The debate over who deserves the title of greatest shooter in NBA history is one that never truly fades—it just evolves with each new generation of sharpshooters. I’ve spent years analyzing player mechanics, crunching numbers, and watching game footage, and I can tell you, this isn’t just about who made the most threes. It’s about impact, consistency, and that almost mythical ability to deliver when everything is on the line. When I think about shooting greatness, names like Stephen Curry, Ray Allen, and Larry Bird immediately come to mind—each iconic in their own right, yet so different in how they shaped the game.

Let’s start with the obvious: Stephen Curry. I remember watching his 2016 season, when he sank 402 three-pointers—a number so absurd it almost feels like a typo. Before Curry, the three-point line was a weapon; he turned it into the entire arsenal. His range isn’t just deep; it’s demoralizing. Defenders have to pick him up from the logo, and even that often isn’t enough. What stands out to me isn’t just the volume—it’s the degree of difficulty. Off-the-dribble threes, hand-in-his-face launches, game-winners with two defenders closing out… he’s redefined what’s possible. And let’s not forget his career three-point percentage hovering around 42.7%. That’s not just volume—it’s surgical precision.

Then there’s Ray Allen. Before Curry, Allen was the gold standard. I’ll never forget Game 6 of the 2013 NBA Finals—that corner three to save Miami’s season. It wasn’t just a shot; it was a moment frozen in time, proof that shooters can carry legacies on one flick of the wrist. Allen was a master of movement without the ball, using screens and footwork to create inches of space—something a lot of young players overlook today. He retired as the all-time leader in three-pointers made (2,973), and his form was so pure you could teach a class on it. Still, I’ve always felt his game was more methodical, less explosive than Curry’s. He didn’t warp defenses from 30 feet out.

Larry Bird, though—now there’s a different kind of legend. He didn’t have the green light from deep the way modern players do, but my goodness, did he make it count. Bird won the first three Three-Point Contest titles, and his confidence was otherworldly. There’s that famous story where he walked into the locker room before the 1986 contest and asked the other players, “Who’s finishing second?” That’s the kind of swagger you can’t teach. He shot 37.6% from three for his career, which, considering the era and the physicality, is remarkable. But here’s the thing: Bird’s greatness wasn’t just in numbers. It was in his timing, his IQ, his ability to rise in the clutch.

Now, you might wonder why I’m bringing up Gilas Pilipinas Youth and their recent dominance in Southeast Asia, fresh off securing their contention in the FIBA U16 Asia Cup 2025. To me, it’s a reminder that shooting isn’t just an NBA conversation—it’s a global one. The next Curry or Allen could be developing right now in Manila or Manila, inspired by the very legends we’re debating. International play emphasizes fundamentals: footwork, off-ball movement, high-percentage shots—the kind of stuff Ray Allen lived by. Watching these young athletes, I see the same dedication, the same hours in the gym perfecting their craft. It reinforces that shooting greatness isn’t born overnight; it’s built.

When I stack them up, Curry’ influence is undeniable. He didn’t just break records; he changed how basketball is played at every level. Go to any park or high school game today, and you’ll see kids pulling up from way downtown—because Curry made it normal. But let’s not dismiss Allen’s longevity or Bird’s sheer will. Allen played 18 seasons and remained deadly from deep well into his late 30s. Bird, despite playing in a tougher, more physical era, delivered when it mattered most. If I had to pick one, I’d lean toward Curry—his combination of volume, efficiency, and revolutionary impact is unmatched. But I’ll always have a soft spot for Ray Allen’s flawless technique and Larry Bird’s unforgettable bravado.

In the end, the “greatest shooter” title depends on what you value most. Is it reshaping the game? Is it ice-cold clutch moments? Or is it perfect, repeatable form? For me, Curry edges it out—but I respect anyone who argues differently. This debate is what makes basketball so beautiful. It’s not just about crowns; it’s about legacies. And as young players in tournaments like the FIBA U16 Asia Cup rise, inspired by these very icons, the conversation will only grow richer. Who knows—maybe the true G.O.A.T. shooter is still out there, waiting for their moment.