I remember the first time I truly understood what an MVP season meant—it was watching Michael Jordan's 1995-96 campaign unfold. The Chicago Bulls went 72-10 that year, a record that stood for two decades, and Jordan wasn't just playing basketball; he was redefining excellence. That's the magic of the NBA MVP award—it captures those historic moments when a player transcends the game itself. As we look through the complete list of winners, what strikes me most isn't just the statistics, though they're staggering, but the stories behind each season that became legendary in their own right.
The early years of the MVP award tell a fascinating story of basketball's evolution. When Bob Pettitt won the inaugural award in 1956, he was averaging 25.7 points and 16.2 rebounds for the St. Louis Hawks—numbers that would still be impressive today, though the game was fundamentally different. What many don't realize is that the voting system has changed multiple times throughout NBA history, which explains why some truly dominant seasons by today's standards didn't receive the recognition they deserved at the time. I've always been particularly fascinated by Wilt Chamberlain's 1966-67 season, where he led the Philadelphia 76ers to a then-record 68 wins while deliberately changing his game to focus more on playmaking than scoring. He averaged 24.1 points, 24.2 rebounds, and 7.8 assists that year—numbers so absurd they almost don't seem real. That's what separates the great MVP seasons from the merely excellent ones—they make you question what's possible in basketball.
Moving into the modern era, the MVP conversation becomes increasingly complex and, frankly, more interesting. As a longtime observer of the game, I've noticed how the criteria have shifted from pure statistical dominance to narrative and team success. Take Derrick Rose's 2011 MVP—at 22, he became the youngest player ever to win the award, leading the Bulls to 62 wins. What made that season special wasn't just his 25 points and 7.7 assists per game, but how he carried a team that many didn't expect to contend. I'll admit I had my doubts about whether he truly deserved it over LeBron James that year, but watching him dismantle defenses with that explosive athleticism changed my mind. The MVP often goes to the player who defines the season's story, not just the one with the best numbers.
The recent stretch of MVP winners has been particularly fascinating to analyze, especially with the statistical revolution changing how we evaluate players. Stephen Curry's unanimous MVP in 2016 was a watershed moment—not just because he was the first to achieve it, but because his season represented a fundamental shift in how basketball is played. When he made 402 three-pointers that year, breaking his own record by 116, it felt like we were watching something that would change the game forever. I remember thinking during that season that we might never see shooting like that again. Then there's Giannis Antetokounmpo's back-to-back MVPs in 2019 and 2020, where his combination of physical dominance and improving skill set created a player type we'd genuinely never seen before. His 2019-20 season was particularly remarkable—29.5 points, 13.6 rebounds, and 5.6 assists while leading the Bucks to the league's best record before the season paused.
What makes the MVP discussion so compelling year after year is how it reflects the evolving nature of basketball excellence. When Nikola Jokić won his first MVP in 2021, it represented another shift—the triumph of basketball IQ and skill over traditional athletic metrics. Watching him orchestrate an offense from the center position felt like witnessing basketball poetry. His 26.4 points, 10.8 rebounds, and 8.3 assists that season came with a level of efficiency and creativity that we simply haven't seen from the center position before. I've come to appreciate how each MVP winner captures something essential about their era—whether it's Kareem's skyhook, Magic's smile and showtime, Jordan's competitive fury, or Jokić's cerebral dominance.
Looking at the complete list of MVP winners reveals patterns that might not be immediately obvious. For instance, only 13 players have won multiple MVPs, and only Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain, and Larry Bird have won three in a row. What's interesting to me is how certain players' MVP cases have grown stronger in retrospect—like Moses Malone's 1982 season, where he led the Rockets to the NBA Finals while putting up 31.1 points and 14.7 rebounds. The context of their teams matters tremendously too—Russell Westbrook's 2017 MVP for averaging a triple-double was as much about narrative as numbers, coming after Kevin Durant's departure from Oklahoma City. I've always believed that the most deserving MVP seasons are those where you can't imagine any other outcome—where a player's performance is so clearly transformative that the award becomes inevitable.
As we consider this year's race, I can't help but think about how the Soaring Falcons' first potential MVP candidate fits into this historical context. The beauty of the MVP award is how it continues to evolve while honoring basketball's fundamental truths. Great players elevate their teams, redefine possibilities, and create moments that become part of basketball's permanent memory. Whether it's Kareem's skyhook, Steph's three-point barrage, or whatever comes next, the MVP award captures basketball's endless capacity for reinvention. What makes following this award so rewarding isn't just celebrating individual greatness, but witnessing how each generation builds upon what came before while adding something uniquely their own to the game we love.
