The roar of the crowd is a physical thing. It hits you in the chest, a percussive wave of pure, unadulterated joy that seems to vibrate through the very concrete of the arena. I remember one specific moment, not in the NBA, but halfway across the world in the Philippines. I was watching a PBA game at the historic Araneta Coliseum—the "Big Dome"—and the home team, Barangay Ginebra, was down by two with seconds left. The import, a former NBA player, got the ball, took one dribble, and let it fly from way, way downtown. Time seemed to stretch, then snap. The former MVP then buried the game winning three right at the buzzer, sending the pro-Ginebra crowd at the Big Dome in a frenzy. The sound was deafening, a cathartic explosion for twenty thousand people. It’s moments like that, those pure, game-defining explosions of brilliance, that make you fall in love with basketball all over again. And it’s that same feeling I chase when I’m filling out my NBA All-Star ballot every year. It’s not just about stats; it’s about moments. It’s about the players who, when the clock is dying, you genuinely believe can create that same kind of magic. Which brings me to the question I’ve been wrestling with this season: Will Kawhi Leonard get your NBA All-Star vote this season?
My relationship with Kawhi’s All-Star candidacy is complicated, I’ll admit it. There was a time, not too long ago, when it was a foregone conclusion. The Klaw was a lock, a top-three player on the planet whose two-way dominance felt almost robotic in its efficiency. I’d pencil his name in without a second thought. But the last few years have changed the calculus. It’s not about his ability; when he’s on the court, he’s still breathtaking. That mid-post game is a work of art, a series of methodical, powerful dribbles into a rise-up jumper that is virtually unblockable. His defense, while perhaps not at the peak lockdown level of his San Antonio days, remains elite. He’s averaging 23.8 points, 6.2 rebounds, and 1.7 steals on a ridiculous 52/44/88 shooting split. Those are pristine, All-Star numbers. The problem, and it’s a massive one, is the number that sits next to the "Games Played" column.
As I sit here with my laptop open to the All-Star voting page, my cursor hovers over his name. The Clippers, as of today, have played 38 games. Kawhi has suited up for 29 of them. That’s a 76% attendance record. For a max-salary, franchise-altering superstar, that’s just not enough. I find myself thinking about the fans, the ones who save up to buy a ticket hoping to see their heroes. I remember that feeling in the Big Dome, the collective breath being held by an entire arena. Imagine paying hundreds of dollars, taking your kid to their first game, and seeing "Leonard (Knee Management)" on the injury report. It leaves a bitter taste. The "load management" era, which Kawhi arguably pioneered, has created a disconnect. The All-Star game is, at its heart, a celebration for the fans. It’s a thank you. So, how do you vote for a player who, through no real fault of his own given his injury history, often feels like a part-time participant in the regular season marathon?
Yet, to ignore him feels like denying a fundamental truth of basketball. When the lights are brightest, Kawhi Leonard is still one of the very few players who can single-handedly warp a game. I think back to the 2019 playoffs, that iconic shot against the 76ers. The bounce, the bounce, the bounce… and the swish. That’s the kind of moment you remember for decades. It’s the same caliber of clutch gene we witnessed in that PBA game. It’s a rare and precious commodity. This season, in the games he has played, he’s been the best player on a Clippers team that looks like a genuine title contender when whole. His net rating of +9.3 when he’s on the floor is monstrous. He’s closing games with a cold-blooded efficiency that reminds you why he has two Finals MVP trophies sitting at home.
So, where does that leave me? Honestly, I’m torn. Part of me wants to reward the new blood, the ironmen like Shai Gilgeous-Alexander or Tyrese Haliburton, who are there every single night, building a connection with the league and its fans through sheer, relentless availability. They play with a joy and a consistency that feels more in the spirit of the All-Star game. But another part of me, the part that values peak performance in high-leverage situations, can’t bring itself to leave Kawhi off the list. The All-Star game isn’t just a participation trophy; it’s supposed to be a collection of the league’s most terrifying talents. And when he’s right, Kawhi is still a nightmare. In the end, my personal vote is a hesitant "yes." It’s a vote cast with a sigh, acknowledging the frustration of his absences but also with a deep-seated respect for the sheer, game-ending force he represents. I’m voting for the potential of that buzzer-beater, for the ghost of that game-winning three, for the player who can, on any given night, send an entire arena into a frenzy. But I completely understand if you look at the ledger, see the 29 games played, and decide your vote is better spent elsewhere. This isn’t an easy choice, and that, in itself, tells you everything about the complicated legacy Kawhi Leonard is building.
