any adrenaline high. “It feels like energy,” 21-year-old Mavericks guard Jaden Hardy says. As the crowds grow bigger and the reactions reverberate louder, it’s even better.

Marques Johnson, a five-time NBA All-Star who retired in 1990, remembers one slam he had at age 15 in a summer league over a player who had just been drafted to the NBA. To dunk on him, to knock him to the ground, proved something.

“As a young player, if you can hang with guys on the next level,” he says, “it becomes that validation that you belong.”

Johnson, currently the Milwaukee Bucks’ television analyst, played collegiately for UCLA, where he was named the Naismith College Player of the Year in 1977, the first season the dunk was re-legalized in college basketball. “I really believe it’s a big reason why I won,” he says. “People ain’t seen a dunk in college basketball in 10 years.” Johnson, a hyperathletic 6-foot-7 forward, took up residence above the rim.

Once, he missed two weeks with a knee sprain after dunking on a teammate in practice and landing hard. As he lay on the ground in pain, he still remembers what his first question was.

“Did the dunk go in?”

“Yeah,” he was told. “You dunked on him.”

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Last season, Christian Wood rebounded his own miss and found an empty path to the rim. He dribbled once, planted both feet, hurled the ball through the rim — and then clutched his left hand as he ran back down the court.

Wood, who signed with the Los Angeles Lakers this summer after his one season with the Mavericks, finished the game but missed the next eight with a broken thumb. “I went for a tomahawk (dunk), trying to look flashy for some reason, and hit my thumb again,” he says. He had already injured it, he says, but that’s the moment when he knew he “had really hurt it.”

As teenagers age into veterans, their relationships toward dunking often change. “To really dunk consistently in the NBA, you gotta be a freak athlete.” Rivers says. For those who aren’t, dunking becomes more akin to a tool than a feat.

“S—, those things are really adding up,” the 26-year-old DiVincenzo says. “A lot of the younger guys want to dunk every single time. I am not like that anymore.”

DiVincenzo still dunks — he had nine last year with the Golden State Warriors — but prefers layups when possible. It isn’t always possible, though. “Sometimes, (a dunk) is the only way to draw fouls,” he says.

When Willie Green neared the end of his career, he recalls hating when defenders forced him into it.

“They’re chasing you down hard on a fast break, and you want to lay it up, but you know if you lay it up, they’re going to block it,” he says. “I’m like, ‘Man. You made me dunk that.’”

Green was a two-foot dunker, which meant accelerating into the air was hard on his knees, especially the left one, which was surgically repaired in 2005. “That force, that gravity, compounded with coming down,” he says. “It takes a toll on you.”

Smith, the ninth pick in the 2017 draft, entered the league with a record-tying 48-inch vertical — and with a dangerous habit of coming down on one leg. While recovering from knee surgery, he learned to land on both of them. “I don’t even think about it now,” he says. But he still does thoracic therapy to treat scar tissues in his wrist from his childhood dunks, which he believes has had an effect on his shooting form.

The league’s freak athletes, the ones Rivers referenced, do have different experiences. Nance Jr., who remembers his father’s forearm scars, has none of his own. His hands are large enough to engulf the ball rather than pinning it against his wrist. “I never really learned how to cup it like everybody else,” Nance says. “I genuinely don’t believe I could do it if I tried.” He drops the ball through the rim rather than relying on inertia.

“Not really,” he says when asked whether it hurts. “Unless I miss.”

Players like him still experience pain from the midair collisions and the misses: when the basketball hits the cylinder’s rear and sends shock waves through their arms; when an opponent’s desperate swipes hit flesh and nerve; when the crash of bodies sends theirs sprawling to the floor.

Anthony Edwards, another alien athlete, doesn’t even refer to what he does as dunking. “I don’t really dunk the ball,” he says. “I just put it in there the majority of the time.” Earlier this month, though, Edwards elevated over the Oklahoma City Thunder’s Jaylin Williams, nicked him on the shoulder and came crashing back down.

Though Edwards only missed two games with a hip injury, the Timberwolves’ rising star admitted he was “scared” and “nervous” in his first game upon returning. And even if missed dunks don’t injure him, there’s still pride.

As Edwards said of them last season: “Those hurt my soul.”

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Kyrie Irving had stolen the ball and was alone at the basket in a December game when he rose up to dunk in front of his own bench. His Dallas teammates had already risen up to celebrate — until they couldn’t.

