Anthony Bennett. Greg Oden. JaMarcus Russell. Matt Bush. Alexandre Daigle. The list seems to extend to the horizon.
There are few greater honors in sports than hearing your name called first on draft night. There may be no greater curse, either. When you’re the first player selected and then go belly up, the stink lasts forever.
The top of the class is measured against more than his peers. The public will hold his feet up to the blazing achievements of legends. That’s inconceivable pressure. A seventh
pick who becomes a five-time All-Star is considered a triumph. A twenty-fourth pick who makes one All-Star Game becomes the steal of his draft. A scrappy second-round pick who manages to stick in the league earns admiration.
The first pick? Before he ever scores a point, he inherits every comparison that came before him. He has to justify all the pomp and circumstance. With those expectations preceding his debut, he is almost doomed to disappoint. The top dog is supposed to win a trophy, and not one of those in-season cups. For a decade, Karl-Anthony Towns lived in that oversized spotlight.
When Minnesota selected KAT first overall in 2015, the scouting report sounded like it was describing some mythical creature from the Afghan mountains: a nimble-footed seven-footer with a feather-soft touch, plus rim protection and a keen-eyed passing ability. Many viewed this one-and-done out of Kentucky as a franchise cornerstone ripe for the picking.
Young Karl-Anthony was supposed to become inevitable. And he mostly delivered. All-Star appearances. All-NBA honors. One of the greatest shooting big men the sport has ever produced.
And yet . . . there were murmurs of concern. Could he maybe, possibly be too soft to win a championship?
That’s the strange voodoo around the top pick. Anything short of a full trophy case can be viewed as a failure. Then you get jerks like Jimmy Butler sticking their beak in.
At an infamous Minnesota practice, Butler played with a group of reserves, embarrassed the starters, and afterward blasted Towns and Andrew Wiggins as soft. The story became folklore and the public sentiment was that Butler’s a killer, KAT’s a stat-filler.
Every time Towns disappeared in a playoff game, the murmurs grew louder. Every weird interview and voice modulation became further evidence that he was an unserious oddball.
Narratives are efficient because they save us the trouble of thoughtful examination. “This guy’s a winner and that guy isn’t.” “This one’s a monster, that one’s a hero.” Once those labels harden, every new piece of evidence is bent to fit them. Wait around for long enough, though, and you might hear the tune change from a minor to a major key (or vice versa).
In the summer of 2024, Towns was dealt to the Knicks in a three-team trade that sent Julius Randle and Donte DiVincenzo to the T’wolves. The response was cautious optimism. Few fans saw the deal as a championship clincher, and some would’ve preferred to keep the outgoing guys.
The Knicks ended that season with a loss to the Pacers in the Eastern Conference Finals. This June, playing his 11th NBA campaign, Karl-Anthony Towns became an NBA champion. You know all about it, I’m sure I saw you at the parade.
Well guess what? Since Towns was drafted first overall, no other top pick has won the chip. They are:
- Ben Simmons
- Markelle Fultz
- Deandre Ayton
- Zion Williamson
- Anthony Edwards
- Cade Cunningham
- Paolo Banchero
- Victor Wembanyama
- Zaccharie Risacher
- Cooper Flagg
- AJ Dybantsa
That’s it, that’s the list. (And, no, I didn’t bother to check where Fultz is hooping these days.)
Basketball isn’t easy or simple. Championships are not the only measure of greatness. For instance, Robert Horry has a ring for seven of his fingers. Charles Barkley has onion rings.
But championships do carry incredible weight, especially when they arrive after years spent hearing that you lack whatever invisible ingredient separates winners from everyone else. Sure, Jimmy Butler has built a reputation as one of basketball’s fiercest competitors. But Karl-Anthony Towns has a championship. Jimmy? Za-heeeeero. Zilch. Nada.
He who laughs last, laughs best. Even if it’s one of KAT’s weird cackles.
History has a habit of revising and reframing. Cringy flaws are found in longstanding heroes; villains are reconsidered from another perspective. Maybe KAT wasn’t underachieving at all. Maybe he was simply becoming the player everyone expected him to be, just on his own timetable. Waiting to pounce! Like a ferocious—you know.
The burden of being drafted first overall is that greatness is expected, the spotlight is red hot, and professional sports are pretty damn hard. Now that he’s broken the curse, let’s give Karl-Anthony his flowers.
Knicks in five.
