Culture
Thompson: In Paris, the world beheld the joy of Steph Curry
PARIS — The atmosphere of the mixed zone for track and field, on the bottom floor of Stade de France, felt like a locker room and a pizza kitchen sharing a space. Hot and stanky enough to sweat while merely standing. Waiting became like a cruel prank. And Rai Benjamin, the clutch anchor leg who secured gold for the U.S. men’s 4×400 relay team, was taking forever.
Suddenly, my phone was vibrating like a massage gun. This has happened many times before. I knew exactly what it was without looking. So I didn’t look.
On this assignment, I was a track and field reporter, which is the definition of hectic at the Olympics. Benjamin was my focus. Not whatever had this stream of notifications coming my way. But the longer the relay team took to come out, the harder to avoid taking the bait. Eventually, I caved and stole a glance. The most recent notification was a text.
“GET THIS MAN SOME HELP”
Still no relay team. Still getting messages. Still sweating like an extra in an antebellum film.
All right, Steph Curry. You win.
I turned the game on just in time to see the shot heard ’round the world. I knew it was going in as soon as he launched. Being in the building wasn’t necessary to witness what was happening. It was an all-too-familiar vibe coming through the screen.
The actual shot — the punctuating 3-pointer in Saturday’s gold-medal victory over France, his 17th three in two games on a mere 26 attempts — was absent novelty. The best shooter in the world getting hot is about as normal as “Freed From Desire” being played at a sporting event in Paris. (Warning: Clicking that link will expose you to a song with the addictive properties of a kid’s commercial.) And Team USA winning a gold medal isn’t exactly breaking news.
Yet, this moment was whisking across the globe like a fabled spirit. The global superstar rendered a global performance. The world, through the lens of Paris — fittingly known as the City of Art, the City of Light, and the City of Love — beheld the Joy of Curry.
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All I could do was smile at the fortune of the Paris crowd two trains and 11 metro stops away from me at Bercy Arena, and the unaffiliated around the world drawn to basketball by the prestige of the Olympics. They can now claim the privilege of a uniquely American adventure.
Because Curry — when he finally arrived in Paris three days earlier, per Anthony Edwards — provided the latest presentation of Curry’s lasting legacy. It’s larger than him being the game’s greatest shooter. It’s even bigger than four world championships and two NBA MVPs.
His greatest legacy, a long-known principle to Warriors and Davidson fans and devoted Curry followers, is the experience of him itself. Curry’s greatness isn’t truly understood until it’s felt. It can’t be fully grasped until it’s beheld.
SPLASH AFTER SPLASH AFTER SPLASH AFTER SPLASH! 💦
Steph Curry couldn’t miss in the final minutes! #ParisOlympics pic.twitter.com/jM8xnR80Tx
— NBC Sports (@NBCSports) August 11, 2024
In this virality era where everything is recorded and aggregated, nothing gets missed, and impressive things are consumed to the point of mundane, Curry manages to be a had-to-be-there thing. The confluence of his talent and skills, his dichotomic personality of arrogance and humility, his work ethic, his limitations and his story produce its own kind of magic. It’s unique enough to maintain its entertainment value despite the frequency.
Now put that on the Olympic stage, against the French national team, featuring the future of basketball in Victor Wembanyama, in a close game, in Paris, with the gold medal on the line.
The magnitude of this one was different.
Seismic enough to wow LeBron and KD. Watching those three hug in the same uniform, scream at each other with unbridled unity, had all the warmth and feels at the end of a Tom Hanks film.
Makes you realize the waste in all those years of pitting them against each other, in which the athletes themselves participated. Makes you shake your head at the people who then and still looked for ways to diminish Curry in the name of another star. (And vice versa).
No. 1: Comparison is the thief of joy, so the tribalistic obsession with rankings only robbed them of one of basketball’s purest pleasures. It’s borderline ungrateful to watch Curry and LeBron James and Kevin Durant play and not be impacted by the privilege of the opportunity. No. 2: They were ALWAYS going to end up here, rivals turned to homies, competitors who become brothers. They’re all in such an exclusive group, they’d be lonely if they didn’t eventually come to embrace the few who can relate to their level. The way these guys are built, the way they think about the game, the love fest we witnessed during these Olympics was inevitable. And the dividing lines between their kingdoms were destined to look silly once the kings embraced.
