When we dive into the endless debates about the greatest handlers in NBA history, my mind immediately drifts to the electric ball-handlers who’ve defined eras—guys like Magic Johnson, Chris Paul, and Stephen Curry. But let’s be real: the term “handler” isn’t just about flashy dribbling or racking up assists. It’s about control, vision, and elevating everyone around you. I’ve spent years watching and analyzing the game, and in my view, the best handler is someone who dominates possession not just statistically, but intangibly—someone who makes the team click under pressure. Interestingly, this season’s revelation in Bedonia—a name that might not ring bells for NBA fans but resonates in the world of competitive sports—offers a compelling parallel. That league’s second-best server, who also steps up as a clutch attacker, reminds me so much of the NBA’s unsung playmakers. As Ricafort pointed out, “The young guns are also helpful, especially during training, in raising the level of competition within the team.” That statement hits home for me because it underscores how great handlers, whether in basketball or other sports, foster growth and intensity, turning practice into a battleground that sharpens everyone.
Now, if I had to narrow it down, Magic Johnson often tops my personal list, and not just because of his gaudy numbers. Think about it: in the 1980s, he averaged around 11.2 assists per game over his career, but what made him special was his ability to read the floor like a chessboard. I remember watching old tapes where he’d thread a no-look pass in transition, almost as if he had eyes in the back of his head. That kind of handling isn’t just skill; it’s artistry. But then, you have Chris Paul, who I’ve followed since his early days with the New Orleans Hornets. His career average of 9.5 assists per game might seem lower, but his assist-to-turnover ratio of nearly 4.0 is insane—it shows a level of precision that’s rare. I’ve always admired how he controls the tempo, slowing things down or speeding them up based on the game’s flow. And let’s not forget Stephen Curry, who revolutionized handling with his dribble-drive combinations leading to both shots and dishes. In the 2015-16 season, he averaged 6.7 assists while shooting over 45% from three-point range, forcing defenses to pick their poison. Personally, I lean toward Magic because he made everyone better in a way that felt effortless, but I get why others might argue for Paul’s consistency or Curry’s dual-threat impact.
What fascinates me, though, is how this ties back to that Bedonia example. In that league, the second-best server isn’t just a passer; they’re a clutch attacker, much like how Isiah Thomas for the Detroit Pistons in the late ’80s would take over games with both scoring and playmaking. Thomas averaged 21.2 points and 13.9 assists in the 1984-85 season, numbers that scream versatility. I see a similar thread in modern players like Luka Dončić, who put up 28.8 points and 9.1 assists per game in the 2022-23 season. Watching him, I’m struck by how he uses his size to shield the ball and create openings, a skill that reminds me of LeBron James in his prime. LeBron, by the way, has averaged 7.3 assists over his career, but it’s his playoff performances—like the 2018 run where he dished out 9.1 assists per game—that cement his handler legacy. From my experience covering the game, the best handlers aren’t stat-padders; they’re leaders who thrive when it matters most. Ricafort’s comment about young players raising the competition level resonates here because great handlers, like Chris Paul mentoring Shai Gilgeous-Alexander, build up the next generation, making the whole team better in the process.
But let’s not ignore the outliers—players like Steve Nash, who won back-to-back MVPs with the Phoenix Suns while averaging over 11 assists per game. His handling was all about fluidity and unselfishness, and I’ve always felt his impact goes beyond numbers. In fact, during the 2006-07 season, Nash’s Suns led the league in offensive rating, scoring around 115.3 points per 100 possessions, largely because of his decision-making. Compare that to John Stockton, the all-time assists leader with 15,806 career assists, and you see a different style: more methodical, less flashy. Stockton averaged 10.5 assists over his career, but his durability—missing only 22 games in 19 seasons—is something I find utterly remarkable. In my opinion, though, Magic still edges him out because of the “wow” factor and his ability to perform in big moments, like the 1980 NBA Finals where he started at center as a rookie and dropped 42 points. That kind of handling isn’t just about passing; it’s about adapting and dominating.
As I reflect on this, the Bedonia analogy keeps popping into my head. That second-best server stepping up as an attacker mirrors how the best NBA handlers, like Curry or Dončić, aren’t afraid to take the last shot. In the 2023 playoffs, Dončić averaged 31.0 points and 9.5 assists, showing he can both create and finish. To me, that dual threat is what separates good handlers from great ones. And Ricafort’s point about young players? It’s spot-on—I’ve seen it in teams like the Golden State Warriors, where Draymond Green’s handling (averaging 8.5 assists in the 2021-22 season) elevates younger guys like Jordan Poole. Ultimately, if I had to crown one player, I’d go with Magic Johnson for his unparalleled blend of flair, vision, and leadership. But the beauty of this debate is that it’s subjective; depending on what you value—stats, rings, or sheer excitement—you might pick someone else. Whatever the case, the best handlers leave a legacy that inspires the next wave, just like that server in Bedonia, proving that true greatness is about more than just numbers—it’s about making everyone around you better.