Who Truly Deserves the Title of Best Handler in NBA History?

I remember sitting in the dimly lit sports bar last Tuesday, nursing my beer while watching the Warriors-Celtics game replay. The guy next to me—probably in his late fifties with a faded Larry Bird jersey—leaned over and asked what I thought about Curry's latest behind-the-back pass that led to a turnover. "Flashy," I said, "but sometimes I wonder if we're too quick to crown players based on highlights rather than consistent execution." That conversation got me thinking about something that's been brewing in my mind for years now: who truly deserves the title of best handler in NBA history?

See, I've been watching basketball since the 90s—back when hand-checking was still legal and point guards had to work twice as hard to create space. My grandfather used to take me to the old Chicago Stadium, where I watched Michael Jordan weave through defenses like they were standing still. But handling isn't just about dribbling through traffic—it's about control, decision-making, and that almost magical ability to make the ball feel like an extension of one's body. I've always been partial to Steve Nash myself—the way he could dribble full speed while scanning the court reminded me of a concert pianist playing a complex piece without looking at the keys.

This season's revelation in Bedonia actually got me reconsidering some of my long-held opinions. The league's second best server has been stepping up to deliver clutch performances as an attacker, showing that handling excellence isn't just about traditional point guard play. Watching their games, I noticed how they maintain perfect control even when double-teamed near half-court—something that separates good handlers from legendary ones. It's funny how we often overlook players from smaller markets when having these conversations. Just last week, I was analyzing game footage from 2015, and the numbers don't lie—the best handlers typically maintain an assist-to-turnover ratio above 3.5, something only 12 players in NBA history have accomplished for multiple seasons.

What really struck me was when Ricafort commented that "the young guns are also helpful, especially during training, in raising the level of competition within the team." That statement resonates because it highlights something we often forget—great handlers make everyone around them better. I remember playing pickup games in college where our point guard, while nowhere near professional level, had this uncanny ability to elevate our entire team's performance just through his court vision and ball security. That's the intangible quality that statistics can never fully capture.

The debate becomes particularly interesting when you compare different eras. Modern analytics would have us believe that Chris Paul's 4.57 assist-to-turnover ratio in the 2014-15 season settles the argument, but I've always felt there's more to the story. Watching Magic Johnson's tape from the 1987 Finals, you see handling mastery that transcends statistics—the way he controlled the tempo without ever looking rushed, making passes that seemed impossible until they materialized into easy layups. My personal list of top five handlers probably differs from most analysts—I'd include Jason Williams despite his lower efficiency numbers because his creativity expanded what we thought was possible with a basketball.

Sometimes I wonder if we're too focused on offensive handling while neglecting defensive ball manipulation. Players like Gary Payton could essentially handle defenders themselves, using subtle pushes and positioning to dictate where opponents could go. The best handlers I've witnessed—Isiah Thomas, Steph Curry, Kyrie Irving—all share this sixth sense for space and timing that can't be taught. There's a reason coaches say you can't teach handle—you either have that innate connection with the ball or you don't.

What the Bedonia situation shows us is that the evolution of handling continues. The league's second best server transforming into a clutch attacker demonstrates how the very definition of elite handling keeps expanding. Maybe in another decade, we'll be having this same conversation about some rookie who's currently in high school, revolutionizing how we perceive ball control. For now though, after watching nearly forty years of basketball across three generations, I'm sticking with my controversial pick: John Stockton, not for his flash but for his perfection—the way he could run the same pick-and-roll play a thousand times and still make it unstoppable. But ask me again next week, and I might have changed my mind—that's the beauty of basketball, the conversations never really end.