Over the past two days, I’ve tried to formulate ideas on a Jason Richardson farewell column, only to read other pieces that took the words right out of my mouth — namely Kevin Draper’s article on Deadspin and Marcus Thompson’s post for the Bay Area News Group.

That’s because everyone who followed the Golden State Warriors before the championship run, before Mark Jackson, and before “We Believe” essentially reminisces about the same thing when it comes to Richardson.

For Richardson was practically the only Warrior worth reminiscing about from that era on teams that featured players such as Mike Dunleavy, Troy Murphy, Derek Fisher, and Nick Van Exel as the other “core pieces,” and Eric Musselman and Mike Montgomery, both honorary Great Coaches in Warriors History.

That was the life growing up as a Warriors fan, believing and hoping that my team would win every game, but in reality knowing they would wind up way out of a playoff spot with several months left in the season. But I still watched — every game, every minute — for some reason that remains unknown. I rejoiced in the rare victories, taking pride whenever my Warriors attracted national attention or had a player who was good enough that just might get a few seconds of airtime on SportsCenter.

For me, Jason Richardson was that guy. He was the only one capable of pulling off a highlight-reel play, the only one flashy enough to make casual fans even look up at Warriors highlights. There’s a story I’ve heard somewhere about an agent asking his client if he wanted to consider signing with Golden State around that time, and the player responding, “Where’s Golden State?” That was the state of the Warriors back then, when the team was so stale, so boring that nobody even cared to find out where this “professional franchise” was located.

And yet, Richardson did he all he could to put the Warriors on the map. He won back-to-back slam dunk contests in 2002 and 2003. He led the team in scoring three consecutive seasons from 2003-2006 (side note: can you name the second-leading scorer on the 2003-2004 team? You guessed it — old man Clifford Robinson. Good times), and it was an absolute shame he wasted his prime years languishing on awful teams.

Here’s an anecdote to give an idea of Richardson’s importance to Warriors’ fans at the time: my immigrant father loves to watch sports but barely knows any of the athlete’s names. One of the few he did know? “Number 23 for the Warriors — Jason — he is good,” he’d tell me.

But the Richardson moment I recall the best was his buzzer beater to defeat the Mavericks on March 24, 2006, the season before “We Believe.” The Mavericks that year would end up winning 60 games and appearing in the Finals, but on this night, Richardson made sure they wouldn’t get an easy home win.

With the Warriors down 121-119, Jason Terry missed a free throw, giving the Warriors the final shot with time running out. Richardson grabbed the rebound, hurried up-court, put a spin move on Terry and launched a leaning three-pointer from the top of the arc for the win that landed with a swish.



I love everything about that moment: the Warriors going crazy, Bob Fitzgerald screaming at the top of his lungs because THE WARRIORS FINALLY DID SOMETHING I DON’T HAVE TO SUGERCOAT and imploring Montgomery to “crack a smile, c’mon,” a tattoo-less Monta Ellis, Mark Cuban walking down the court pouting.

This is probably my favorite Warriors’ moment of the 2000s besides “We Believe,” because it was the first time that I just sat there stunned, wondering if my team — the perennial losers — actually just defeated a 60-win juggernaut in their building at the buzzer. Fittingly, it was Richardson in the middle of it.

Jun 25, 2015; Brooklyn, NY, USA; General view of the stage before the start of the 2015 NBA Draft at Barclays Center. Mandatory Credit: Brad Penner-USA TODAY Sports

I had the same feeling about a year later, sitting on my couch taking in the 2007 NBA Draft when I suddenly heard about a “proposed trade” that would send Richardson to the Charlotte Bobcats for the rights to eighth overall pick Brandan Wright. It was the summer after “We Believe,” and I was feeling good about the team, good enough to not really care for the draft since the Warriors actually weren’t in the lottery. I was thinking the Warriors would keep the band together and build some consistency, maybe make a few deep playoff runs.

But with that announcement on my TV — yeah, we actually had to get our breaking news from television back then — I sat up, stunned, shocked and surprised. Trading Richardson, a team captain, the heart of the franchise, for some lanky kid out of North Carolina?

As a fan with blinders on at the time, I tried to reason for the trade. Maybe Wright was a legit prospect. Maybe Richardson had worn out his time in Golden State. Maybe this would give the young Ellis more playing time.

Reason as I might, the Warriors were never the same after that. The good feelings from “We Believe” didn’t even last through the next season while Richardson was dropping 21 points a game with the Bobcats. The band broke up, the Warriors went back to being bad, and my favorite player growing up was on the opposite coast.

Of course, the Warriors eventually figured things out and wound up winning their first championship in 40 years or whatever. But you can’t celebrate the present without remembering and honoring the past. Richardson may not have been around for a lot of winning, but he was loyal, humble, mature, and stuck around when any other star player would have run out of there at the first opportunity. He may have been far removed from the roster that won the 2015 NBA championship, but in the hearts of Warriors fans who remember those dark, dark days, J-Rich will always hold a special place.