STEPHEN CURRY REVEALS HE NEARLY GIVE UP — AND SHAQUILLE O’NEAL MADE HIM TRY HARDER

Stephen Curry Almost Quit Basketball — Until Shaquille O’Neal Made One Life-Changing Call

Long before he became the greatest shooter in basketball history, long before his name became synonymous with record-breaking three-pointers, Stephen Curry was just a young man sitting alone on a couch in Oakland, clutching his ankle and wondering if his NBA dream was slipping through his fingers.

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It was a cold night in early 2012. The Warriors had just suffered another humiliating defeat, 89 to 107 against the Lakers. Curry had limped off the court again, unable to finish the game. His right ankle, once a source of agility and finesse, had become his biggest enemy. Every step was a reminder of the pain, every movement a question mark about his future.

He dropped his keys on the counter and collapsed onto the couch. On the TV, NBA highlights flashed. Curry’s name didn’t even get a mention.

“Another disappointing performance from Stephen Curry tonight,” the commentator said. “Only 23 minutes played before he exited with ankle discomfort. One has to wonder how long the Warriors can keep betting on a point guard who seems made of glass.”

Curry didn’t flinch. He’d heard it all before. “Fragile.” “Too small.” “College star, but not NBA-ready.” Since being drafted seventh overall in 2009, his journey had been anything but smooth. Now, in his third year, the frustration was boiling over.

He stared at the bulky orthopedic brace lying on the floor, the same one he had been wearing more than he cared to admit.

“I can’t even finish a damn game,” he muttered, the words cutting through the silence of the apartment like a razor.

His phone buzzed.

Dad.

Dell Curry, the 16-year NBA veteran, knew when something was wrong — even 3,000 miles away. “I watched the game,” Dell said calmly. “How’s the ankle?”

“The usual,” Steph replied, trying to sound composed. “I’ll get better.”

But Dell wasn’t buying it.

“Steph… be honest. What are you really feeling?”

That’s when something cracked. The mask fell.

“Dad, I’m thinking about quitting.”

The words shocked them both. Saying them aloud made the thought terrifyingly real.

“Maybe my body’s not built for this. Maybe Davidson was a fluke. Maybe all of it was just… luck.”

His father didn’t speak right away. There was a heaviness to the silence, not of judgment, but of concern. Dell knew his son better than anyone. He also knew how hard Steph had worked to even get a chance in the NBA.

Over the next few weeks, things didn’t get better. Surgery. Rehab. Still more pain. In Charlotte, during the off-season, Curry tried to recover in the comfort of his family’s presence. But the spark in his eyes had dimmed. Even Ayesha, his wife, noticed the change.

One night, after tucking their daughter Riley into bed, Ayesha asked him directly.

“Are you really thinking about walking away?”

He didn’t answer. But his silence spoke volumes.

Even the Warriors had begun looking ahead. During a July meeting with team executives, what should have been a routine check-in on his recovery quickly turned into a subtle evaluation of whether they could still count on him.

Bob Myers, the general manager, offered polite reassurances. “We’re committed to your full recovery, Steph.”

But Steph could see the truth in their eyes. Their patience was running out.

Later that evening, he called his agent.

“Jeff… we need to talk about other options. Other paths. Besides basketball.”

That night, overwhelmed and uncertain, Steph drove to an old, quiet court in Charlotte — the place where he had first fallen in love with the game. He sat on the bleachers, a basketball resting at his feet, and stared into the stillness.

And then, his phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

He almost ignored it. Probably another check-in about rehab timelines, another reminder of what he wasn’t.

But something made him pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Stephen Curry? This is Shaquille O’Neal.”

Steph blinked. He thought it was a prank.

“Yes, the real Shaq,” the deep voice laughed. “Can I have a few minutes?”

“…Sure,” Steph replied, still stunned.

“I saw your interview after that last game. You didn’t say much… but I saw it in your eyes. I know that look. You’re thinking about quitting.”

Steph was stunned. He hadn’t told anyone but his father and agent. But somehow, this giant of a man — a four-time NBA champion — had seen through him.

“I’m going through a tough time,” Steph admitted.

Then Shaq said something that froze Curry in place.

“In 2002, after winning our third straight title with the Lakers… I almost quit.”

“What?”

“My feet were wrecked. Arthritis. Constant pain. I could barely walk. Phil Jackson called me ‘The Big Aristotle,’ but truth is, I could barely get out of bed some days. But I pushed through.”

For nearly two hours, Shaq shared story after story. Sleepless nights. Silent injuries. Private doubts. Unseen sacrifices.

“A lot of talented guys leave the league early,” Shaq said. “But you’re not just talented. You’re revolutionary. And revolutions don’t happen overnight.”

The words landed heavy, not with pressure, but with truth. For the first time in months, Steph felt something stir inside him — hope.

“How did you do it?” Steph asked.

Shaq laid it all out: less weight, more mobility. Active recovery. Mental fortitude. A complete shift in how he approached pain — and purpose.

“The doctors can tell you about your ankle,” Shaq said. “But only you know what’s in your heart.”

As the call came to an end, Shaq left Steph with one request.

“Promise me you’ll give one more season. One full, no-holds-barred shot.”

Steph looked at the empty court around him, imagining it packed with fans again.

“I promise.”

The next morning, Curry called his physical therapist.

“I want to try something new,” he said. “Let’s focus on mobility, not just strength.”

He changed everything: diet, training, mindset. He took Shaq’s advice seriously — cold therapy, low-impact workouts, inflammation-fighting nutrition.

When the 2012–2013 season arrived, expectations were low. Analysts had written him off. “Great shooter, but too fragile,” they said.

Then February 27, 2013, happened.

Madison Square Garden.

Steph Curry lit up the world’s most famous arena with 54 points, 11 three-pointers, and a performance that electrified the basketball universe. He danced around defenders as if he’d never known pain.

In the locker room, he checked his phone.

Text from Shaq:
Still thinking about quitting?

Steph grinned and replied:
Not even dreaming.

From that point on, Steph’s career skyrocketed. Multiple championships. Unanimous MVP. New records in three-point shooting. The kid who nearly quit? He didn’t just succeed — he changed the game itself.

Over the years, Shaq — now a TV analyst — often defended Steph passionately, calling him “the most revolutionary player of our generation.”

But the public didn’t know why he was so vocal. Not until years later, in a rare joint interview, did the two men share the full story.

“Sometimes,” Steph said, “you just need someone to believe in you. Especially when you don’t believe in yourself.”

He turned to Shaq. “You gave me that.”

Shaq, visibly emotional, nodded.

“You didn’t disappoint me, young fella,” he said with a proud grin. “Not one bit.”

In that moment, two basketball legends — one from the paint, the other from the arc — shared something far deeper than highlights and trophies.

They shared faith.

Faith in a dream.
Faith in a conversation.
Faith that sometimes, one phone call — at the exact right moment — can change everything.

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