“I mistimed it,” he says. “My momentum wasn’t there.” The ball grazed the front of the rim and fell out.

The 31-year-old Irving is known for every sort of highlight except dunking, of which he has only 25 in his 11-year career. But a flubbed dunk is embarrassing even for a player like him.

“You just feel bad!” he says. “We’re the best athletes in the world. I should be able to get up there once in a while.”

Later that quarter, the 6-foot-2 Irving had another chance at a wide-open fast break, at redemption. This time, he made sure to prove he could still do it.

“I had to double pump,” he says, laughing now. “I had to get up there, bro. I couldn’t come in the locker room to my teammates, coaching staff, upper management. They would’ve been on my head.”

Still, as players grow closer to retirement, they often hang up their dunking careers first.

Rivers, who remains a free agent after spending his 11th season with the Minnesota Timberwolves in 2022-23, recently retired from dunking. “I just prefer laying the ball up,” he said last year. “A dunk takes a lot out of me.” It was the hard landings that ultimately got him to stop, but he believes he became a better finisher once he made the decision.

It’s easier for veterans who never needed to play above the rim. Like, say, Stephen Curry, who seems amused he was asked about something he hasn’t done in a game since 2018.

“I had no problem letting that part of myself go,” the 6-foot-3 Curry says. “I very easily moved on to the next chapter of my career.”

Batum, a 35-year-old with 367 career dunks, also swore off contested dunks before last season. “My body told me,” he said. “It said, ‘No more, bro.’” Now he only dunks, gently with two hands, when he knows he’s alone at the rim.

“When you hit 32, the game isn’t about dunking anymore,” says Morris, now in his 13th NBA season. “It’s about longevity and still being able to play at a high level.”

Caron Butler wishes he had realized that sooner. When he was younger, Butler, who had two All-Star appearances before retiring to become a Miami Heat assistant coach, practiced as hard as he played.

“I overemphasized the two points I was getting to prove a point or show off my God-given ability,” he says. “It would have given me more longevity.”

Butler doesn’t have any regrets. But he thinks about the dunk differently now.

“It’s just two points.”

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It’s just two points.

“I’m listening to an old man talk,” Butler says. “That’s what 13-year-old Caron Butler would say. He would say, ‘I’m listening to a very old man talk about dunking.’”

He’s not the only retired player who sees the irony. Green thinks his younger self, the one who counted his toe raises in the shower, would feel similarly

“Thirteen-year-old me would really be disgusted right now,” he says.

But Green did dunk again earlier in 2023, a windmill slam in a January practice that had his players hollering in amazement. “They always tell me I can’t dunk,” he says. “I wanted to show them I had a little juice.” Green, the league’s fifth-youngest head coach, says that one of his coaching qualities is his relatability.

“When you’re asking high level professional athletes to do something, it helps for them to know that you’ve done it,” he says. “And it helps to know when they look at you that it looks like you still can do it.”

For others, it’s something that hearkens back to the past: to the adrenaline rush they first felt, to the validation it gave when their NBA careers were still dreams. Klay Thompson, perhaps this sport’s second-best shooter ever behind Curry, his Warriors teammate, says one of the best moments of his career was a dunk. After missing two consecutive seasons with major surgeries, in his first game back, he drove to the rim and slammed one. Thompson knew in that moment, he says, that the Warriors could still win another championship — and later that season, they did.

Thompson used to stroll onto the court and dunk as soon as his shoes were on. “Now, I need a good hour to get the gears greased and the motor working,” he says. As his body has changed, so too has his appreciation for what dunking means.

“It’s always an amazing feeling hanging on the rim that you can (forget) most people can’t do it,” he says. “I no longer take it for granted.”

It’s just two points for these club members, yes, but it’s more than that. For Johnson, the former Naismith College Player of the Year, dunking still means something special. Johnson turns 68 in February, and he plans to continue his personal tradition that began when he was 55: dunking on his birthday.

It’s motivation, Johnson explains, to stay in shape, which was inspired by his son, Josiah, who films it every year. It started becoming harder when Marques turned 60. “The first two attempts, I’m barely getting above the rim,” he says. It’s harder to palm the ball as his hands lose strength, and it usually takes until the fifth or sixth try before he succeeds.

Johnson, who had hip surgery this summer, doesn’t know if he will succeed next year. After all, he only attempts to dunk on his birthday, never in-between. “I know, eventually, I’m not going to be able to do it,” he says. But his recovery has gone well, and he feels good he’ll dunk once more next February.

