Only One Man Can Stop Steph Curry. His Name Is Kevin Durant

The inside story of how KD’s arrival in Golden State began the marginalization of the team’s—and NBA’s—best player.

- Ethan Sherwood Strauss

IT’S MARCH 15, and Stephen Curry is hard at work in his laboratory, firing shots at the basket tucked in the corner of Golden State’s practice facility.

Steph’s hoop has been a constant since 2012, back when he lived in a loft on the same block as the facility. Curry might change shoes at halftime if his shot is errant, but he’s never changing baskets.

The hoop is on the fifth floor of the pink- ish-beige downtown Oakland Marriott, resting above the city’s attached, unassuming strip of a convention center. Atop the beige box sits a panopticon where media and visitors stare at the efforts of a man too focused on the rim to notice. It’s a window into the drudgery that informs the fireworks. He’s sprinting through his shooting routine with purpose, having made 25.8 percent of his 3s over his past eight games. No matter who you are, that’s not good. If you’re Steph Curry, who hit 45.4 percent of his 3s last season, it’s awful. SportVU tracking data says Steph has missed 28 of his past 35 “wide open” 3-pointers. He’s searching. 

He’s also singing. 

“I am not throwing away my … shot,” Steph belts out, followed by the whoosh of leather hitting twine. “I am not throwing away my … shot.” Another swish.

Curry has just seen Hamilton in San Francisco. Not having known much about it going in, he was entranced by the production and has since embraced “My Shot” as an anthem (“for obvious reasons,” Steph explains with a smile).