STEPHEN CURRY REVEALS HE ALMOST GAVE UP — AND HOW SHAQUILLE O’NEAL WAS THE ONE WHO STOPPED HIM

STEPHEN CURRY REVEALS HE ALMOST GAVE UP — AND HOW SHAQUILLE O’NEAL WAS THE ONE WHO STOPPED HIM

Stephen Curry, the greatest shooter in NBA history, almost didn’t complete his journey. This is the untold story of when Curry was one phone call away from quitting it all — and how an unlikely legend, Shaquille O’Neal, saved him.

It was late at night in his Oakland apartment. Stephen Curry turned the key in the lock, tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter, and collapsed onto the couch. The pain in his right ankle throbbed, a constant reminder of another frustrating night. Warriors 89, Lakers 107. Another loss. Another game where his body betrayed him.

The television still showed NBA highlights. His name didn’t even appear among them. “Another disappointing performance from Stephen Curry tonight,” the commentator said. “He only managed to play 23 minutes before limping to the bench. The Warriors have to wonder how long they’ll keep betting everything on a point guard who seems made of glass.”

Curry closed his eyes, those words not new to him. Since being drafted as the seventh pick in the 2009 draft, his NBA career had been a roller coaster, with far more downs than ups. The label of “fragile” followed him everywhere — whispered in the halls, shouted in the headlines.

At the start of the 2011-2012 season, the hope for a fresh start had been crushed quickly. After an injury to his right ankle that shortened his second season, Curry had spent the entire summer in rehab: surgery, physical therapy, strengthening exercises — all to come back stronger. But the ankle simply wouldn’t cooperate.

“I can’t even finish a damn game,” he muttered to himself, looking at the orthopedic device that now seemed like a permanent appendage. His watch read 11:45 p.m. Too late to call anyone, but his phone vibrated anyway.

The Call

It was his father, Dell Curry, a 16-year NBA veteran who always seemed to know when something was wrong. It was like a paternal sixth sense. “I watched the game,” Dell said, without preamble. “How’s the ankle?”

“The usual,” Stephen replied, trying to sound stronger than he felt. “I’ll get better.”

The silence on the other end of the line said it all. Dell knew that rehearsed answer.

“Steph,” Dell said softly, “you’ve been through three different doctors already. We need to be realistic.”

“Realistic about what?” Curry responded, his voice wavering with uncertainty.

“That maybe they were right,” his father said. “Davidson was too small for the NBA. That my body can’t handle the pace. That everything I achieved in college was luck.”

Curry didn’t usually explode like this, especially not with his father. But the doubts buried deep inside found an outlet.

The Struggles

In the locker room, things were getting worse. Teammates offered words of support, but their looks told another story. After missing 40 games the previous season due to ankle issues, every time Curry limped to the bench, he saw the frustration on everyone’s faces. The Warriors were building a future, and no one knew if he’d be a part of it.

The doctors weren’t helping either. Chronic instability, compromised ligaments, structural adaptation—terms that translated into a potentially short career. The arthroscopic surgery had helped temporarily, but the problem persisted.

That night, after a long silence on the phone, Dell asked directly, “Son, what are you really feeling? Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear.”

Stephen took a deep breath, and the answer that came from his lips surprised him as much as it did his father.

“Dad, I’m thinking about quitting. Maybe my body isn’t made for this.”

The words hung heavily in the air, as if saying them out loud made them more real. For the first time, Stephen Curry—the kid who always defied expectations—admitted that he might not be able to overcome this hurdle. That phone confession was just the beginning.

The Turning Point

Three weeks later, Stephen Curry sat in a cold, sterile exam room, staring at black-and-white images of his right ankle. Dr. Richard Anderson, a sports medicine specialist, pointed to specific areas on the monitor.

“Stephen, this is your third surgery in less than two years,” the doctor spoke with a studied calm that only intensified the gravity of the situation. “The ligament reconstruction took well, but I’m concerned about these signs of early osteoarthritis. Your ankle is aging faster than you.”