He still remembers it, misses it.

“I remember them vividly: the excitement, the adrenaline rushing through your body,” he says. “So the dunk, as you can tell, has meant a whole lot to me.”

When asked what his younger self would think about hearing him talk about dunking now — this exclusive club he first joined as a 14-year-old wearing slacks and dress shoes, one that has represented pain and joy, aging and authenticity — Johnson instead chooses to turn the question around.

“I’d tell 16-year old me,” he says, “do it until the wheels come off.”

(Illustration by Rachel Orr / The Athletic. Photos of Derrick Jones Jr. (left) and Anthony Edwards (right): Amanda Loman and David Berding / Getty Images)

Last winter, NBA commissioner Adam Silver set out a checklist for the league’s top priorities. First, the NBA would need to strike an agreement with the NBPA on a new collective bargaining agreement, then it had to sign off on its next round of media-rights deals. Only then would it move its attention to a topic that has been bubbling to the surface over the last few years: expansion.

In April, the league and the union agreed to a new CBA. The NBA’s exclusive negotiating window with its current TV partners, Disney and Warner Bros. Discovery, begins in March but there is already rampant forecasting about what the media layout will look like in fall 2025, when this latest batch of contracts will kick in. The uncertainty about the NBA’s media-rights future, however, has not stopped speculation about expansion.

While the league loathes to talk about it in detail publicly, let alone commit to it, Silver has progressively come closer to saying expansion is coming. As the NBA hits Las Vegas this week for the final rounds of its inaugural In-Season Tournament, intrigue will only continue to ramp up as the league continues to dig in further in a potential new home market.

“It’s not a sure thing,” Silver said in July of expansion, “but as I’ve said before, I think it’s natural that organizations grow over time.”

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As the NBA has slowly inched forward, a class of interested parties have moved ahead too. A steady, if informal, buildup is already starting among prospective buyers for the next round of available expansion franchises to hit the market, based on conversations with nearly a dozen sports-investment banking and industry sources, who along with other sources in this story were granted anonymity so they could speak freely. One sports investment banker said he already has spoken to people who are assembling to buy an expansion franchise. Another longtime banker said he knows of three groups angling to get into the bidding process.

“Oh, yeah, people are lining up,” the first banker said. “They’re getting organized. How serious that is is a different story. You can only go so far … until the NBA starts a process.”

There is no process in place as of now. Silver has made that repeatedly clear. The new media-rights deals still await, and those will come first.

That would provide important certainty about the league’s revenue streams. The NBA crossed $10 billion in revenue during the 2021-22 season, and it averages roughly $2.7 billion per season on its current national TV deal. The next one could be worth twice as much, or more, in total annual value. Several sports investment bankers say the upcoming TV deal has been baked into recent franchise sale prices, with the valuations worth more than the standard revenue multiples that NBA teams sell for.

Yet, that has not stopped some from trying to plot out a timeline for expansion, or trying to ascertain how much a team would cost. Sports bankers have already begun evaluating when a transaction could occur, with several believing it could happen as soon as late 2024 or 2025. Even NBA front offices have begun thinking about expansion.

Silver, with his public pronouncements, has not created any reason for hesitation. In recent weeks, he has gone so far as to even name cities that have expressed interest in a team.

The NBA would need buy-in from its current group of owners for the league to expand, a cohort that has seen some changeover during the last few years. The Phoenix Suns, Charlotte Hornets and Milwaukee Bucks also have seen new control owners take over in 2023. The Minnesota Timberwolves are expected to change hands soon, once Marc Lore and Alex Rodriguez complete their purchase of 80 percent of the franchise with one more tranche of payments to Glen Taylor. The Dallas Mavericks will soon too, if the league approves the sale of the team to the Adelson and Dumont families, who have entered a binding agreement to purchase a majority stake from Mark Cuban. They would have to vote for or against expansion.

While expansion might be seen as a league issue, it is more acutely a personal issue for each owner. They would have to weigh several variables, not least of all their own financial interests. Wherever the next national media-rights deal lands, it, along with other league revenue streams, will be split in 30 directions. Would each owner be willing to see that annual cut diluted by two extra teams each year for the foreseeable future, while taking in their share of expansion fees? That choice might land in different places for different owners. That places an emphasis on two numbers — the revenue from the next media-rights deal and the value of the expansion fee — so owners could run their own discounted cash flow model to decide if it’s worth the short- and long-term trade-offs.