Stephen Curry, LeBron James, Anthony Edwards and Kevin Durant of Team USA celebrate on the podium during the Men’s basketball medal ceremony at Bercy Arena on August 10, 2024 in Paris, France. (Jean Catuffe/Getty Images)
That’s another layer to this ultimate moment — just how much this means to Curry. Everything about him is Team USA. All of the feels and intangibles of the honor coupled with how his game translates. Dell Curry, and then Davidson coach Bob McKillop, groomed him with so many of the aspects that maximize the experience of USA Basketball. The selflessness. The camaraderie. The brotherhood of hoopers. The sportsmanship. The appreciation for putting on the jersey and playing against those with their own national pride. Curry has been indoctrinated this way his whole life.
I remember finally getting an answer from him about the Rio Olympics. He’d slipped on the sweat of Donatas Motiejūnas in the first round of the 2016 Western Conference playoffs and sprained his knee. He missed the next four games, but even when he returned he was compromised. Toward the end of the playoff run, he finally had to acknowledge his reality as the Warriors pushed forward in the playoffs: The offseason would be devoted to healing that knee. He was so dejected just saying it out loud.
He was injured in 2012, though a long shot to make the team. He was injured in 2016. He opted out of the quarantined Tokyo Games in the aftermath of the pandemic (which pushed the games back a year) and a grueling season with the Warriors. He was 0-for-3 on one of the most important perks of his rise to stardom.
So you can imagine how much he valued being there, and still being great enough at 36 to produce so spectacularly.
And the other part clearly important to him, sentimental even, is doing it with James and Durant. Doing it with the young stars to whom he gets the honor of passing the torch.
Curry has had a completely full career. He’s had incredible games and bad ones. Stellar moments and embarrassing ones. The highest glory and the heartbreak that never leaves. Huge wins and massive losses. You’ll never meet another NBA player who appreciates all of it more than Curry. They’re all rites of passage into the fraternity of NBA superstars. And as the kid who grew up around them, following his sharp-shooting father, Curry values that honor incredibly.
This is all that was missing, an Olympic gold, the Team USA experience.
So delivering as teammates of all-time greats, players he’s battled against for so many years, is greater than any shot he made. Greater than gold he now adorns.
He was with LeBron for this one. With KD. With Devin Booker and Jrue Holiday. With Carmelo Anthony. With Ty Lue and Erik Spoelstra, who for years sought to prey on his weaknesses. His entire biological family was with him for this international soiree. The chantilly on top: Curry was alongside Steve Kerr, his championship coach, with his basketball brother Draymond Green in the crowd, to which Curry yelled “Don’t worry ’bout me!” This was a significant moment for a significant figure.
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But, to answer many of the texts I received: Yes, I am in Paris. No, I was not there there. That was fine by me, too.
I’d just watched Sydney McLaughlin-Levrone run a 47.71 split on the second leg of the women’s 4×400 relay — the world record in the women’s 400 meters is 47.60 — and it was so fast and smooth everyone else on the track felt like stop animation. I’d earlier witnessed the greatest men’s 100-meter race of my lifetime, maybe ever, as Noah Lyles won by .005 seconds. That’s how long it takes a butterfly to flap its wings 10 times. I watched Cole Hocker shock the world in the men’s 1500-meter race. I watched Sha’Carri Richardson pierce the rain and stare down the runner-up as she paced her for gold.
That’s the beauty of the Olympics. It’s two weeks of had-to-be-there moments across multiple sports. Curry provided one of the most seismic ones, but not the only one. The Olympiads are chock full of legends.
Speaking of which, here comes Rai Benjamin. Finally.
GO DEEPER
Merci, Paris: We needed these Olympics
(Top photo of Stephen Curry: Michael Reaves/Getty Images)
Culture
I Think This Poem Is Kind of Into You
A famous poet once observed that it is difficult to get the news from poems. The weather is a different story. April showers, summer sunshine and — maybe especially — the chill of winter provide an endless supply of moods and metaphors. Poets like to practice a double meteorology, looking out at the water and up at the sky for evidence of interior conditions of feeling.
The inner and outer forecasts don’t always match up. This short poem by Louise Glück starts out cold and stays that way for most of its 11 lines.
And then it bursts into flame.
“Early December in Croton-on-Hudson” comes from Glück’s debut collection, “Firstborn,” which was published in 1968. She wrote the poems in it between the ages of 18 and 23, but they bear many of the hallmarks of her mature style, including an approach to personal matters — sex, love, illness, family life — that is at once uncompromising and elusive. She doesn’t flinch. She also doesn’t explain.
