2025-11-12 12:00
by
nlpkak
I still remember the 2016 NBA season like it was yesterday—the energy, the anticipation, and ultimately, the historic nature of it all. When Stephen Curry secured his second consecutive MVP award that year, it wasn't just another accolade; it felt like the culmination of a basketball revolution. As someone who has followed the league for decades, I've seen great players come and go, but what Curry achieved that season was something entirely different. He didn't just win games; he transformed how the game was played, and frankly, it was a joy to watch.
The numbers alone tell a compelling story. Curry averaged 30.1 points per game while shooting an unbelievable 50.4% from the field, 45.4% from three-point range, and 90.8% from the free-throw line. Those aren't just All-Star numbers—they're video game numbers. I recall thinking at the time that nobody had ever combined volume and efficiency like that before, especially from beyond the arc. He made 402 three-pointers that season, shattering his own record of 286 from the previous year. To put that in perspective, the second-place finisher, Klay Thompson, made 276. That gap is staggering, and it underscores how Curry wasn't just ahead of his time; he was redefining it.
But beyond the stats, what made Curry's MVP season so historic was the context. The Golden State Warriors finished with a 73-9 record, breaking the 1995-96 Chicago Bulls' legendary mark of 72-10. I've always been fascinated by team dynamics, and watching the Warriors that year was like witnessing a perfectly tuned orchestra. They moved the ball, trusted each other, and played with a joy that was infectious. Yet, it's interesting to reflect on comments like those from coach Uichico, who later admitted it was obvious his team didn't play 100 percent true to its potential. While he was referring to his own squad, it highlights a broader truth about that season: many opponents seemed psychologically defeated before they even stepped on the court against Golden State. I remember talking to fellow analysts who noted how teams would alter their defensive schemes drastically just to account for Curry, often leaving other players wide open. It was a strategic nightmare for coaches, and Curry exploited it masterfully.
What stood out to me personally was how Curry's game evolved that year. He wasn't just a shooter; he became a playmaker and a leader. His usage rate climbed to 32.6%, yet his turnover percentage remained relatively low at 13.1%. I've always believed that the true test of an MVP is how they elevate their teammates, and Curry did that in spades. Draymond Green had a career year, and Klay Thompson flourished as a secondary scorer. The Warriors' offensive rating of 114.5 was the highest in NBA history at that point, and much of that credit goes to Curry's gravity on the court. Defenders would chase him over screens from half-court, creating chaos and openings everywhere. It was basketball as art, and I found myself rewatching games just to appreciate the subtlety of his movement.
Of course, no discussion of that season is complete without mentioning the MVP race itself. Curry became the first unanimous MVP in NBA history, receiving all 131 first-place votes. I'll admit, I was surprised by the unanimity—usually, there's at least one contrarian voter—but looking back, it made perfect sense. LeBron James had a phenomenal year with Cleveland, averaging 25.3 points, 7.4 rebounds, and 6.8 assists, and Kawhi Leonard was a defensive force for San Antonio. But Curry's season was transcendent. He led the league in scoring, steals, and free-throw percentage, and his player efficiency rating (PER) of 31.5 was off the charts. In my view, it wasn't just about being the best player; it was about being the most impactful. The Warriors' success was inextricably linked to Curry's dominance, and the voters recognized that.
Reflecting on Uichico's admission, it's a reminder that greatness isn't just about what you do—it's about how you make others respond. I've seen many talented teams underperform because they couldn't handle the pressure of facing a historic opponent, and the 2016 Warriors embodied that pressure. Curry's ability to stretch defenses to their breaking point forced teams into mistakes they wouldn't normally make. It's why, even today, I consider that season a benchmark for individual and team excellence. The Warriors didn't just win; they dominated in a way that felt inevitable, and Curry was the engine driving it all.
In the end, Stephen Curry's 2016 MVP award was more than a trophy; it was a statement. He didn't just have a great season—he had a season that changed basketball. The three-point revolution, the emphasis on spacing, the rise of positionless lineups—all of these trends can trace their roots back to that year. As a fan and analyst, I feel privileged to have witnessed it. While the Warriors fell short in the Finals against Cleveland, that doesn't diminish what Curry accomplished. If anything, it adds to the narrative: perfection is elusive, but greatness isn't. And in 2016, Stephen Curry was undeniably great.