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Seattle and Las Vegas are believed to be the front-runners to land new NBA teams, and each city is considered to be a strong market. Silver has talked up Mexico City in recent years and said the league would be “looking seriously” at the city. He has also said Montreal and Vancouver have each shown interest in having an NBA team.

Mexico City could be intriguing as the NBA’s media ecosystem changes and it is no longer tethered to linear television. A franchise in Mexico could help spur sales in that country for any streaming network that buys a share of the NBA’s media rights. The league has already pointed to the success of the Capitanes, its G League franchise in Mexico City. The team announced that it set a franchise attendance record for its season opener with 16,178 fans at Arena CDMX, and its average per-game attendance is nearly double that of the next G League team, according to numbers shared by a league source. But there are still concerns about player security if a team lands there, as well as the currency exchange.

Las Vegas has grown into an NBA outpost even without its own team. The league holds NBA Summer League there every July, along with Team USA events, and held its G League Showcase there through last year. The Oak View Group, a prominent venue operator nationwide, intends to build an NBA-ready arena in Las Vegas and has acquired 66 acres there, with the intent to break ground next year and the hope that the development could be completed by 2026. The Las Vegas Review-Journal reported Tuesday that $3 billion in federal funding will go toward a high-speed rail from Los Angeles to Las Vegas — a project owned by Wes Edens, who controls the Bucks and a 110-acre plot next to the Oak View Group land.

Tim Leiweke, CEO of the Oak View Group, declined to offer more about the venture. “I never get ahead of commissioners,” he said.

LeBron James, for one, has been open about his desire to own an NBA team in Las Vegas. James is a partner in Fenway Sports Group, the company that already owns Liverpool F.C., the Boston Red Sox and the Pittsburgh Penguins. According to industry sources, FSG has expressed an interest in owning an NBA team, though there is currently no momentum toward that, and has explored buying an ownership stake in the Oak View Group building project. FSG sold a roughly $200 million stake in Liverpool in September to pay off debt and other projects.

Seattle has its own strong case. It’s the largest media market in the country without an NBA team after the SuperSonics moved to Oklahoma City to start the 2008-09 season. It is a hub of wealth and home to Amazon and Microsoft. It has already earned one expansion team in the last half-decade, the NHL’s Seattle Kraken, and its home venue, Climate Pledge Arena, is believed to be NBA-ready. The WNBA’s Seattle Storm already play at Climate Pledge Arena, which is operated by the Oak View Group. The Kraken’s CEO and part-owner, Tod Leiweke, also is the brother of Oak View Group CEO Tim Leiweke. David Bonderman, who owns the Kraken, is a Boston Celtics minority owner and his daughter, Samantha Holloway, now a Kraken co-owner, said last year that she wants to bring an NBA team to Seattle. Bonderman is the founding partner of TPG Capital, which just sold its majority stake in Collective Artists Agency for a reported $7 billion.

The city nearly drew an NBA team back in 2013 when a group led by hedge fund manager Chris Hansen almost bought the Sacramento Kings and tried to move them to the Pacific Northwest, but that effort was stopped. Hansen still owns a large tract of land in Seattle’s SoDo neighborhood. But the price of a team has gone up dramatically in the last decade, when Hansen’s group tried to buy the Kings at a $625 million valuation.

New franchises in both cities are expected to draw significant bids, if not record prices. One head of a sports private equity firm believes the bidding will begin at $4 billion, while others say it could be as much as $5 billion in the end, if not more.

“You got to find somebody to write that check,” the longtime sports banker said. “I think you will find somebody to write that check out. I have very little doubt. Why is it moving quickly? Because you’re going to get a great price. You have two really good markets. You have a lot of demand right now. I’ve never seen the market for pro sports franchises — forget the NBA but any sports franchise in the big leagues — as robust as it is today … This is the perfect time to expand. Why would you wait?”

The Suns and Mercury were valued at a combined $4 billion when Mat Ishbia and his brother bought control of the franchises from Robert Sarver earlier this year, but that transaction only netted them upward of 50 percent of the team, not the full share. The Bucks were valued at $3.5 billion when Jimmy Haslam bought out Marc Lasry’s 25 percent stake. The Hornets went for a reported $3 billion dollars this summer to Rick Schnall and Gabe Plotkin. The Qatari Investment Authority bought a 5 percent share of Monumental Sports — which owns the Washington Wizards, Capitals and Mystics — at a valuation of a little more than $4 billion.

