Steph Curry’s seen it all. Defenders clutching his jersey. Screens turned into brawls. Off-ball cuts met with shoulders, elbows, and silence. But Game 1 against Houston? That hit differently.

Late in the second quarter, cameras caught Curry jawing at the officials during a timeout. The reason? Jalen Green’s arms were literally wrapped around his waist during a live possession. Not just a foul—an embrace. And yet, no call. It wasn’t just one miss. It was a pattern. Curry getting hammered, bumped and grabbed. And all he got in return? Cold stares and swallowed whistles.

He played through it anyway. Scored 31 points on 63% shooting. Carried the team. And then? He walked out of the press conference with an ice pack wrapped around his shooting hand. A subtle reminder: he’s playing through pain. The same thumb he aggravated in the regular season finale is still lingering. That change—Steph’s hand now visibly wrapped and managed during postgame—signals something deeper than discomfort. It’s a shift. A vulnerability. A cost.

Golden State had to adjust on the fly. “That’s why we started Steph in the fourth,” Steve Kerr later revealed. “It was too dicey to keep him on the bench.” That shift—breaking from his usual rotation—spoke volumes. This wasn’t just about minutes. It was about survival. Kerr elaborated on the decision: “… after, you know, everything we were looking at and the run that they were making.”

And yet, while Curry fought through the unfair defense and aching joints, while Kerr tweaked rotations on instinct, one thing remained unmoved: the whistle.

When asked about the lack of calls on Curry, Kerr didn’t hold back.

“There’s not much else you can do,” he told reporters before Game 2. “You can send in clips to the league. But I don’t think sending clips in helps, to be honest with you.”

That wasn’t just a shrug. That was a shot. A shot at the league. A shot at the system. A shot at commissioner Adam Silver. No, he didn’t name names. But he didn’t have to. The implication was clear: Golden State has followed protocol. They’ve flagged the fouls. They’ve sent in the evidence. And what’s changed? Nothing.

“If they’re draped around him with two arms, that’s supposed to be a foul,” Kerr added. A pause. Then silence. This isn’t a one-off. It’s history repeating itself. Remember the 2016 Finals? Curry ejected in Game 6. Or the 2022 Memphis series? Dillon Brooks clotheslined Payton II. Curry was shoved off every screen. The league? Passive. Sometimes complicit.

Adam Silver has made stars the cornerstone of his global vision. He’s changed rules to protect shooters, encouraged freedom of movement, and backed offensive fluidity. But when Curry—the face of an era—gets mauled like a G-Leaguer in the paint? Silence.

But maybe the most telling moment wasn’t a missed call or a silent whistle. It was the thought of Steph starting the fourth. A break from tradition. A bend in the blueprint. Why now? Why this game? Why this series?

This might be the last dance—or the start of one more run

There’s something different about this postseason. Something quieter. More urgent.

Steph Curry is 37. He’s still dazzling, still decisive, still dancing around defenders. But he’s playing with a wrapped hand, grinding through pain. He’s logging 40 minutes in Game 1s. And Steve Kerr? He’s breaking his own rotation patterns just to keep Curry on the floor.

That decision—starting Steph in the fourth—wasn’t just tactical. It was telling.

“I think players feel comfortable knowing when they’re gonna go in,” Kerr said. “But in the playoffs, you throw everything out the window.”

Translation: this isn’t just another playoff run. This might be the run. The last one with Curry as Curry.

And maybe that’s why there’s no complaining. Just counters. No excuses. Just action. Because there’s no help coming from the league office. They’ve tried. It hasn’t worked. So now? It’s up to them.

Golden State knows what’s coming. Houston’s bruising style isn’t going anywhere—if anything, it’ll intensify. Sengun will crowd the paint. Jalen Green will try to body Curry at the perimeter. Dillon Brooks will play like every possession is personal.

But the Warriors? They’ll counter with cohesion.

Expect Draymond Green to be the defensive compass, orchestrating switches and tagging rollers. Jimmy Butler will absorb contact, set tempo, and keep Golden State grounded in chaos. Gary Payton II will trail Jalen Green like a shadow, while Moody’s cutting and spacing will force Houston’s wings into constant motion.

And Kerr? He’ll adapt. If that means riding Steph for 42 minutes instead of 36, so be it. If it means breaking rhythm to match fire with fire, he won’t hesitate.

Because this is what playoff survival looks like. Not perfect execution, but relentless improvisation. Not protection from above—but trust from within.

And Steph? He’ll wear the pain like armor. Because if this is the last ride, Golden State won’t go quietly.

They’ll go swinging.