Curry fixed his gaze on the images, trying to process what that meant. It was no longer just a matter of recovery and return; it was a sentence on his entire future career.

“Considering your age, the level of damage we’re seeing is…” The doctor hesitated. “Unusual and, frankly, worrying.”

“How long until I’m back on the court?” Curry asked, knowing the answer wouldn’t be what he wanted to hear.

“You can return in a few months, but the question isn’t when, Stephen,” the doctor replied. “It’s how and for how long your body will hold up.”

The summer of 2012 dragged on in Charlotte, where Curry had returned to be close to family during his rehab. Each morning began with an internal battle: get up and face another day of painful exercises or give in to the growing thought that maybe it was time to consider another path. Ayesha noticed the changes in her husband. The Stephen she knew—the one with the easy smile and unwavering confidence—was appearing less and less. In his place was a quieter man who would occasionally look at little Riley playing and comment on how nice it would be to be more present as she grew up.

“Are you really considering it?” Ayesha asked one night, after the lights were off, and only the darkness witnessed his vulnerability.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” he replied. “The Warriors hired Mark Jackson as head coach. Big expectations. What if I keep being that guy who can never finish a season? I have an incomplete NBA. Maybe it’s time to finish it and go in another direction.”

The Call That Changed Everything

The solitary training sessions became increasingly frustrating. Even without defense, his moves didn’t have the natural fluidity they once had. Every change of direction came with that familiar twinge, a constant reminder of his fragility.

The tension reached a breaking point during a meeting with Warriors executives in July. What should have been a discussion about his recovery quickly turned into a tacit assessment of his future with the franchise.

“We’re committed to your full recovery, Stephen,” said Bob Meyers, the general manager, with that tone executives use when they need to keep up appearances while already thinking about plan B. The looks exchanged between those present said it all. Patience was running thin.

Back at the hotel, Curry called his agent. “Jeff, we need to talk about options. Other paths besides basketball.”

The silence on the other end was deafening. That night, Curry drove to an empty public court in Charlotte—the place where it all started for him. Sitting alone on the bleachers with a motionless basketball by his side, he faced the possibility of never again competing at the level he dreamed of.

That’s when his phone vibrated.

A Call from Shaq

An unknown number. For a moment, Stephen hesitated. Another doctor, another executive with questions about recovery timelines. He almost let it go to voicemail, but at the last second, something made him answer.

“Hello?” Curry’s voice was hesitant.

“Steph, it’s Shaquille O’Neal.”

For a moment, Stephen thought it must be some kind of prank. Shaquille O’Neal—the four-time NBA champion, a living basketball legend—calling him directly?

“Yes, it’s the real Shaq,” the deep, unmistakable voice laughed on the other end. “Can I have a few minutes?”

“Sure,” Stephen replied, still perplexed. “How did you get my number?”

“I have my contacts,” Shaq said. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is what I saw in your interview after the last game against the Lakers.”

Curry frowned. He barely remembered that interview. It had been another painful postgame moment, answering the same questions about his ankle, trying to maintain composure.

“You didn’t say anything specific,” Shaq continued. “It was what I saw in your eyes. I know that look, Curry. It’s the look of someone thinking about quitting.”

The words hit Stephen like a punch to the gut.

“Was it that obvious? I’m going through a tough time,” he admitted, feeling a strange relief in being able to speak openly with someone outside his immediate circle.

“Let me tell you something few people know,” Shaq interrupted, his voice taking on a more intimate tone. “In 2002, after winning our third straight title with the Lakers, I almost quit.”

Stephen sat up straighter on the bleachers, suddenly attentive. Shaquille O’Neal—the Diesel, the most dominant player of his era—thinking about quitting at his peak?