There will be pressure on the league to keep valuations rising. The NBA has increased access to teams for institutional investors in recent years, sensing that there were fewer wealthy individuals who could buy a team on their own or buy out expensive minority stakes. It allowed private equity funds in during 2020 and then let sovereign wealth funds, pension funds and university endowments in during 2022. No one fund can own more than 20 percent of a franchise, and funds together cannot own more than a cumulative 30 percent of a franchise. A team’s control owner cannot own less than 15 percent of the franchise.

There is already intrigue about whether the NBA would change its rules on how much of a team can be owned by a private equity or sovereign wealth fund, let alone if either could be a control owner. Silver said this summer that he could not see a sovereign wealth fund running a team “in the foreseeable future” and preferred that an individual maintain control of a franchise.

As franchise valuations continue to climb, there will be fewer wealthy individuals who can afford to buy a franchise or even a majority share, which could necessitate the need to smooth the rules to allow values to keep increasing. But even if the prices might seem high, they won’t be prohibitive. Teams have become their own investment asset class in recent years, with its own industry building around it and more money behind it.

“All these people build these ridiculous models to tell you what these things are worth,” the longtime banker said. “You know what these things are worth? What some guy with a huge bank account is willing to pay for it.”

If the league does expand, it will add a new franchise for the first time in more than two decades. The NBA hasn’t introduced a new franchise since the Charlotte Bobcats were approved by the league in 2003 and started play with the 2004-05 season. The NFL’s Houston Texans began play the year prior. The NHL has added two teams since then. The WNBA just announced a new franchise last month and still hopes to add at least one more.

Silver has taken to expansion with a sense of patience and seriousness.

“I can’t set a specific timeline on it, but a main part of my job, if not the most important part of my job, is to grow this league,” Silver said last month. “So, it’s something I think about a lot.”

(Photo of Adam Silver: Tom O’Connor / NBAE via Getty Images)

The 2023-24 Nike NBA City Edition uniforms were unveiled last Thursday. NBA fans will be treated to another season where alternate uniforms, according to Nike, continue to “represent the stories, history and heritage that make each franchise unique.”

The uniforms are now in their seventh season with the NBA, and they have been a big hit in the past. Home teams will wear the uniforms throughout the NBA In-Season Tournament, which tipped off last Friday and will run until Dec. 9.

The big question: How does this year’s collection of uniforms look?

The unveiling gave The Athletic’s team of Jason Jones, James Edwards III and Kelly Iko an opportunity to discuss the jerseys in depth. The trio conferred about all 30 City Edition jerseys and came up with its own power rankings. The writers ranked each team using a scoring system where 30 points were given to their favorite jersey, all the way to one point given to their least favorite. This explains the numbers in parentheses next to each writer’s name below.

Which jersey was the collective favorite? Here are the rankings and the writers’ thoughts of each, starting from worst to first.

(All images are courtesy of Nike and the NBA)

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Edwards (5 points): This makes me want a Mountain Dew Baja Blast from Taco Bell.

Iko (2): Have you ever chewed, like, five Skittles at once and looked at it? This is that. Come on, y’all.

Jones (1): There’s a lot going on here. Doesn’t really work for me.

Jones (7): The artwork for “Nets” is supposed to give a graffiti vibe. I wish it would have leaned more into that, especially with this season occurring as hip-hop celebrates its 50th anniversary.

Edwards (6): I’m all for trying to be creative and different; you take a risk when you do that. But the Nets took a risk, and they failed. Miserably.

Iko (1): It’s actually fitting that this was inspired by KAWS’ “Tension,” because that’s exactly the type of headache I get from looking at this for too long. This is a bad jersey. It’s actually baffling because KAWS makes some really dope art.

Jones (10): A mash between the early and modern Lakers. Not a big fan of the triangular shape of “Los Angeles,” but I understand its ties to the early days of the Lakers in the city. What would have been wild would have been something lake-related. That would have stood out more than another black jersey.

Iko (5): What’s going on in Los Angeles? I get it, Laker Nation rides hard for its team, but when I go to the store, I’m not thinking about the triangle offense. It could be worse though … like Brooklyn’s.

Edwards (4): I don’t really care about the reasoning for the placement of “Los Angeles.” It looks bad. Horrific. It’s like someone went to JOANN Fabrics and tried to make a custom Lakers jersey but ended up not measuring the width of the jersey correctly. For such a historic franchise, I expected better.

