At 37, Steph Curry’s 2K26 rating remains among the top. Stephen Curry is a timeless masterpiece.

Stephen Curry is a timeless masterpiece. At 37 years old, with decades of high-level basketball behind him, he continues to defy expectations, redefine greatness, and preserve a rare level of excellence that transcends the ordinary aging curve seen in professional sports. In NBA 2K26, his player rating remains among the league’s elite—not just as a nod to past greatness, but as a reflection of a present-day force who is still as dangerous, clever, and transformative as ever. For a player whose very presence once challenged traditional basketball orthodoxy, Curry now occupies a rare position: a revolutionary who has also become a benchmark, still evolving even as he ages.

To understand why Curry’s impact persists well into his late 30s, we must first acknowledge the unique nature of his game. Unlike many of his superstar contemporaries who relied heavily on athleticism, Curry’s foundation has always been built on skill, intelligence, and stamina. His ball-handling, shooting mechanics, spatial awareness, and off-ball movement remain virtually peerless. These attributes age more gracefully than raw vertical explosiveness or brute physicality. As a result, Curry’s decline—if we can call it that—has been slow, almost imperceptible. While his speed may have slightly diminished and his finishing at the rim is marginally less sharp than in his prime, he’s adjusted his game with such precision that those changes have had minimal impact on his overall effectiveness.

In 2K26, developers have had little choice but to keep Curry among the top-rated players. Statistical regression models can’t fully account for someone like him—he breaks predictive molds. His shooting efficiency remains elite, with deep three-point percentages that rival his own numbers from seasons past. He still commands double-teams 35 feet from the basket, forcing defenses into impossible decisions. He still moves off the ball with relentless energy, creating chaos and opportunity. Curry’s value cannot simply be measured in points or assists; his gravity—how he manipulates defenders simply by being on the court—remains unmatched.

Equally important is how Curry has leaned into the cerebral side of basketball. His playmaking continues to mature. With years of experience reading defensive schemes, Curry orchestrates games like a seasoned conductor. He sets up teammates with deceptive ball fakes and passes threaded through invisible windows, many of which don’t appear in the box score but completely alter the course of a possession. His partnership with head coach Steve Kerr, now more of a collaboration than instruction, has evolved into something resembling jazz improvisation—fluid, reactive, intuitive. Each reads the game and adjusts in real time, often several steps ahead of the opposition.

Curry’s leadership, too, is a driving force behind his sustained relevance. He has become more vocal over the years—not with boisterous bravado, but with intention and trust. Teammates, both veterans and newcomers, lean on his composure. His locker-room presence is steady and unselfish. As the faces around him change—be it younger talent rising through the ranks or familiar allies like Klay Thompson or Draymond Green adjusting to their own roles in the twilight of their careers—Curry remains the constant. He sets the tone in practice, prepares meticulously, and carries himself with the kind of discipline that inspires those around him.

In an era where stars often prioritize brand or legacy control over on-court output, Curry’s commitment to the game itself is rare. While he is undoubtedly a global icon—endorsing major brands, launching charitable initiatives, and expanding his business ventures—he has never let the spotlight distract him from refining his craft. At 37, he still trains with the intensity of a man half his age. His offseason routines, now widely studied and emulated, remain a blend of innovative drills and brutal conditioning. His commitment to shooting repetition is legendary—thousands of makes, not attempts, in a single session. The result is a form that has barely deteriorated over time. His release is still compact, lightning-quick, and accurate from angles most shooters wouldn’t dare attempt.

What also makes Curry timeless is the joy with which he plays. Watching him at 37 is not like watching a once-great star limp through his final years, clinging to glory. No—Curry still plays with the same grin, the same bounce in his step, the same audacity to pull up from 35 feet with a hand in his face and the game on the line. His love for the game radiates through every possession. That energy is contagious, both for teammates and fans. It’s part of what keeps him relevant and revered, not only by die-hard Golden State supporters but by the basketball community at large. For many young players entering the league now, Curry isn’t just an idol; he’s the reason they picked up a basketball.

His influence on the modern game is beyond calculation. Entire generations of players have modeled their games after his, and coaches at every level have adapted their systems to include elements of pace, space, and shooting that Curry helped popularize. Even players who don’t mimic his skillset are nonetheless shaped by the environment he created—a league where the three-point shot is king, where off-ball movement is essential, and where small guards can dominate if they possess the right blend of skill and confidence. The league’s very geometry changed because of him, and even now, as he pushes toward 40, the echo of his revolution is felt in every corner of the NBA.

It’s also important to remember the emotional connection Curry fosters with fans. There’s something uniquely human about him. Despite his astronomical talent, he never seemed superhuman in the way Jordan or LeBron did. His frame is modest. His journey—underrecruited, doubted, overlooked—made him relatable. He wasn’t supposed to be the face of a dynasty, the leader of a basketball revolution, or a global superstar. But he became all of those things through persistence, humility, and an obsessive commitment to getting better. At 37, that journey still resonates, and every game feels like another chapter in a story that somehow continues to surprise and delight.

From a metrics standpoint, Curry’s efficiency continues to impress advanced stat models. His effective field goal percentage, usage rate, and assist-to-turnover ratio still rank among the top at his position. His clutch time numbers remain strong. He doesn’t just play; he closes. When games matter most, Curry still wants the ball in his hands. And perhaps most importantly, his presence still correlates strongly with winning. The Warriors, even if no longer the juggernaut of old, remain dangerous largely because of what Curry still brings. He elevates rosters that would otherwise be average, bending the floor and forcing mismatches that open up the floor for everyone else. In today’s NBA—faster, younger, deeper than ever—Curry continues to produce wins in the one metric that matters most: the scoreboard.

It would be easy, and perhaps even expected, for Curry to have gracefully faded into a mentor role by now. Many legends do. They accept limited minutes, play off the bench, serve as wise sages for a younger generation. But Curry has refused that script. He’s still starting, still finishing, still dazzling. While he has embraced mentorship for young Warriors like Brandin Podziemski or Jonathan Kuminga, he hasn’t sacrificed his competitiveness. That balance—between passing the torch and continuing to carry it—speaks to his unique mentality. He never seems satisfied, never complacent. Each season, each game, is another chance to outthink, outshoot, and outwork the opposition.

Even his flaws add to the richness of his career. Curry has never been the most elite defender. He’s battled through injuries. He’s had playoff disappointments. But those human moments only magnify the brilliance of his peaks. He isn’t infallible—but he is resilient. His comebacks, his adjustments, his durability in the face of adversity—they all speak to a greatness that goes beyond skill. It’s mental, emotional, spiritual. He believes, and that belief lifts those around him.

As 2K26 reflects Curry’s enduring brilliance with a high player rating, it’s not just a technical acknowledgment—it’s a cultural one. The gaming community, like the basketball world at large, recognizes that Curry is not done. He’s not a nostalgia pick. He’s still a top-tier threat, capable of breaking records and hearts on any given night. The game’s developers didn’t have to fudge the numbers or lean on legacy bonuses. Curry’s on-court data, his highlights, his intangibles—they all support the truth: he remains elite.

The beauty of watching Curry now is knowing that each game is part of a final act that is somehow as thrilling as his earlier chapters. Whether he wins another championship or not, whether he breaks more records or not, his legacy is sealed—but that doesn’t mean his story is over. In fact, it feels more like an epilogue written in gold ink, where each shot, each pass, each smile reminds us why we fell in love with the game in the first place. Stephen Curry isn’t just playing basketball at 37—he’s painting, composing, inventing. He’s a timeless masterpiece not because he froze time, but because he made us believe, night after night, that time could be transcended.