Klay was considered one-dimensional once by casual fans and at least a few GMs who passed over him in the draft to pick talents such as Derrick Williams, Jan Veseley, and Jimmer Fredette. He was seen as a shooter, a paper tiger on defense. His early work around the rim was near comical. (During his rookie season his botched layups were known as “Klay-ups”.) His ball-handling needed a bit of a tune-up. He struggled to guard smaller quicker 2s. But every year he methodically attacked the weaknesses in his game. To borrow a few sports clichés, he’s a workhorse, an ironman, a perfectionist, who still found the time to spend both his days and nights weight training while in the midst of viral misadventures in China. Never being satisfied gives him great power and drive, and fuels the cutthroat fire that of course seeks to dominate all that crosses his path, even beer pong.

And now, the occasional worker of miracles. A stunning turnaround of fortune for a guy drafted to come off the bench to give Monta Ellis a breather.

Klay’s saved the Warriors dynasty single-handedly at least twice. He has nothing left to prove. All he has to do is chill and live his best life. He’s not the team’s Favorite Son (Steph), or its Heart and Soul (Draymond), or even it’s Get Out of Jail Free Card (Durant). He’s just Klay. Defend well, get open, shoot often, stay emotionless. That’s the Klay Thompson Experience. That he occasionally smashes onto the scene like a baked Galactus and eats a planet because he has the munchies only adds to the mystique of Klay.

“You have to embrace every day. This doesn’t last forever. It’s a sad day when the ball stops bouncing.” — Klay Thompson

All the little component pieces of Klay minutia swirl together to create something like a towering normalness. This is an American man in his 20s living life to the fullest: That dirtbag facial hair. Red-handed infidelity Instagram-model drama. Signing a magic toaster that led the Warriors to a 31-2 record to close out the season. Existentialist musings such as: “You have to embrace every day. This doesn’t last forever. It’s a sad day when the ball stops bouncing.” His devotion to his dog. His dad Mychal (great Twitter follow) cutting his allowance. A distrust for black and white films. That monotone politeness. Cool as a cucumber, with about as much range of expression. This is the dude who looked only slightly sheepish when President Barack Obama roasted him at the White House for once being unaware the Warriors played in Oakland.

Perhaps most impressive of all is how he’s been inoculated from the sort of visceral hatred his team inspires among fans. Steph Curry? Overrated, soft, should be in the Hague for crimes against mouthguards. Draymond Green? A literal murderer. Kevin Durant? A cowardly snake and tryhard reply guy. Klay Thompson though? Klay is cool. Klay is someone you could kick it with, even though he’d probably make you binge Family Guy with him. Honestly, Klay is so cool that even pictures of him chilling with a war criminal like Condoleezza Rice don’t immeasurably hack away at his dopeness.

And Klay on the court is even more chill. Off the ball he skims and slips rhombuses around defenders, dipping behind double screens and gliding around swarms of dudes who are very much aware that this guy, this Splash Bastard, is not to be given any daylight to go nova. He’s the first vulture to the kill. And when Klay Thompson quietly goes Super Saiyan, he’s the most lights-out, unconscious, deadly shooter on the planet. (This includes Steph Curry.) Thompson scores his points with cerebral lust. It’s not romantic, but neither is it boorish or aggressive. It’s natural, organic, exceedingly logical. Klay’s sporadic outbursts of scoring determinism unravel your synapses. His almost bored onslaught make you shake your head and conclude that damn, Klay is on one again. As the youths would say: Klay is a big mood.