In memory of the beloved 30-point streak; a eulogy

We will now lay to rest

A good friend of whom we’ve grown fond.

You began your life in Houston

So it was only right it ended in the place you called home.

You may have been only 32 games and 72 days old

But to haters, it felt like a lifetime.

You came when we needed you most

With no Point to guide us

With no Big to protect us

With no Sixth Man to support us

You carried us to Twenty-One and Eleven.

Though just a number

You came in many forms:

The crossover

The jumper

The floater

And, my personal favorite, the poster.

But you always had your go-to, the step-back

A move that no one could stop.

You were four, 50-point games

An average of 41.1 points per game.

We saw you hit your ceiling in New York with 61

You went and did the unthinkable in OT in Oakland.

Murray’s ankles were taken by you

Bodies of McGee and Gobert were collected, alike.

Teams created film around you

Schemes were manifested to stop you

And GMs didn’t shave beards out of respect for you.

Many greats tried to hit your plateau

But not Kobe, not LeBron, not Durant, not even Jordan

Could reach your mark

Only the great Stilt lies ahead.

If one more shot was taken

Then maybe you’d still be with us today.

Instead, you’ll be forever in the record books

And living rent-free in the head of every Harden MVP-naysayer.

Thank you for the buckets!