“My feet were completely wrecked,” Shaq continued. “Constant pain. The doctors were talking about early arthritis, possible permanent deformities. Phil Jackson called me ‘Big Aristotle,’ but I could barely walk without limping after games. For nearly 2 hours, sitting on that empty court in Charlotte, I listened to Shaq share stories that had never reached the media. Tales of sleepless nights due to pain, cortisone injections before crucial games, doctors whispering about early retirement. A lot of talented guys left the league because their bodies gave up.”

Shaq paused before adding, “But here’s the difference: Some athletes are just talented. Others are revolutionary. You’re not just a shooter, Curry. You’re a revolutionary. But revolutions don’t happen overnight.”

Something about those words penetrated deep into Curry. For years, he’d heard about his potential, but always accompanied by caveats about his physique, his durability.

The Turning Point

“How did you overcome it?” Stephen asked, feeling a spark of hope for the first time in months.

Shaq shared in detail how he had completely overhauled his training approach. “I stopped fighting against my body and started working with it. Less weight, more mobility, active recovery—not passive—and most importantly, I rebuilt my mindset.”

As the night wore on, O’Neal offered specific advice on recovery protocols, strengthening exercises, and mental techniques that had extended his own career.

“The doctors can tell you what’s going on inside your ankle, Curry,” Shaq explained, “but they can’t measure what’s inside your heart.”

As the conversation neared its end, Stephen felt something shift inside him. It wasn’t just hope—it was clarity.

“Basketball needs your game, Curry,” Shaq’s final words resonated with authority. “Don’t you dare quit now. Promise me you’ll give one more full season. No holds barred.”

A Promise

Stephen looked at the empty court in front of him, visualizing it full, hearing the cheers of the crowd. He might still win over.

“I promise,” he replied with a conviction he hadn’t felt in months.

The next morning dawned differently for Stephen Curry. Not because his pain had vanished—it was still there, familiar and persistent—but because something fundamental had changed in his perspective.

The conversation with Shaquille O’Neal reverberated in his mind as he called his physical therapist. “I want to try a different approach,” Stephen said, something more focused on mobility and stability, not just strength.

The Rise of Curry

In the weeks that followed, Curry meticulously implemented Shaq’s specific advice. He abandoned high-impact exercises and adopted routines that strengthened the stabilizing muscles around his ankle. He started using cold recovery devices immediately after workouts. Even when he felt no pain, he modified his diet to reduce inflammation. Small changes, profound impact.

The 2012-2013 season began with no big expectations for Curry. The Warriors were seen as a rebuilding team, and few commentators were betting on Stephen as a central piece of that future. But something was different. The hesitation in his movements had diminished. His confidence grew with each game completed without incident.

In February 2013, the catalytic moment came—Madison Square Garden, New York. On a magical night, Curry exploded for 54 points, hitting 11 three-pointers, dancing around the perimeter as if he’d never known pain.

In the locker room after the game, he found a message on his cell phone: “Still thinking about quitting?”

Curry smiled and responded with two words: “Not even dreaming.”

The rest, as they say, is history. The following years witnessed the meteoric rise of Stephen Curry: unanimous MVP, three-point shooting records, and multiple championships. The fragile kid who nearly quit not only thrived—he revolutionized the game of basketball.

Shaq’s Support

Throughout that time, Shaquille O’Neal, now a TV analyst, became one of the most fervent advocates of Curry’s game, often reminding critics, “I told you he would change the game. You didn’t want to listen to me.”

What the public didn’t know was the story behind that support, until a special interview years later, when both finally revealed the moment that had remained private.

“Sometimes all we need is for someone to believe in us, especially when we can’t even believe in ourselves,” Curry said, looking directly at Shaq and then at the camera.

Shaq, visibly emotional, nodded.

“You didn’t disappoint me, young fella,” he replied with that signature smile. “Not one bit.”

At that moment, two of the greatest players from different eras shared something deeper than basketball—the understanding that some of the most important victories happen far from the spotlight. In conversations no one witnesses, in words that arrive precisely when we need them most.