Regarding calling Draymond Green and Stephen Curry immediately following a deal, Kevon Looney said, “Those were my first two calls.” My big brothers have been those men for the

“My Big Brothers”: Kevon Looney on Draymond Green, Stephen Curry, and the Brotherhood That Built a Dynasty

Looney, a soft-spoken yet tenacious forward/center for the Golden State Warriors, recently opened up about the importance of Stephen Curry and Draymond Green in his life—not just as teammates, but as mentors, leaders, and brothers. After news of a deal (whether a contract, trade, or pivotal moment in his career), the first people he contacted weren’t agents or media reps. It was Steph and Draymond.

“Those were my first two calls. My big brothers. They’ve been those men for me from the start.”

That start began in 2015, when Looney was drafted 30th overall by a Warriors team already on the brink of greatness. It was the summer before the Warriors would win 73 games. Before the legendary 3-1 Finals comeback (and collapse). Before KD. Before the dynastic debate. And for Looney, it was the beginning of a winding, injury-plagued journey that would test his mental strength and resilience at every turn.

And yet, through it all, two constants helped anchor him: Draymond and Steph.

At 19 years old, Looney entered a locker room full of champions. Stephen Curry had just won MVP. Draymond Green was emerging as one of the league’s fiercest competitors. Klay Thompson was torching defenses and earning his reputation as one of the purest shooters in NBA history. Andre Iguodala was a Finals MVP. And now here came this lanky, quiet kid from Milwaukee, dealing with hip injuries, unsure if he’d even play in his rookie season.

“Coming in, I was intimidated,” Looney admitted in a later interview. “It was like walking into a locker room full of legends. I didn’t want to say too much. I just listened. Watched. Learned.”

Draymond took notice.

“I remember him being quiet, but he never looked scared,” Green once said of Looney. “He was injured but still showed up every day. A lot of young guys don’t do that. That told me something about him.”

Over the years, that observation would evolve into trust, and then into brotherhood.

If Curry is the soul of the Warriors, Draymond is the heartbeat. He’s the voice, the bark, the push, the no-nonsense driver of standards. And to a young player like Looney, that was crucial.

“Draymond is tough love,” Looney has said. “But it’s love, for sure.”

Draymond coached Looney on the floor. Yelled at him when he messed up rotations. Showed him how to switch onto guards. How to anchor the defense. How to communicate.

“There’s no one better to learn from if you’re a big trying to survive in the modern NBA,” Looney said. “He showed me how to guard 1 through 5, how to think the game, how to make the small things matter.”

In many ways, Looney became an extension of Green—calm where Draymond is fiery, but equally versatile and tough. He became the kind of glue guy every contender needs: a selfless screen-setter, a second-chance rebound machine, and a defensive stalwart who never seeks the spotlight.

Behind closed doors, their relationship grew deeper.

“There were days I was down,” Looney said, referencing his early injuries. “I didn’t know if I’d get another contract. My hips weren’t right. I felt like I was falling behind.”

Draymond was there. “He’d call me out when I needed it. But he also reminded me I belonged. That I could be part of something bigger.”

If Draymond challenged Looney, Steph lifted him.

Where Green pushes you to your edge, Curry brings you back with warmth and humility. And for Looney, Curry’s example—on and off the court—was just as formative.

“Steph is the most grounded superstar I’ve ever seen,” Looney said. “The way he treats everyone the same—from rookies to vets to trainers—it set the tone for the whole organization.”

Curry, a two-time MVP, didn’t just dominate the game. He redefined it. But in the locker room, he was the guy cracking jokes, leading prayers, listening to Looney talk about family or life outside basketball. He made space for connection.

“When I was rehabbing or not playing, Steph would still check in. Still invite me to workouts. Still ask how I was doing. That stuff sticks with you.”

And as Looney began to find his footing—particularly during the Warriors’ 2018 and 2019 playoff runs—it was Steph who often encouraged him most.

“You’re ready,” he remembers Curry telling him before a key playoff game. “Just be you. We trust you.”

That trust was everything.

By the time the Warriors entered the 2022 playoffs, Looney was no longer the rookie trying to catch up. He was the foundation.

With Wiseman injured and the Warriors needing steadiness, Looney delivered in the biggest moments—like his 22-rebound masterclass against Memphis in Game 6, or his elite defense on Luka Dončić in the Western Conference Finals.

Throughout that run, he was praised not just for production but for poise, IQ, and grit.

“Loon is one of the smartest players I’ve ever been around,” Curry said. “He’s always in the right spot. Always doing the little things that win games.”

Draymond echoed it: “Loon is the most underrated player in the league. Period.”

And when the Warriors hoisted the 2022 championship trophy—an unlikely comeback from their injury-riddled seasons—Looney’s role wasn’t overlooked. It was central.

“I always wanted to be a part of winning basketball,” Looney said. “I didn’t care about stats. I just wanted to help. And those guys—Dray and Steph—they never let me forget I was needed.”

When Looney calls Draymond and Steph his “big brothers,” it’s not hyperbole. It’s a lived truth.

They watched him struggle through hip surgeries that many thought would end his career before it began. They mentored him during film sessions. Took him under their wings off the court. Challenged him. Believed in him. Celebrated him.

So when a new chapter began—whether signing a contract, facing trade rumors, or simply reflecting on his journey—it’s only natural those would be his first two calls.

“Those were my first two calls. My big brothers,” Looney said. “They’ve been those men for me from the start. Not just teammates, but people I look up to. People who taught me how to be a professional, how to win, how to lead.”

He added, “In this league, you don’t always get to choose your mentors. I got lucky.”

In today’s NBA, long-term loyalty between players and franchises is rare. Players move. Teams rebuild. Core groups fracture.

But the Warriors—through Steph, Draymond, and yes, Kevon Looney—have carved out a different path. A culture of consistency. A standard built not just on talent but trust, chemistry, and growth.

Looney, once the overlooked rookie, is now one of the longest-tenured Warriors. He’s seen the highest highs and lowest lows. And through it all, he remained grounded—because of the men around him.

“I wouldn’t be who I am without Steph and Draymond,” Looney said. “They gave me a blueprint for how to work, how to survive, how to thrive.”

Now, younger Warriors—like Jonathan Kuminga or Trayce Jackson-Davis—look to Looney the same way he once looked to Steph and Draymond.

And he embraces it.

“I try to be for them what those guys were for me,” Looney said. “Supportive. Honest. There.”

As Looney approaches a decade in the league, his appreciation for Curry and Green transcends the hardwood. They’ve been there for personal milestones, family challenges, community work, and offseason development.

“They’re the type of guys who will text you when you’re going through something—not because they have to, but because they care,” Looney said.

And that bond, built over thousands of practices, hundreds of games, and countless hours of unseen grind, has shaped not just a career—but a life.

“There’s no ring without those relationships,” Looney said. “We pushed each other. Believed in each other. That’s rare. That’s special.”

So when the phone rang—whether after a re-signing, a deal, or a crossroads—Looney didn’t hesitate.

His first calls were to Draymond and Steph.

Because they weren’t just teammates.

They were family.

They still are.

And in an era where brotherhood in professional sports can feel fleeting, that makes all the difference

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