Skip Bayless DESTROYS Steph Curry In Kobe 1 on 1 Debate | “You’re Not On Kobe’s Level!”

This is a competition, and my mission is simple: to destroy you. I’m not stopping at 30 points. I’m going to keep going until you have no choice but to quit. When Golden State started rising, Steph Curry began catching fire. He walked onto the court saying, “I found it.” He meant it. He could shoot over defenders in front or behind him, but he hated when someone was on his side. So, I guarded him in the second half—and shut him down again.

Now look, I don’t care if Steph Curry’s jersey is hanging in your closet right now. I don’t care if you think his handles are magic or his shooting range is from another planet. Strip the game down to raw, one-on-one basketball—no screens, no system, no Draymond Green setting sneaky picks—and what’s left? A 6’2″ guard who can’t create shots the way Kobe Bryant could.

If I had to build a Mount Rushmore of NBA players—top four, no order—it’d be LeBron, Jordan, Shaq (because he was the most dominant ever), and honestly, it might be Curry sliding into that fourth spot. His resume is crazy. Best shooter ever, changed the game, carried Team USA, got the rings to back it up. But again—strip away the Warriors’ motion offense, those elevator screens, and perfectly drawn plays, and what are we really looking at?

In 2015, Curry got his first ring against a Cavs team missing Kyrie and Kevin Love. LeBron dragged Matthew Dellavedova to six games. Then in 2016, up 3–1, Curry melted under pressure. He threw his mouthpiece, got ejected, and collapsed in the biggest moments. Meanwhile, Kobe? He lived for that. He averaged 35 in a league where teams barely hit 100. He scored 81 in a game with Smush Parker and Kwame Brown on his team. He was the Mamba.

Curry missed the entire 2020 season. The Warriors tanked. No KD, no Klay—and suddenly they weren’t even in the playoffs. Kobe? After Shaq left, people said he was finished. He responded by dragging a weak Lakers team to the playoffs, scoring 62 in three quarters, 81 in a single game, and eventually winning two more rings—this time without Shaq. That’s the difference between a killer and a front-runner.

Let’s talk one-on-one. Steph tries to shake Kobe with a quick dribble, maybe pull up from deep. But Kobe’s already there—6’6”, 220 pounds, arms longer than most centers—smothering him. He’s picking him up full court in a preseason game just to send a message. He bumps Steph, makes him tired, wears him down, then forces a contested shot from 30 feet. Sure, Steph might hit one. But Kobe’s not impressed. He taps him on the backside and keeps it moving.

Flip the script—Kobe has the ball. He backs Steph down from the three-point line, spins, rises for a fadeaway or blows by him to the rim. What’s Steph going to do? He’s not stopping that. And toughness? Come on. Kobe played through torn ligaments, broken fingers, dislocated shoulders. He tore his Achilles, made two free throws on one leg, and walked off the court. That’s gladiator stuff.

Steph? He’s load-managed, missed seasons, sat games. And when the pressure hit in big moments—like the 2021 Play-In vs. the Lakers—LeBron looked him in the eye, said “I want him,” and clamped him down in crunch time.

They want to compare Steph to Jordan. But why do they skip over Kobe? People forget, or maybe they just don’t want to remember. Kobe was relentless. He made defense look like war. He hunted mismatches, destroyed legends—AI, T-Mac, Vince Carter, even young LeBron. Meanwhile, Steph was being hunted. The Rockets built entire playoff schemes to attack him. Have you ever seen a team target Kobe like that? That’s suicide.

People love to throw out efficiency stats. But Steph’s efficiency comes from wide-open looks off perfect screens. Kobe’s came from hitting fadeaways over double-teams and bullying his way through traffic. Put Kobe in today’s spacing, with a Klay Thompson beside him? His numbers would dwarf Steph’s.

This isn’t even a fair matchup. Steph is a specialist—the greatest shooter ever, no doubt. But Kobe? He was the complete package. He could score at all three levels, defend elite players, rebound, facilitate, lead, and kill when it mattered most.

In one-on-one, specialization gets exposed. Completeness wins. Every. Single. Time.

Kobe Bryant would beat Stephen Curry 11–0. By the fifth possession, Steph would be waving for a sub. That’s just reality.