Iko (15): I once got lost on Beale Street trying to get to FedExForum in Memphis. These give me the same confused vibe. The font is a cool idea, but it wasn’t executed well enough. Back to the drawing board.

Jones (3): The Grizzlies had my favorite City Edition jersey last season. Not so much this year. It’s basic. Doesn’t have the same personality as last season when the jersey screamed Memphis swagger.

Edwards (2): Someone on social media said the Memphis jersey is a QR code to see the actual jersey, and I can’t stop laughing. Horrible.

Edwards (13): I don’t mind this, because it’s different without being too extra. The color combination is obscure, and while it doesn’t make any sense to me in terms of a connection to Indianapolis, it’s not an ugly jersey. Middle of the pack for me.

Iko (6): There is way too much going on. These are a mess.

Jones (2): When I think of Indiana, I don’t think vibrant, which is what this jersey is. I’ve been to Indianapolis plenty of times, but this just doesn’t connect with the city for me.

Iko (10): “Heat Culture” is one of those things that should be said and understood, not displayed on the front of a jersey. Miami has so many more things to offer as a city that could have been used with these jerseys. Missed opportunity.

Jones (9): Nothing “Miami Vice”-related? No vibrant colors? A red-and-black jersey seems pretty simple. Adding “Heat Culture” is a nice touch, but when it comes to Miami, I prefer the “Vice” theme.

Edwards (3): I don’t think saying “Heat Culture” is as corny as most people do, but a jersey that says “Heat Culture” … yeah, that’s corny.

Iko (14): This might have ranked higher if pickaxes were on the front and the mountains were on the back. They also could have done without the “5280” slapped across the middle. Three and four numbers on the front of a jersey is for AAU. Distracting.

Jones (8): I’m still not sure how I feel about “5280” across the chest. I understand the significance, but how many numbers do you need on the front of a jersey? It takes away from the Denver skyline in the background.

Edwards (1): Whoever came up with this jersey should be suspended (with pay, of course). I’m sorry. I like Denver as a city, and I love the Nuggets, but these are comically bad. Some players will have six numbers on the front of their jerseys when Denver wears them. Six.

Edwards (12): Do these glow in the dark? If not, that’s disappointing.

Iko (12): Somehow, some way, I blame (Pelicans writer) Will Guillory for these.

Jones (4): The perfect jersey to wear around Halloween.

Edwards (20): I like the color combinations, as well as the font of “OKC.” I’m a fan of these.

Jones (5): This scheme matches the “Love’s” patch. Maybe that was intentional. The orange jumps out, but it’s pretty simple overall.

Iko (4): This makes me think of McDonald’s. These are pretty blah, but they might look better framed.

Edwards (17): I wanted to knock it down some points for being so basic, but the ugliness of some other jerseys made it hard to penalize the Clippers for not trying.

Iko (7): Did Marcus Morris make this as a parting gift? Morris averaged 12 points as a Clipper. This is that, but in jersey form: I came to work and I did the job that was asked of me.

Jones (6): Nothing too fancy with this. No cool backstory or details in the description. Just a plain “Clips” jersey.

Edwards (15): I ended up with them in the middle of the pack because I don’t like the placement of “Chicago.” It should be a little bit lower. That messed it all up for me.

Jones (12): The intent is to be a nod to the old Chicago Stadium of the early 1990s. “Chicago” down the front of the jersey reminds me of the shooting shirts worn by a young Michael Jordan. It’s not the most imaginative, but it works.

Iko (3): I understand the reference to Chicago Stadium from the ’90s, and I’m sure the locals really draw to the style, but I’ve never been a fan of the vertical lettering. It just makes for an awkward space in the middle.

Jones (11): There’s a lot going on here. Pinstripes. Doubling up on “New York.” The black down the side. Just a lot.

Iko (11): I feel like the Knicks have had a version of this every year for the last 10,000 years. It’s like the printer lagged out.

Edwards (9): A drunk version of a Knicks jersey. That’s all I got.

Jones (15): Nothing will top the MLK jersey for me. I like the blue on this, but it’s pretty basic compared to some of the previous versions.

Edwards (14): They’re fine. They’re middle of the pack to me, which might not say a lot because there are some absolutely horrendous City Edition jerseys.

Iko (13): Maybe it’s the combination of the lowercase font on these and the peachy color that throws me off, but it just seems OK. There’s no story or anything that really speaks to me. It’s fine — nothing more, nothing less.