Here, for example, Glück assembles fragments of experience that imply — but also obscure — a larger narrative. It’s almost as if a short story, or even a novel, had been smashed like a glass Christmas ornament, leaving the reader to infer the sphere from the shards.
We know there was a couple with a flat tire, and that a year later at least one of them still has feelings for the other. It’s hard not to wonder if they’re still together, or where they were going with those Christmas presents.
To some extent, those questions can be addressed with the help of biographical clues. The version of “Early December in Croton-on-Hudson” that appeared in The Atlantic in 1967 was dedicated to Charles Hertz, a Columbia University graduate student who was Glück’s first husband. They divorced a few years later. Glück, who died in 2023, was never shy about putting her life into her work.
But the poem we are reading now is not just the record of a passion that has long since cooled. More than 50 years after “Firstborn,” on the occasion of receiving the Nobel Prize for literature, Glück celebrated the “intimate, seductive, often furtive or clandestine” relations between poets and their readers. Recalling her childhood discovery of William Blake and Emily Dickinson, she declared her lifelong ardor for “poems to which the listener or reader makes an essential contribution, as recipient of a confidence or an outcry, sometimes as co-conspirator.”
That’s the kind of poem she wrote.
“Confidence” can have two meanings, both of which apply to “Early December in Croton-on-Hudson.” Reading it, you are privy to a secret, something meant for your ears only. You are also in the presence of an assertive, self-possessed voice.
Where there is power, there’s also risk. To give voice to desire — to whisper or cry “I want you” — is to issue a challenge and admit vulnerability. It’s a declaration of conquest and a promise of surrender.
What happens next? That’s up to you.
Culture
Can You Identify Where the Winter Scenes in These Novels Took Place?
Cold weather can serve as a plot point or emphasize the mood of a scene, and this week’s literary geography quiz highlights the locations of recent novels that work winter conditions right into the story. Even if you aren’t familiar with the book, the questions offer an additional hint about the setting. To play, just make your selection in the multiple-choice list and the correct answer will be revealed. At the end of the quiz, you’ll find links to the books if you’d like to do further reading.
Culture
From NYT’s 10 Best Books of 2025: A.O. Scott on Kiran Desai’s New Novel
When a writer is praised for having a sense of place, it usually means one specific place — a postage stamp of familiar ground rendered in loving, knowing detail. But Kiran Desai, in her latest novel, “The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny,” has a sense of places.
This 670-page book, about the star-crossed lovers of the title and several dozen of their friends, relatives, exes and servants (there’s a chart in the front to help you keep track), does anything but stay put. If “The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny” were an old-fashioned steamer trunk, it would be papered with shipping labels: from Allahabad (now known as Prayagraj), Goa and Delhi; from Queens, Kansas and Vermont; from Mexico City and, perhaps most delightfully, from Venice.
There, in Marco Polo’s hometown, the titular travelers alight for two chapters, enduring one of several crises in their passionate, complicated, on-again, off-again relationship. One of Venice’s nicknames is La Serenissima — “the most serene” — but in Desai’s hands it’s the opposite: a gloriously hectic backdrop for Sonia and Sunny’s romantic confusion.
Their first impressions fill a nearly page-long paragraph. Here’s how it begins.
Sonia is a (struggling) fiction writer. Sunny is a (struggling) journalist. It’s notable that, of the two of them, it is she who is better able to perceive the immediate reality of things, while he tends to read facts through screens of theory and ideology, finding sociological meaning in everyday occurrences. He isn’t exactly wrong, and Desai is hardly oblivious to the larger narratives that shape the fates of Sunny, Sonia and their families — including the economic and political changes affecting young Indians of their generation.
But “The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny” is about more than that. It’s a defense of the very idea of more, and thus a rebuke to the austerity that defines so much recent literary fiction. Many of Desai’s peers favor careful, restricted third-person narration, or else a measured, low-affect “I.” The bookstores are full of skinny novels about the emotional and psychological thinness of contemporary life. This book is an antidote: thick, sloppy, fleshy, all over the place.
It also takes exception to the postmodern dogma that we only know reality through representations of it, through pre-existing concepts of the kind to which intellectuals like Sunny are attached. The point of fiction is to assert that the world is true, and to remind us that it is vast, strange and astonishing.
See the full list of the 10 Best Books of 2025 here.
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