Thompson: Klay Thompson had to leave the Warriors, but the legend will last forever

On a November night in 2012, Klay Thompson had one of the most defining moments of his career and got an early glimpse of the ingredients that would make him a Golden State Warriors legend. He stepped to the free-throw line at Oracle Arena in Oakland with the Warriors leading by two with 13 seconds left in overtime. He missed both free throws. Golden State still had a chance to win, needing only one save. But Klay made a costly defensive mistake, setting up Denver’s Danilo Gallinari for a game-tying dunk. The Warriors lost in double overtime.

By the time the media was allowed into the locker room to ask questions about the meltdown, which then-coach Mark Jackson said was the worst he had felt after a game, Klay was already gone. His clothes were still hanging in the locker. But he had already left Oracle, in full uniform.

Unorthodox behavior, to be sure. No post-match shower. No cool-down time. He just bounced back. That’s how angry he was with himself, because that’s how much he cared. His competitive fire was controlled. He wasn’t afraid to lose himself completely in what he loved, no matter the cost. He was cool, but never too cool to commit fully.

A lesson from Klay.

It’s that same spirit that led to the end of one of the NBA’s greatest lines. After 13 seasons, Klay Thompson is now a Dallas Maverick. And the Warriors’ championship triangle is now a chevron. Klay has left the home he helped build, the only franchise he’s ever known. This time, he’s left his uniform behind.

Players leave teams all the time. But this is different. This is an icon who creates sparks, changing the DNA of a franchise.

It will be a shock to see the Warriors rock star in another group. Paired with Luka Dončić and not Steph Curry.

But as the old adage goes, to love something is to let go of it. The hardest yet most necessary act of love is the release, the sacrifice required to accept absence in the name of freedom. Klay’s gift to the Bay Area, beyond his finest shooting performances and the indelible moments he created, was his sovereignty.

He was a free spirit in an industry of fabricated personalities, in an age of trends and conformity. His ability and willingness to choose his path, stepping outside the box of his profession, somehow allowed his fans to do the same. Riding with Klay meant being yourself. Klay Thompson was his own master.

That’s why he had to go. Because for five years, Klay hasn’t been free. He, with his liberated aura, found himself imprisoned. His determination to find his past, to reach the Hall of Fame bar he had set for himself, seemed so all-consuming that it trapped him.

It’s a turnaround for Klay to end up being the one too hurt to stay. Five years ago, it would have been crazy to imagine Klay being so hurt by gestures, or lack thereof, and perceptions of appreciation. He’s clearly always valued his respect and legacy, judging by his play. But even when he complained about his respect, it felt more like a lighthearted joke than hurt feelings, like when he didn’t make the NBA75 list of the league’s best players and switched to No. 77 for practice. His public façade was one of indifference to typical social thirsts. He was too focused on his identity as Klay. You don’t show up as Jackie Moon because you care about perceptions.

Klay after scoring 52 points Monday: “I looked like Jackie Moon on the court.”

Klay tonight:

🎥 @NBCSAuthenticpic.twitter.com/1pYz5OLImU

— SB Nation (@SBNation) November 1, 2018

But as one former player recently pointed out, aging is brutal for an athlete. Greatness leaves the body faster than the mind. What Klay has experienced only seems to accentuate that brutality. His departure was not gradual. He lost it. Twice. In the middle of his prime. With serious injuries for several years in a row.

He’s not the first player to endure such an ordeal. But his status and natural propensity for authenticity have given us a glimpse into this athlete’s journey. He hasn’t shown everything, but enough to know that his happiness has dissipated. As Draymond Green said on his podcast, it’s better to keep an inventory full of good memories than to create new bad ones. And he’s compiled the bad ones. Not just his poor playoff performances the last two seasons. But the times when his frustration and pain have manifested themselves in ways unbecoming of him.

Klay deserves this fresh start. He has earned a refresh. As much as it might hurt him to leave, he has earned the grace and understanding of a fan base that he is so well endowed with.

“I think last year was really tough on him,” Green said. “It was really tough on Klay. As a brother, to see someone go through that, it was tough for me to watch. … It’s probably for the best. But it sucks.”