Iko (19): I didn’t expect the Spurs to go with the white base, but this will look really dope under the arena lights. Also, Ricky’s Tacos in San Antonio is the best place many have never heard of.

Jones (14): Would I wear this one? Probably not … but I like it. It’s very San Antonio. It definitely fits the city.

Edwards (10): The lettering is cool. That’s about it. This is too basic.

Iko (18): San Francisco is a unique city, from its transportation system to landscape. That matches the lettering of these jerseys. I’ve ridden through the streets for years, and each time, the hills surprise me. The black on the jersey also is really emboldened, if that makes sense.

Jones (17): The more I look at it, the more I like it. The cable car design of the “San Francisco” lettering works. The simplicity of the design with hints of the cable car history makes this a nice alternate jersey.

Edwards (11): The idea was cool, but the execution is meh to me. It’s an OK jersey with awkward lettering. Not the best, but not the worst.

Iko (20): Sweet threads. I love the cultural melting pot Toronto is, and that is reflected in the making of this jersey. These will be a hit in the city.

Jones (20): The gold and lightning accents make this one of the Raptors’ best jerseys. “We the North” also reminds everyone that Toronto truly is an international city.

Edwards (7): I don’t like gold uniforms at all. Just a personal preference. I love Toronto, though. It’s my favorite North American city. However, hard pass on the jersey.

Edwards (21): I want to first shout out Erykah Badu while we’re on the topic of Dallas and R&B. Legend. This jersey is one of the better ones simply because of the font, colors and simplicity. It’s clean, and it pops. Hard to not like this.

Jones (13): Tapping into the R&B history of the region makes for a cool backstory. The jersey itself is pretty simple, but the details via the input of Leon Bridges are a nice discussion point.

Iko (16): I was actually curious about how and where Dallas would draw inspiration prior to these coming out. Leon Bridges is awesome, especially tied with the city’s history of R&B (shout-out to Tevin Campbell). For some reason, I keep thinking about Michael Finley when I see these.

Iko (26): Loooove these. The way the white dissolves into the blue gives a chilling effect. My mind immediately jumps to rapper Lil Yachty: “Cold Like Minnesota.”

Jones (19): This gives off calm and soothing vibes, perfect for the Land of 10,000 Lakes. If the Timberwolves ran back the Prince alternate versions every year, I’d be happy, but this is a nice bounceback after last season’s version.

Edwards (8): I guess I’ll be Debbie Downer here. These are mid, at best. Everything is smooshed at the top — the change in color, the number, “Minnesota” and the sponsors. I don’t love how small “Minnesota” reads. These would be lower for me if it weren’t for some of the nastiness that we’ve already talked about.

Iko (21): You can never go wrong with teal and blue, and I really like how they incorporated the hornet influence. I can almost see Baron Davis crossing someone over in these. Nice work.

Jones (18): Charlotte’s colors are some of the best in the league. I’m digging the gold touch, too. Much better than last season’s edition.

Edwards (16): I agree with Jason. The Hornets have some of the best colors in the league. Hard to mess that up. These are clean, not too much.

Edwards (22): If you’re not going to be creative, then keep it clean. Boston did. For my Michigan people, this jersey looks like an ad for Vernors.

Iko (17): Maybe I’m in the minority, but I actually like the blending of the white on the front with the wood grain texture on the sides.

Jones (16): Who knew Boston had a history of furniture making? I sure didn’t. The wood coloring on the side is also a nod to peach baskets, the part of history I would expect.

Edwards (26): I’m going to sound like a hypocrite here, because the lettering doesn’t bug me nearly as much as the “Chicago” on the Bulls uniform, even though it’s just as high up the jersey. I think it’s because of the different colors. It breaks it up a little bit. These colors go together well. It’s sleek and clean.

Jones (22): I’d be in favor of the Kings rocking this full-time. We need something that connects the Kings to their history with Oscar Robertson, and this jersey works.

Iko (8): This is another one that James and Jason probably like, but I just can’t bring myself to it. Maybe it’s the width of the “Kings” stripes, but there’s a lot going on for me. I do like the colors, though.

Jones (25): Another winner for the Bucks in the City Editions. The blue pops, and the cream “wave” is a nice touch. I’m just glad they didn’t go for a black jersey.

Edwards (23): I like the colors, especially the cream design across the middle and down the side.

