Kevon Looney’s departure from the Golden State Warriors to join the New Orleans Pelicans marks not only a significant roster move but also the conclusion of a deeply emotional decade-long journey. In a heartfelt letter to Dub Nation—published through The Players’ Tribune—Looney reflected on the bonds he formed with Stephen Curry and Draymond Green. His words revealed a vulnerability and depth of feeling rarely displayed by such a stoic figure, and they have resonated profoundly with fans, teammates, and pundits alike. What follows is an in-depth exploration of Looney’s reflection on calling Curry and Green, examining the history, emotion, and legacy embedded in those phone conversations and the decade that led to them.
Kevon Looney joined the Warriors as the 30th overall pick in the 2015 NBA Draft. He arrived as a 19‑year‑old rookie out of UCLA, stepping into a locker room defined by the reigning dynasty core: Stephen Curry, Klay Thompson, and Draymond Green. This trio had already built a culture of excellence and relentless competition. In those early days, Looney admitted he felt uncomfortable. He had been quiet, unsure how to fit in, until a turning point came one night in Oklahoma City. During that game, Curry hit an improbable half‑court shot in overtime. In the aftermath, Kerr and Draymond got into a fiery exchange. Though intense to behold, it marked a moment when Looney realized he belonged — a flash of raw emotion that welcomed him into the Warriors’ exacting standards .
From that point forward, Looney embraced a role that became indispensable to the team’s identity: the blue-collar anchor. He set grueling screens, fought for rebounds, and defended tirelessly. He rarely scored, averaging just five points per game, but he provided what the Warriors needed most—intensity, intelligence, and unwavering effort . He became the embodiment of teamwork, the mortar holding the splashbrothers’ high‑octane offense together.
Yet beyond his on‑court contributions, it was his growth as a person that stood out. Looney credited Curry and Draymond with showing him the ropes—not just basketball drills but how to behave under constant pressure, how to maintain professionalism, and how to carry himself in the Bay Area spotlight. He refers to them as his “big brothers”—a description that captures their mentorship beyond the hardwood. Those initial phone calls upon news of his move weren’t contractual; they were personal. They signaled that he wasn’t just a teammate—he was family.
On June 30, 2025, Looney agreed to a two‑year, \$16 million deal with the Pelicans. Though not technically a trade, the timing echoed similar feelings of ending and transition. In his Players’ Tribune article, published the first week of July, he revealed that his very first calls were to Stephen Curry and Draymond Green.
re my first two calls. Those guys, they’ve been my big brothers for the past 10 years … I’m not a big crier, but calling to tell them I’m heading somewhere else was pretty emotional for me, just to be real with you. It was like, I don’t know … I felt those conversations in my heart.”
That admission—that Kevon Looney, known more for his screens and boards than tears, felt so moved—stuck hard with fans. It laid bare a vulnerability seldom exposed in competitive athletes. He wasn’t just saying goodbye to a team; he was saying goodbye to a family who helped raise him. And for someone so quiet, that was a revelation.
The emotional weight of those calls transcended locker room banter. They communicated gratitude for a decade of shared battles—three championships, 599 games, and a host of memories etched in the Chase Center rafters . Looney acknowledged that he leaned heavily on Curry and Draymond, relying on their wisdom and friendship during NBA’s relentless grind . They taught him how to be a winner, how to sacrifice for the team, and how to stay composed amid the glare of national attention.
The Warriors’ response, though concise, spoke volumes. Stephen Curry reposted Looney’s farewell message and offered a succinct, emotional reaction: “Forever a legend Toon!!!! ‘17 on the clock!’”. A short message, but rich in meaning—Curry recognized Looney’s impact, acknowledged his legacy, and reaffirmed their brotherhood. “17 on the clock!” wasn’t just a nod to his jersey number; it was proof that Looney’s imprint on the franchise runs deep.
Draymond Green, too, had been a constant in Looney’s story. Known for his intensity and leadership, Green was blunt, unapologetic, but fiercely loyal. Looney praised that quality—”He’s never gonna shortchange you”—respecting Green’s emotional investment and accountability on each night’s grind . Together, they built a culture where winning was the only outcome.
These calls, therefore, represented years of relationship-building: hours in the film room, in practice, on the plane, in the playoffs, bonding under pressure. They encompassed Looney’s transition from rookie to champion, his mastering of the Warriors’ system, and his personal maturation these athletes helped shape.
Looney’s emotional honesty resonated not only with his teammates but also with fans and media. Debut letters and podcasts have praised his transparency. EssentiallySports highlighted that Looney “admits doing something rare…he got emotional”. Yardbarker, SI, and NBC Bay Area echoed that sentiment: this was more than a goodbye—it was the closing of an era.
From the fans’ perspective, it was powerful. On Reddit, Warriors supporters reflected on the depth of their allegiance. They called him “legendary,” praised his humility, and added broad support for his next chapter.
The significance of those two phone calls—and the emotions behind them—echo far beyond summer headlines. They highlight three key dimensions of Kevon Looney’s legacy:
Curry and Green weren’t just teammates; they were mentors. They taught Looney how to navigate the NBA landscape—how to stay disciplined, how to contribute selflessly, how to handle the spotlight. Those phone calls were the culmination of that mentorship, now completed.
Looney’s admission—“I’m not a big crier… it was pretty emotional”—humanizes professional athletes. It reminds fans that even seasoned veterans feel the weight of endings, of shifting teams, and of leaving home after deep personal investment. He wasn’t the flashiest guy on the court, but Looney was essential. He played over 500 games, won three championships, and made the plays no one noticed—until they mattered most. His farewell conversation sealed that legacy as more than just stats; it was about relationship, loyalty, and heart.
As he embarks on his New Orleans journey, Looney leaves behind a blueprint: a model of dedication and team-first mentality. In Pelicans colors, he’ll bring the same intensity, the same commitment to culture and effort.
Golden State now faces the challenge of replacing not only a player but an emotional leader. Looney’s departure creates a void in chemistry and the quiet responsiveness that no stat line can capture.
Still, the phone calls he made reinforce what remains: the bonds forged in a decade of championship runs don’t dissolve with a contract. Curry’s “Forever a legend” message and Looney’s raw goodbye show that some connections transcend uniforms.
Ultimately, Kevon Looney’s story reminds us that the NBA isn’t just about superstars and highlight reels—it’s about the unsung workhorses, the mentors, the late-night conversations, and the brotherhood woven through shared triumphs and heartbreaks.
Those were the calls he had to make. The heart they held matters far beyond summer headlines. They sealed the legacy of a champion, not just in rings, but in relationships.
Looney may wear a different jersey now, but the echoes of those conversations with Curry and Draymond will stay with him—and Golden State—for the rest of his career. In the end, that phone call was more than a transition. It was a thank you.
