Like counting rings on a tree stump, there are certain ways to estimate a Bay Area sports fan’s years of devotion. If that stretch of Highway 101 where the now-demolished Candlestick Park used to be visible in the distance still gets him reminiscing about the Crazy Crab and the Croix De Candlestick, he’s got some mileage on him. If she still rocks her old 90’s era Run TMC shirt in honor of the Warriors’ holy trinity of Tim Hardaway, Mitch Richmond and Chris Mullin, she’s been around for a while.
One of the surest methods of measurement is to gauge how easily the fan in question has adjusted to the once lowly Warriors’ status as the undisputed class of the NBA. The Dubs-fan-come-lately simply thinks of their two championships in three years as the natural order of things, but the fan who bears more of the the scars from the bad old days is still in a state of blissful disbelief, pinching himself periodically just to make sure this is real life.
The need for journalistic detachment has kept me from being a Bay Area fan, exactly, but having lived by the Bay for three decades, I consider myself an expert on the species. I’ve personally witnessed a healthy chunk of local sports history, good and bad. I was in the press box when the ’89 World Series earthquake shook the ‘Stick, and when Pablo Sandoval’s three-homer game in the 2012 Series rocked AT&T Park in an altogether different way.
I was there to see Baron Davis’ epic jam over Andrei Kirilenko during the “We Believe” Warriors’ playoff run in 2007, and when the final pass from Colin Kaepernick (whatever happened to that guy, anyway?) to Michael Crabtree in the end zone fell incomplete in Super Bowl XLVII. I’ve seen Bay Area fans at their most euphoric and their most despondent, which is why an introduction isn’t really in order. Whether or not you know me, I feel that I know you.
And in all the time I’ve been here, I have never seen a team bring more joy to the Bay than these Warriors. The Giants’ three World Series titles in this decade are a close second, but the Giants had been a reasonably competitive franchise for years. The Warriors, except for a few brief spasms of respectability, were an exercise in irrelevance. When I took over the NBA beat at Sports Illustrated in the ‘90s, I remember an editor saying that my living near San Francisco was convenient because I would be close to the Lakers. No mention that there were two other NBA franchises — we haven’t forgotten you, Sacramento Kings — that were even closer.
It seemed that screwups and misadventures — like the Chris Webber-Don Nelson feud or the time Latrell Sprewell gave P.J. Carlesimo a slightly too vigorous neck massage — were the only way the Warriors could draw any national attention. They were laughingstocks, a status that pained even some of the other players in the league. When I would cross paths with Jason Kidd, who by that time was an NBA All-Star after first making a name for himself at St. Joseph’s in Alameda and at Cal, he would often pump me for intel on the Warriors’ front office and ownership situations, like any other fan who had grown up rooting for the Dubs and wanted to see them be finally be competitive.
And now Golden State is on top, proof that sports really are cyclical, even if those cycles sometimes last a generation. Beyond that, in what must be a karmic payback for all those years of being a punchline, the Warriors are not just champions, they are royalty. This feels like a reign, like an era that isn’t ending anytime soon and will one day bear their name.
They survey their kingdom and see their challengers making desperate, yet most likely futile, attempts to catch up. Paul George joining forces with Russell Westbrook in Oklahoma City and Chris Paul teaming up with James Harden in Houston? Nice tries, but likely not enough. Same for Boston’s addition of Gordon Hayward. And then there are the Cavs, whose dysfunction has made it an even more enjoyable summer for Golden State.
The alpha-male desires of Kyrie Irving not only threaten to cause the disintegration of the Warriors’ chief rival, they bring the overall harmony that may be Golden State’s biggest advantage over the other contenders into sharp relief. While Irving tries to force his way out from LeBron James’ shadow, the Warriors’ superstar teammates, Stephen Curry and Kevin Durant, seem to bask in each other’s glow. Not only that, but Durant left money on the table in contract negotiations this summer to facilitate the Warriors re-signing key rotation pieces Andre Iguodala and Shaun Livingston. The Dubs are such a big, happy family that it’s almost sickening.
The best organizations are at once traditional and visionary, and the Warriors are no different. Their style of offense — largely positionless, heavily reliant on ball and player movement and three-point shooting – might not be “light-years ahead,” as owner Joe Lacob might put it, but it’s cutting edge. Their selflessness, though, seems reminiscent of an earlier, more innocent time.
In fact, Bay Area fans of a certain vintage shouldn’t have to look too hard to find the similarities between these Warriors and the Joe Montana/Jerry Rice Niners of the ’80s and ’90s. Think of Curry as the modern-day Montana, unimposing in civvies but magical in uniform, capable of amazing things despite a relatively ordinary physique. Durant fits the Jerry Rice role of the breathtaking, elegant athlete, his coast-to-coast dunks the equivalent of Rice’s long bomb touchdown catches.
Klay Thompson is the new Roger Craig, the underrated player whose talents would be more appreciated if not overshadowed by his superstar teammates. Draymond Green, well, it’s never been easy to fit Green neatly into a box, so it’s not surprising that he represents a combination of great Niner defenders. Green is part Ronnie Lott, leader and motivator, and part pass rusher Charles Haley, a disruptive defensive force and loose cannon.
The parallels go beyond the players. Imagine how much Steve Kerr and Niners coach Bill Walsh would have found in common as cerebral, innovative men whose interests extended beyond X’s and O’s. Lacob has much in common with ex-Niners owner Eddie DeBartolo, confident to the point of cockiness, more than willing to spend in order to win.
But the simplest parallel between the two is obviously their shared dominance. Like those Niners, these Warriors represent the best the Bay Area has to offer. Our mission at The Athletic is to make sure that in time, you will think of us that way, too.
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