Nick Wright has never been shy about poking the GOAT debate, but his latest theory flips the entire conversation on its head. Appearing on The Adam Friedland Show, Wright posed a simple but disruptive question: What if Michael Jordan never existed?
“If Jordan never existed, and the greatest player, the universally accepted greatest player of all time, was Kareem, because that’s who it would have been, then a guy like Tim Duncan would be in the GOAT debate.”
“Because what people turned the GOAT debate into was not who’s the greatest player ever, it’s who reminds me of Michael Jordan the most. Which is why Kobe is probably a touch historically overrated, because he is the most similar to Michael Jordan.”
“I’m just saying, if Magic was considered the GOAT, then no one would argue that LeBron was, because LeBron is a better Magic. But because Mike was considered the GOAT, people elevated Kobe past a guy like Tim Duncan, who was just objectively better than him.”
“Instead of the question being who’s the greatest basketball player of all-time, people asked that question, but what they were really asking is who’s the most similar to Michael Jordan, and those are not the same thing.”
Wright’s logic is straightforward. Before Jordan seized the cultural imagination, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar checked every historical box. He won at every level, dominated college basketball, captured six NBA championships, earned six MVPs, and retired as the league’s all-time leading scorer. His resume was unmatched, his impact was undeniable, and his longevity was unprecedented back in the day.
Without Jordan’s rise in the 1990s, Kareem’s case would have stood tall.
That shift, Wright argues, would have caused a domino effect throughout the GOAT debate. If Kareem was the template, players like Tim Duncan would be far more central in all-time conversations. Duncan, like Kareem, was defined by quiet dominance, elite two-way impact, and relentless winning. Five championships, three Finals MVPs, two regular-season MVPs, and a career spent never missing the playoffs. Objectively, Duncan’s resume stacks up with almost anyone.
But he lacked something that mattered more than people admit: Jordan’s aura.
Kobe Bryant’s greatness is not being dismissed here. Wright’s point is that Bryant benefited from a similar style to Jordan. The footwork, the fadeaways, the killer instinct, and the aura. Kobe felt like Jordan’s successor, and that mattered more to fans and media than comparisons. Duncan, meanwhile, won just as much, often more efficiently, but without the same aura or cultural impact.
Wright extends that logic to LeBron James. If Magic Johnson had been universally crowned the GOAT, Wright believes LeBron would have been the easy heir. Bigger, stronger, and statistically superior to Magic in most areas, LeBron would have felt like a clear evolution. But because Jordan sits at the top, LeBron’s fundamentally different style becomes a disadvantage in perception, not performance.
In this framework, Jordan’s existence didn’t just crown one GOAT. It reshaped the criteria entirely. The debate stopped being about total impact and became about proximity to one archetype.
Strip Jordan from history, and the GOAT conversation looks colder, quieter, and far more resume-driven. Kareem stands tallest, and Duncan gets his rightful seat at the table. And the debate stops asking who feels like Michael Jordan, and starts asking who actually gave the league the most basketball.
That question, Wright argues, is the one we should have been asking all along.
