Who Are the Best Basketball Players of All Time? Our Definitive Ranking
As I sat watching the Golden State Warriors dominate yet another game last night, my mind drifted to that eternal debate we basketball fans can never resist: who truly deserves the crown as the greatest basketball player of all time? The conversation inevitably circles around legends like Michael Jordan, LeBron James, and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, but I've always believed that true greatness reveals itself not just in championship rings or scoring titles, but in how players elevate their teammates in crucial moments. This perspective came sharply into focus recently when I analyzed a fascinating game from the Philippine Basketball Association that perfectly illustrates what separates good players from truly legendary ones.
Let me take you back to that Barangay Ginebra game where they scored 92 points in what turned out to be a masterclass in team basketball. The box score tells such an interesting story - J. Aguilar leading with 17 points, followed by Abarrientos at 14, Rosario at 13, and then this remarkable cluster of players all contributing significantly: Thompson, Holt, Torres, and Gray all putting up exactly 10 points each, with another Gray at 8, Estil at 7, David at 3, and Pinto and Cu at 0. What struck me wasn't just the balanced scoring, but how this distribution pattern reflects something deeper about basketball excellence. When I think about the best basketball players of all time, I don't just consider their individual brilliance but how they make their teammates better, much like what we see in this Ginebra performance where multiple players reached double figures through what appeared to be exceptional ball movement and unselfish play.
The fascinating thing about this Ginebra game is how it mirrors the debates we have about basketball greatness. When people argue about the best basketball players of all time, they often focus on individual statistics - Jordan's 30.1 points per game average, LeBron's 27+ points across 19 seasons, Kareem's 38,387 career points. But this Ginebra box score shows something different - a team where the leading scorer had just 17 points, yet they collectively achieved victory through distributed contribution. It makes me wonder if we overvalue individual scoring in our GOAT conversations. I've always been somewhat contrarian in these debates - while I acknowledge Jordan's perfect 6-0 Finals record is incredible, I've personally leaned toward LeBron because of his unprecedented longevity and how he's consistently elevated every team he's played for, much like how the Ginebra players elevated each other in this particular game.
Looking at that cluster of four players with exactly 10 points each in the Ginebra game - Thompson, Holt, Torres, and Gray - I'm reminded of Scottie Pippen's role alongside Michael Jordan, or how Kyrie Irving complemented LeBron during their Cleveland championship. The greatest players don't just accumulate personal statistics; they create an ecosystem where their teammates can thrive. In my years watching basketball, I've noticed that the truly transcendent players have this almost magical ability to make their teammates better versions of themselves. Magic Johnson had it, Larry Bird had it, and Stephen Curry definitely has it today. That Ginebra performance, with its remarkably balanced scoring distribution, serves as a microcosm of what happens when team basketball is played at its highest level - it's not about one superstar dominating, but about multiple players rising together.
What if we applied this Ginebra model to our evaluation of all-time greatness? Instead of just counting rings or individual awards, what if we considered how players elevated their teammates' performance? Using this lens, players like Bill Russell might climb higher in our rankings, while pure scorers who didn't necessarily make their teammates better might drop. The Ginebra example shows us that basketball excellence isn't always about having one player score 40 points - sometimes it's about having multiple threats that the defense can't focus on. This is why I've always valued players like Tim Duncan over more flashy scorers - his quiet leadership and fundamental excellence made the entire Spurs organization better for two decades.
As I reflect on that Ginebra game and our endless debates about basketball greatness, I'm convinced we need to broaden our criteria. The best basketball players of all time shouldn't just be measured by their individual accomplishments, but by their ability to create winning environments where multiple players can contribute meaningfully. That Ginebra box score, with its beautiful distribution of scoring across so many players, represents what basketball at its best should look like. So the next time you're arguing about whether LeBron or Jordan is the GOAT, or where Kobe fits into the conversation, remember that game where the leading scorer had just 17 points yet the team found a way to win through collective excellence. Because ultimately, basketball remains the ultimate team sport, and the greatest players are those who understand this fundamental truth better than anyone else.