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Klay was still seething with anger just outside the visitors’ locker room in Phoenix in October 2022, after he was ejected after getting into a fight with Devin Booker. It can be hard to tell when Klay doesn’t want to talk. Sometimes it will seem like the wrong time to interview him and he will end up being the talkative one. He will drop memorable gems and honest insights. So I took a chance and asked him about his shooting after he went 1-of-8 from the field. He missed all five of his three-pointers, making 2 of his last 12, and had 10 points in two games. My question was whether his problem was technique or shot selection.

He stopped, gave me an exasperated look and answered.

“Why should I stop believing now, Marcus?”

It wasn’t my question, but his answer was an understanding of what he was thinking and how he handled things. Sometimes with Klay, questions about his shooting, especially after tough nights, felt like indictments. As if the simple question were a demand that he stop shooting. Because in his mind, and for good reason, almost every shot he takes is inherently justified by his excellence in his craft. To question the result is to question the decision to let it fly.

And why would he stop shooting? Why would he stop doing what he was born to do? Why would he abandon the confidence that his work and talent have allowed him to develop?

A lesson from Klay.

He finds peace in his life on the court, practicing his art. Yes, he does it on the boat, in the water, and lounging with his dog, Rocco. But nothing seems to fulfill him as much as basketball. Putting a 30-inch-circumference ball through a 56-inch-circumference hoop. It’s a simple pleasure that he’s mastered. And his mastery has brought him so much joy.

Klay remains convinced he can play to the level he wants to. More importantly, he is convinced he deserves the space and opportunity to do so.

“This changed the entire Bay Area,” Curry wrote on Instagram. “This changed the way the game is played. Killa Klay is at the center of it all. Thank you for everything. Go enjoy basketball and what you do.”

Klay hasn’t stopped believing. And it’s clear he’s arguing that the Warriors stopped believing in him — by not giving him a monster extension, by shelving his contract, by envisioning a role for him off the bench, by sitting him at the end of games despite all the magic he’s created.

Which is why his path to peace has been decidedly harder in the Bay. The home where he can’t escape reminders of his former glory and where reverence, and in some cases decline, are evidence of what he’s lost. The ultimate competitor in him made a valiant effort, and still does. He helped win a fourth championship in 2022. He fought. Against the restrictions of his body. Against the reality imposed on him.

That’s why loving Klay, right now, means letting him go. It’s not a word for the one who leaves, but for the one who stays. It means not allowing Klay’s loss to override the gains he brought. It means valuing what Klay gave more than what he takes with him. It means feeling that way with him.

Just like when he scored 37 points in a quarter against Sacramento in 2015. Just like when he upset Oklahoma City in Game 6 of the Western Conference Finals in 2016 and made Joe Lacob bow to him. Just like when he scored 60 points in 29 minutes in 2016. Just like when he tore his ACL in the 2019 NBA Finals. Just like when he cried on the Warriors bench after a game in 2021. Just like when he dunked in his first game in two years. Just like when he was on the last of the championship floats in 2022, in his sailor hat, and the streets were filled with fans following him.

Klay gave it his all. He was genuine enough to connect with the fans. He let people in. He bared his soul. Because of that, the Bay was on his side. An adopted son. If that was ever true, it should remain true, even after he’s gone.

A lesson from Klay.

The choice to leave the Warriors is one of Klay’s most defining decisions. He’s the captain of his own ship. The commander of his own motorcycle. The engineer and pilot of his own paper airplanes. If Klay wants to leave, he’ll leave. And he’s gone.

But this famous adage has another meaning, too. The first part—if you love something, let it go—is followed by a hopeful conclusion: if it comes back, it will be yours. Forever, in some versions.

Klay will return, assuming time heals the wounds. Not as an adversary, but as a family member. Not as a maverick, but as a warrior. Not as the one who left, but as the legend you love.

When he comes back, he’ll be your Klay. Forever.

(Top photo of Klay Thompson celebrating a game-winning victory over the Memphis Grizzlies in the 2022 playoffs: Ezra Shaw/Getty Images)