Iko (9): I’m definitely in the minority with these. I love the historical connection to water used here, but really … using the arch as an ode to Fiserv Forum? Didn’t the arena open, like, five years ago? Not a fan.

Jones (24): The plaid in honor of Dr. Jack Ramsay makes this a winner. It’s subtle, but it’s a great look. The Blazers kept it simple, but the history is in the details.

Iko (23): Black is always a good default, and the Blazers did well with these. You don’t have to go for a home run all the time: A simple base hit will suffice.

Edwards (18): Hard to hate it, easy not to love it. The plaid inside the lettering is a nice touch, visually and in terms of the backstory.

Edwards (25): I’m a sucker for navy blue, red and white. Those three colors go together so well for me. I also really like the font on the front. Two thumbs up.

Iko (22): It’s always hilarious hearing Philly associated with love, having spent quite a bit of time at 76ers games. But, really smooth color transition here, and the lettering is neat.

Jones (21): Navy blue was a good play for the red and white. The Reading Terminal Market lettering also is a great addition. I’m always going to like seeing “City of Brotherly Love” on a jersey.

Edwards (27): I like the connection to Phi Slama Jama. It looks classy. It’s not over the top.

Iko (24): If you’re not from the city, you probably won’t get the cross reference between the University of Houston and the old Rockets teams, but this is a classic blend. This will sell like hotcakes at the Galleria.

Jones (23): Phi Slama Jama gets some love with this design. Had to look up the shooting shirts worn by the University of Houston during Clyde Drexler and Hakeem Olajuwon’s college days to truly appreciate the design. Going with “H-Town” across the chest is a nice touch.

Iko (30): My favorite. T-Mac. Penny. Shaq. Türkoğlu. All Magic legends, just like this jersey. It’s nostalgic. It’s smooth. It’s fire. This is how you do it. Take notes, Brooklyn.

Jones (28): Going navy blue with the chain-link stripes feels like a modern version of the early Magic jerseys — which I like. The star for the “A” in Orlando is placed perfectly and will look good on the court.

Edwards (19): I agree with the fellas. A modern twist on a ’90s basketball kid’s favorite jersey. Good job, Orlando.

Iko (27): These are really dope. There’s intricate detail around the edges, and using the gold to highlight Cleveland’s theater scene is exactly the type of historical tidbit we never hear about. Awesome stuff.

Jones (26): These jerseys work best when I learn something new. I had no idea of Cleveland’s connection to theater until learning about this jersey design. Cleveland has the largest performing arts center outside of New York? Wow. It’s simple, but the details make this one nice.

Edwards (24): I didn’t know that either, Jason. Shout-out to the Cavs. It’s basic, but it’s done well. Good story. Definitely a top City Edition jersey.

Edwards (29): The Karl Malone/John Stockton-era jerseys are some of my favorites of all time, and this is a great tweak of those. Give me any purple on a jersey. These aren’t as good as the Jazz uniforms from the ’90s — those are some of the best ever — but they are nice.

Iko (28): Can the Jazz keep these forever? These are perfect. It’s not too much mountain for Utah fans, I don’t think, and the purple rocks.

Jones (27): I’d take these over what the Jazz normally wear. The purple is perfect. The skyline works in paying homage to the best teams that played in Utah. I move that the Jazz stick with these jerseys.

Jones (30): One of the worst things from the late 1980s/early ’90s was that the Bad Boy Pistons didn’t play in black uniforms. Alternate jerseys weren’t the thing back then, but if they were, these would have been perfect. And how would anyone not like the crossbones here? The uniform captures the essence of the era perfectly.

Edwards (30): These are clean. The connection to the “Bad Boys” era makes sense. It’s different from what the Pistons have done in the past. Well done. Very well done.

Iko (25): I’d think Bill Laimbeer would rock these passionately. Everything about these screams Detroit Pistons basketball from back in the day — tough as nails, sleek and dark.

Iko (29): It takes real talent to make purple and pink go together. These are the jerseys that make people smile. Well done.

Jones (29): I love foreign languages on jerseys; the Suns hit a home run with this design. I also love the acknowledgement of lowrider culture. The design puts me in a custom ’64 Impala on a sunny day that’s bouncing down the street on switches.

Edwards (28): Purple is my favorite color. I also like pink and teal. So, yeah, I’d be first in line to grab this if I were a Suns fan. Also, like Jason, I’m a fan of foreign languages on a jersey.

(Illustration: Sam Richardson / The Athletic; photos courtesy of Nike and the NBA)