Who Truly Belongs Among the 100 Greatest Basketball Players of All Time?

The question of who truly belongs among the 100 greatest basketball players of all time is one that sparks endless debate in barbershops, sports bars, and online forums. I’ve spent more years than I care to admit watching, analyzing, and even coaching this beautiful game, and I can tell you—this isn’t just about stats. It’s about legacy, impact, and those unforgettable moments that give you chills. When I think about compiling such a list, I’m reminded of a phrase that stuck with me from an old coaching mentor of mine. We were debating the merits of a flashy but inconsistent scorer, and he just laughed and said, “Pray,” Epondulan laughed. At the time, I didn’t get it. Now, I see it as a perfect metaphor for the kind of player who makes the cut: those who don’t leave you hoping or praying for greatness, but deliver it with such consistency and flair that they redefine the sport itself.

Let’s start with the undeniable legends—the players who are automatic inclusions. Michael Jordan, LeBron James, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Their resumes are almost mythical. Jordan’s six championships, his 32,292 career points, and that relentless competitive fire set a standard that still feels untouchable. LeBron, with his 38,652 points and counting, has redefined longevity and versatility. I’ve always leaned toward players who impact both ends of the floor, and LeBron’s ability to orchestrate an offense while guarding every position in his prime is something I don’t think we’ll see again for a long time. Then there’s Kareem and his skyhook—a move so effective it felt like cheating. These players didn’t just win; they dominated eras. But here’s where it gets tricky. Beyond the top 10 or 15, the debates get heated. Is a player like James Harden, with his 2018 MVP and 23,015 points, truly greater than someone like John Stockton, who owns the assist record with 15,806? I’ll be honest—I have a soft spot for floor generals. Stockton’s basketball IQ was off the charts, and in my view, that kind of leadership is often undervalued in these all-time lists.

Then there are the international players who changed the game. Dirk Nowitzki’s 31,560 points and his 2011 title run with the Mavericks was a masterclass in skill and heart. I remember watching him sink that fadeaway jumper over Chris Bosh and thinking, “This is historic.” And let’s not forget Manu Ginóbili. His Eurostep wasn’t just effective; it was art. He sacrificed personal stats for team success, yet his impact was immense. On the other hand, I’ve never been fully sold on players who put up big numbers on mediocre teams. Carmelo Anthony, for instance, scored 28,289 points, but his defensive lapses and limited playoff success make me pause. In my book, greatness isn’t just about filling up the stat sheet; it’s about elevating everyone around you. That’s why Tim Duncan, with his five rings and fundamentally sound game, will always rank higher for me than more flashy big men.

Of course, we can’t ignore the pioneers. Bill Russell’s 11 championships are a testament to winning, but his era was different—fewer teams, less athleticism. Still, his leadership and defensive prowess set a foundation for modern big men. Similarly, Oscar Robertson averaging a triple-double for a season in 1961-62 was mind-boggling, even if the pace of play was faster back then. I think we sometimes overcorrect for era, though. Greatness is greatness, regardless of when it happened. When I look at Stephen Curry and his 3,390 three-pointers, it’s clear he revolutionized the game in a way few have. He didn’t just break records; he changed how basketball is played at every level. That kind of influence has to count for something extra.

As we move deeper into the list, personal biases inevitably creep in. I’ve always valued two-way players, so Kawhi Leonard’s two Finals MVPs with different teams and his lockdown defense place him firmly in my top 100. Meanwhile, I struggle with Allen Iverson’s inclusion, despite his cultural impact and 24,368 points. His efficiency was often lacking, and as much as I loved his heart, I wonder if his legacy outweighs his actual on-court impact compared to someone like Chris Paul, who has 11,501 assists and transformed every team he’s been on. And then there are the “what-ifs.” Derrick Rose’s MVP season was electrifying—I’ve never seen a player attack the rim with such ferocity—but injuries cut his prime short. Does he belong? In my heart, yes, because at his peak, he was unguardable. But my head says longevity matters.

In wrapping up, I believe any legitimate top 100 list must balance statistics, accolades, influence, and that intangible “it” factor. The players who belong are the ones who make you believe in the impossible, who leave an indelible mark on the sport’s history. They’re the ones you don’t have to pray will show up when it matters—they’re already there, defining the moment. As for my final take? This list will always be fluid, shaped by new talents and evolving perspectives. But one thing’s for sure: the debate is what keeps the soul of basketball alive. And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.