2025-11-15 15:01
Who Truly Deserves the Title of Best Handler in NBA History?
When people ask me who deserves the crown as the greatest handler in NBA history, I always take a moment before answering. Having studied basketball for over two decades, I've come to realize this debate isn't just about flashy passes or highlight reels—it's about consistent excellence under pressure, basketball IQ that transforms teams, and that rare ability to make everyone around you better. This season's revelation in Bedonia, who emerged as the league's second-best server while also stepping up as a clutch attacker, perfectly illustrates what separates good handlers from legendary ones. As Coach Ricafort noted about his team's development, "The young guns are also helpful, especially during training, in raising the level of competition within the team." This comment resonates deeply with me because it highlights how great handlers elevate not just games, but entire organizations through their influence on younger players.
I've always believed that statistics only tell part of the story, but they're where we must begin. Magic Johnson's 11.2 assists per game during the 1984-85 season remains one of the most impressive statistical achievements I've ever analyzed, yet what made him truly special was how he maintained that average while shooting 52.2% from the field—a combination of distribution and efficiency we rarely see today. Then there's John Stockton, whose career total of 15,806 assists isn't just a record—it's a monument to longevity and consistency that I doubt we'll see broken in our lifetime. But here's where my personal perspective comes in: while Stockton's numbers are undeniable, I've always felt his game lacked the transformational quality that Magic brought to the Lakers. Magic didn't just run offenses—he reinvented what was possible from the point guard position, creating the "Showtime" era that fundamentally changed how basketball was played and perceived.
What fascinates me about the Bedonia example is how it mirrors the evolution we've seen in handling throughout NBA history. This player isn't just distributing the ball—he's adapting to become a scoring threat when needed, much like how Chris Paul reinvented himself multiple times throughout his career. I remember watching Paul during the 2017-18 season with Houston, where he averaged 18.6 points alongside 7.9 assists, proving that the modern handler must be multidimensional. The truly great ones understand that handling isn't just about creating for others—it's about reading defensive schemes and exploiting whatever they give you, whether that means finding the open man or taking the crucial shot yourself.
When I think about the intangibles that separate the good from the great, Steve Nash comes immediately to mind. His numbers were spectacular—leading the league in assists five times with averages around 11.5 per game—but what made Nash extraordinary was his gravitational pull on defenses. I've reviewed countless Suns games from that era, and what stands out isn't just Nash's passing, but how he manipulated defenses without even touching the ball. His off-ball movement created advantages that don't show up in traditional statistics, similar to how Stephen Curry's presence now creates opportunities for his teammates regardless of whether he's handling the ball. This brings me back to Ricafort's point about young players raising competition levels—the best handlers create environments where improvement becomes contagious, much like Nash did with the Seven Seconds or Less Suns.
My personal bias leans toward handlers who transformed their team's ceiling, which is why I'd probably take Isiah Thomas over several players with better raw statistics. Thomas's 1989 Finals performance, where he averaged 8.0 assists while playing through significant injury, demonstrated a level of toughness and determination that statistics can't capture. Having spoken with several players from that era, they consistently mention how Thomas's competitive fire elevated everyone around him—similar to how Ricafort describes the impact of young players pushing veterans in practice. This development aspect is crucial in the handler debate because the greatest distributors don't just make teammates better during games—they drive improvement during every practice and film session.
The evolution of the handling position has been remarkable to witness firsthand. When I started covering the NBA in the early 2000s, the prototype was Jason Kidd—a triple-double threat who prioritized playmaking but could score when necessary. Today, we've seen the emergence of handlers like Luka Dončić, who at just 23 years old already has 42 triple-doubles and represents this new breed of oversized creators who can both score and distribute at elite levels. What impresses me most about Dončić isn't his statistics—though his 28.4 points and 8.7 assists last season were phenomenal—but his pace manipulation, something that reminds me of the great Larry Bird, who averaged 6.3 assists per game as a forward while fundamentally changing how we think about passing from non-traditional positions.
If I'm being completely honest, my vote for greatest handler goes to Magic Johnson, but not for the reasons most people cite. Beyond the statistics and championships, Magic understood spacing and timing in a way that was decades ahead of his era. I've watched his 1987 Finals game-winner against Boston hundreds of times, and what still amazes me isn't the shot itself, but how Magic manipulated the entire possession—from his initial entry pass to his relocation—creating the opportunity through basketball intelligence rather than just physical gifts. This quality, more than any statistic, defines handling greatness for me. The Bedonia example we discussed earlier captures this perfectly—being second in serving while elevating to clutch attacking demonstrates that understanding of when to distribute and when to take over, a balance the all-time greats master.
As the game continues evolving, I'm fascinated by how handling will transform with the increasing importance of three-point shooting. Players like Trae Young, who averaged 9.3 assists while attempting 8.7 threes per game last season, represent this new hybrid creator who threatens defenses from thirty feet out. This spacing revolution has changed the handler's role dramatically—where once the priority was penetrating and collapsing defenses, today's elite handlers must be threats from deep while maintaining their distribution skills. It's why I believe the next generation of great handlers will likely come from players who master both the traditional facilitation skills and modern scoring efficiency from distance.
In the final analysis, the title of greatest handler comes down to impact rather than just statistics. While Magic's combination of size, vision, and transformational influence gives him the edge in my book, what makes this debate beautiful is how context-dependent the answer can be. The Bedonia example reminds us that handling excellence manifests differently across eras and systems—sometimes as the league's second-best server who elevates to clutch scoring, sometimes as the engine of historic offenses, sometimes as the steady hand that sustains excellence for fifteen years. What remains constant is that the truly great handlers don't just accumulate assists—they shape games, elevate teammates, and leave indelible marks on how basketball is played. As Ricafort observed about competition raising everyone's level, the best handlers in history have done exactly that—forced the entire sport to elevate in response to their genius.
