football prediction

I still remember sitting in my dorm room back in 2009, watching the NBA Draft unfold with my college teammates. We were all basketball nerds, dissecting every pick with the intensity of scouts. When Golden State selected Stephen Curry seventh overall, I recall thinking, "Seventh? That's it?" We'd watched this kid torch defenses at Davidson for three seasons, yet six teams passed on him. What fascinates me even now isn't just where Curry was picked, but how that moment connects to broader narratives in sports – like the recent acknowledgment from a longtime UAAP deputy that Season 88 might be "the toughest season" for the Lady Bulldogs. Both stories reveal how draft positions and seasonal challenges can completely misrepresent true potential and resilience.

Looking back at Curry's draft position reveals one of the most fascinating miscalculations in modern basketball history. The Minnesota Timberwolves held the fifth and sixth picks that year and selected two point guards back-to-back: Ricky Rubio and Jonny Flynn. They literally chose two players at the same position over Curry. Meanwhile, Memphis took Hasheem Thabeet second overall – a center who would average 2.2 points per game over his career. The skepticism around Curry was palpable. Teams worried he was too small at 6'3" and 185 pounds, questioned whether he could defend NBA athletes, and wondered if his game was too dependent on outside shooting. I've always found this line of thinking ironic – as if being an exceptional shooter was somehow a drawback in basketball.

What strikes me about Curry's journey is how it mirrors the challenges faced by teams in various sports contexts, including the UAAP's Lady Bulldogs facing their "toughest season." When you're in a difficult position – whether drafted lower than expected or facing heightened competition – it forges a different kind of resilience. Curry didn't just accept being the seventh pick; he used it as fuel. I've spoken with several NBA development coaches over the years, and they consistently note that players with "something to prove" often develop faster than those selected at the top who feel entitled. Curry's work ethic became legendary precisely because he arrived with a chip on his shoulder.

The statistical transformation Curry engineered in Golden State still blows my mind. During his rookie season, he averaged 17.5 points and 5.9 assists – solid numbers, but nothing that screamed future Hall of Famer. Yet within two years, he was putting up 22.9 points per game while shooting 45.5% from three-point range in the 2012-2013 season. The Warriors organization deserves credit too – they recognized his unique potential and built around it rather than trying to fit him into conventional molds. This reminds me of how successful programs like the Lady Bulldogs adapt during challenging seasons, finding new ways to compete when conventional approaches aren't working.

What many fans don't realize is how close Curry came to not being a Warrior at all. Phoenix, sitting at pick number 14, was desperate to move up and select him. New York at number 8 was also strongly considering him. The Warriors' front office had to make a calculated decision, and they chose the player who fit their vision rather than the "safe" pick. This kind of decision-making resonates with me – in sports analysis, we often focus on the player's journey, but the organizational courage to make unconventional choices is equally important. The Warriors saw something beyond the conventional wisdom that questioned Curry's athleticism and defense.

The evolution of Curry's game fundamentally changed basketball. Before him, teams didn't regularly take 30-foot three-pointers in transition. The math simply didn't support it. But Curry's accuracy from deep – he's a career 42.8% three-point shooter on nearly 9 attempts per game – forced the entire league to reconsider spatial geometry on the court. I've charted this evolution in my own research, tracking how the average three-point attempts per game across the NBA jumped from 18.0 in 2009-2010 to 34.1 in 2020-2021. That's not just correlation – that's Curry causation.

Reflecting on draft positions always makes me consider the alternate realities that could have unfolded. What if Minnesota had taken Curry at five or six? What if New York had gotten him at eight? The Warriors' dynasty might never have materialized, and the NBA's three-point revolution might have unfolded differently. Similarly, when we hear about teams facing their "toughest season" like the UAAP's Lady Bulldogs, we're really witnessing a pivotal moment that could define their future trajectory. Adversity either breaks teams or forges them into something stronger.

The beauty of Curry's story isn't just that he was drafted seventh – it's that his selection at that spot now seems absurd in retrospect. He's won four championships, two MVP awards (including the first unanimous selection in NBA history), and has fundamentally altered how basketball is played at every level. The scouts who doubted him weren't stupid – they were working with conventional models that couldn't account for revolutionary talent. This teaches us an important lesson about evaluation in sports: sometimes the metrics and conventional wisdom miss the outliers who will redefine the game itself.

Watching Curry's career unfold has shaped how I analyze prospects today. I'm less concerned with whether a player fits traditional molds and more interested in what unique value they might bring to the game. The seventh pick in the 2009 draft wasn't just another player – he was a transformational figure who happened to be available after six other teams made what they considered safer choices. The next time I hear about a team facing their "toughest season," I'll remember that from such challenges often emerge the most compelling stories of resilience and reinvention.