The lights of Madison Square Garden shimmered overhead, casting a golden glow on the hardwood. The crowd murmured with expectation, a low hum that would soon erupt into astonished cheers. On that night in 2013, a young Stephen Curry stood at the precipice of something monumental. Few knew his name, fewer still believed he could redefine the game. Yet, with each flick of his wrist, each off-ball sprint, and every impossible shot that met the bottom of the net, a legend was born.

Among those watching was Isaiah, a rising star in college basketball. He had always prided himself on his defensive skills, on being the kind of player who could smother an opponent into irrelevance. But as he sat in his dorm, watching Curry dance past defenders, launching threes from distances that seemed absurd, he felt a growing sense of awe—and fear.

“What makes him so unstoppable?” Isaiah muttered to himself.

The next morning, he walked into the gym with renewed determination. He had spent years perfecting traditional defense—body positioning, lateral quickness, hand-eye coordination—but none of it seemed enough against someone like Curry. The thought gnawed at him, a riddle he was desperate to solve.

Later that day, he called his older brother, Marcus, a former pro who had spent years in the league.

“Hey, man,” Isaiah said. “You ever guard someone like Curry?”

Marcus chuckled. “I tried. But guarding Steph isn’t about stopping him. It’s about surviving.”

Isaiah frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The guy’s most dangerous when he doesn’t have the ball,” Marcus explained. “Most defenders relax once their man passes it. But not with Steph. He moves. Constantly. Cuts, screens, relocates. You can’t take a single breath. And when he does get the ball? Good luck. If you’re even half a step behind, it’s over.”

Isaiah absorbed his brother’s words. It wasn’t just the shooting that made Curry unstoppable; it was his relentlessness. His refusal to be static, his ability to turn a moment’s hesitation into an open shot.

Determined to push himself beyond his limits, Isaiah changed his approach to training. He spent hours running without the ball, weaving through imaginary screens, sprinting back and forth until his legs burned. He studied Curry’s movements, noting the subtle ways he created space—not just for himself, but for his teammates.

One day, his coach, an old-school defensive mastermind, noticed the shift in his game.

“You trying to be Curry now?” he asked with a smirk.

Isaiah shook his head. “No, Coach. I’m trying to stop guys like him.”

His coach let out a laugh. “Then you better be ready to live in hell.”

The season pressed on, and Isaiah found himself tested against quicker, sharper players. Yet, he never backed down. He had trained his body to endure exhaustion, to remain engaged even when his lungs screamed for rest. He was learning that greatness wasn’t just about talent—it was about endurance. It was about embracing discomfort.

Then came the championship game.

The opposing team’s star player was a shooter in the mold of Curry. He never stopped moving, his release was lightning-quick, and his confidence was unshakable. Isaiah knew this was his moment.

For forty minutes, he chased, fought through screens, and refused to let his man breathe. Every time the shooter thought he had an inch of space, Isaiah was there. He wasn’t trying to stop him completely—he knew that was impossible. But he made him work for every shot, draining his energy, forcing him into tough looks.

With just seconds left on the clock, the shooter received the ball beyond the arc. Isaiah was right there, hand in his face. The ball left his fingertips, arching high through the air.

It clanked off the rim.

The final buzzer sounded.

Isaiah collapsed to his knees, exhausted beyond anything he had ever felt. His teammates swarmed him, celebrating their victory, but he could barely move. He had learned firsthand what it took to battle an opponent who never stopped moving, and he had survived.

As he looked up at the scoreboard, he thought back to Curry, to the way he had reshaped basketball. Isaiah understood now—greatness wasn’t just about skill. It was about persistence, about making the impossible seem routine, about rewriting the very rules of the game.

That night, as he lay in bed, his legs aching, he smiled to himself.

He hadn’t just won a championship.

He had learned what it meant to be truly unstoppable.

Coach Pop has always been a giving person.

Shaquille O’Neal shared a story on TNT about how Gregg Popovich gave him shoes when he was a kid in San Antonio.

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The more stories that come out about Coach Pop, the more I miss seeing him at the end of the bench on any given night.

It’s been nearly four months since the San Antonio Spurs have seen Gregg Popovich on the floor of the Frost Bank Center. The NBA’s all-time winningest coach (at 1,412 wins over a nearly three-decade career, but who’s counting) has been absent from the sidelines since suffering what the team called a “mild stroke” on November 2, 2024.

And despite hope from Spurs fans that Coach Pop could make some sort of comeback before the end of the 2025 season, ESPN’s Shams Charania reported Saturday, February 22 he “is not expected to return this season, and his NBA future is uncertain.” Charania broke the news only days after the Spurs announced Victor Wembanyama had deep vein thrombosis and was ruled out for the remainder of the season.

Head coach Gregg Popovich of the San Antonio Spurs looks on against the Golden State Warriors during the fourth quarter of an NBA basketball game at Chase Center on March 31, 2023 in San Francisco.

Thearon W. Henderson/Getty Images

The news on Coach Pop’s absence going forward prompted a short tribute from the TNT Tuesday night crew on Tuesday, February 25 during post game of the Los Angeles Lakers and Dallas Mavericks game. Host Adam Lefkoe highlighted what the Spurs coach means to the NBA and USA basketball, then talked about the “dynasty” Popovich created before he handed the baton to Shaquille O’Neal.

Shaq, who spent some his teenage years in San Antonio, said Coach Pop did something for him he never talked about when he was in high school, and at the time, Popovich was an assistant coach with the Spurs.

“Growing up, [I] couldn’t really afford a lot of shoes so my father went to the Spurs organization because they had a guy – Chuck Nevitt – who had size 20 [shoes],” O’Neal said. “My father had a conversation with Coach Popovich. Coach Popovich gave him three pairs of shoes. So I’ve always loved him and respected him for that. And I’d rather see him healthy, and alive and here on Earth rather than coaching so.”

O’Neal than finished his thought by looking at the camera and speaking to Popovich. “Coach we love you, get well soon. We respect you; we appreciate you,” he said before turning to the crew. “He’s already done enough for the game, I’d rather just see him healthy.

“I remember that day in San Antonio you gave me those shoes coach, I appreciate you very much,” O’Neal added.

Another day, another reason to love Popovich. You can see the full segment below: