The Real Steph Curry

Another night… another ridiculous display by Steph Curry.  Seriously, this is getting absurd.  On one night, he hits ten 3-pointers and ten 2-pointers (a record).  The next night, he drains twelve 3-pointers (tying the single-game record and breaking his own single-season record with – ho hum – about a third of the season remaining), including the game winner from a totally unnecessary 32 feet with about three seconds left.  On a bum ankle.  In the last game of a tough road trip.  With the muscle frame of a 12-year-old boy.  Is he for real?  Like, for rreeeaaaalllll for real?  I think it’s about time we start questioning whether he is pulling the wool over our stunned eyes.

He’s obviously not fond of steroids.  Remember: 12-year-old boy.  He could openly solicit BALCO and no one would blame him for one second.  I think we can safely check PEDs off the list.

Perhaps he is blood doping, a la Lance Armstrong.  For years Armstrong flew under the doping suspicion radar (at least from the view of the general public) because he had the body of a ballerina… a female ballerina.  But blood doping doesn’t affect muscle structure.  It increases the aerobic efficiency of blood cells.  That can’t be it either.  Curry isn’t great because of his high anaerobic or lactate threshold.  He is great because he can snap his right wrist faster and more accurately than anyone in history.

His wrist.  That’s it!  No, he’s not wrist doping.  Come on, people.  That wouldn’t make any sense.  But it is not out of the realm of possibility that the wrist guiding his shooting hand is… wait for it… not quite human.  Have you ever watched him shoot.  I mean really watch him.  ESPN has done studies on this.  No matter where Curry is shooting from, 5 feet or 50 feet, he never varies his shooting motion.  He doesn’t bend his legs more to gain more power when he’s farther away.  He never uses his arms to push the ball with greater force.  The only difference between 5 and 50 feet for Steph Curry is the force with which his wrist comes forward as he lets go of the ball.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is unnatural.  Watch anyone else in the world shoot from 5 and 50 feet and you’ll see obvious, major differences.  Take a trip to your nearest hoop and start shooting from 5-foot increments away from the rim.  See if you can hold your original form outside of 15 or 20 feet.  Try to isolate your shooting wrist so that it is the only variable.  Go ahead.  I’ll wait.

You can’t do it, and neither can I.  Why is that?  Because you and I (and every basketball player in the world except Curry) have human wrists.  Our wrists are powered by human veins rushing blood to human muscles to move tiny human bones.  So just what exactly is Steph Curry’s wrist?  With my considerable expertise in robotics and artificial intelligence (disclaimer: such a statement may or may not be true, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express several years ago), I can say with confidence that Wardell Stephen Curry II is a human cyborg.  Yes, a cyborg.  I know it sounds crazy, but which is more likely: that Curry is part human and part machine, or that Curry is fully human and can shoot for over 50% beyond 30 feet?  Sometimes we have to play the odds to find the truth, people.

Anyway, as a fully human person, I feel offended and oppressed at Curry’s greatness, especially since he is hiding what he really is.  Maybe he is concealing his true identity (though not very convincingly) for the good of humanity, and he’ll come out when the time is right.  I guess that’s the prerogative of a superhero.  Far be it from a lowly hominid like me to tell a demigod how to conduct his affairs.  But I think we are all superhero-ed out these days.  We live in a Superman vs. Batman, X-Men civil war, Deadpool kind of world.  Our heroes can’t abide being heroic anymore.  They are either too arrogant to acknowledge the supremacy of other extraordinary beings, or they are psychological weaklings who just want to be like the rest of us ordinary schmucks.

Well I, for one, will not be fooled by your feeble attempts at playing human, Steph Curry.  You showed too much of your superior powers this week for the perceptive among us to keep our heads in the sand.  Big mistake!  More questions will come soon enough.  Then where will you hide?   Why don’t you just leave us alone, Steph Curry?  Go make yourself useful.  Wipe out ISIS in a single blow from your god-like wrist.  Reverse Global Warming with the considerable wind that emanates from its incredible snap.  Best of all, slap Donald Trump’s political career into oblivion.  But, for God’s (your??) sake, please stop playing basketball!  Leave such meaninglessness to us.

(Final disclaimer: Please, please, plleeeaaasssseeeee, Steph, don’t ever stop playing basketball!  I was totally kidding.  Just stop taking 30-foot jump shots when you don’t need to.  We all know you can make them whenever you want, and we all love you for it.  But too many of those will earn you our disdain.  We humans hate being made to feel so incompetent.)

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