Looking back at the 1987 NBA Draft always gives me chills—not just because it produced some of the most memorable careers in basketball history, but because it reminds me how scouting and drafting have evolved since then. I remember watching the draft unfold as a young basketball enthusiast, and even then, I sensed something special was happening. The first pick, David Robinson, was a no-brainer for the San Antonio Spurs, but what fascinates me is how teams navigated the later rounds, unearthing gems that would define the league for years. When I think about the draft process, I’m reminded of a quote I once heard from a scout in the Philippines: "If they're looking for a good salary, maganda talaga dito. Kaya lang siyempre, marami pa kaming hindi nano-notice kaya titingin-tiningin lang, pero siyempre, maganda siyang choice sa first pick." Roughly translated, it speaks to the allure of top picks—they offer security and immediate impact—but it also hints at the overlooked talent lurking in the shadows. That’s exactly what made the 1987 draft so compelling: the mix of obvious stars and hidden treasures.

David Robinson, selected first overall, was the kind of player you build a franchise around. Standing at 7'1" with a naval background, he brought discipline and athleticism that transformed the Spurs into contenders almost overnight. I still recall his rookie season in 1989—delayed by his military commitment—when he averaged 24.3 points and 12 rebounds per game. Those numbers weren’t just impressive; they signaled a new era for San Antonio. Robinson’s legacy isn’t just about stats, though. He laid the foundation for the Spurs’ culture of excellence, which later allowed Tim Duncan to thrive. From my perspective, Robinson’s impact extends beyond the court; his professionalism set a standard for how top picks should carry themselves. It’s no surprise he led the Spurs to their first NBA title in 1999, cementing his place as one of the greatest centers ever. But what I find even more intriguing is how his presence overshadowed other picks initially, much like how that scout’s quote suggests—the "first pick" often steals the spotlight, leaving others unnoticed until they prove their worth.

Speaking of overlooked talent, the 1987 draft was stacked with players who took time to blossom. Take Reggie Miller, chosen 11th by the Indiana Pacers. At the time, many critics questioned his slender frame and unorthodox shooting style, but I’ve always admired how he silenced them with sheer grit. Miller became the heart of the Pacers, averaging around 18 points per game over his career and hitting clutch shots that are now the stuff of legend. His rivalry with the New York Knicks in the 1990s is something I still rewatch highlights of—it was pure theater. Then there’s Scottie Pippen, picked fifth by the Seattle SuperSonics and traded to the Chicago Bulls. Initially, he was seen as a raw prospect, but paired with Michael Jordan, he evolved into the ultimate wingman, contributing to six championships. I’d argue Pippen’s defensive versatility—he averaged about 2 steals per game in his prime—changed how teams value two-way players. These picks remind me that draft success isn’t just about the first selection; it’s about spotting potential where others see risk.

Of course, not every pick panned out, and that’s part of what makes analyzing drafts so human. For every Robinson or Pippen, there were players like Dennis Hopson, taken third by the New Jersey Nets, who never quite lived up to expectations. Hopson averaged just 10 points per game over his career—a stark contrast to the stars around him. From my experience covering the NBA, I’ve learned that drafts are as much about luck as they are about strategy. Teams pour hours into scouting, but as that scout’s quote implies, many talents go "unnoticed" until given the right opportunity. Personally, I think the 1987 draft underscores the importance of patience in player development. Take Mark Jackson, the 18th pick by the New York Knicks; he wasn’t flashy, but he led the league in assists as a rookie and carved out a 17-year career. It’s players like him who prove that legacy isn’t always built on stats alone but on consistency and fit.

Reflecting on the broader impact, the 1987 draft reshaped the NBA’s competitive landscape for over a decade. Robinson and Pippen alone accounted for multiple championships, while Miller’s Pacers became Eastern Conference staples. I’ve always believed that drafts like this one highlight the draft’s role in balancing league parity—when teams hit on picks outside the top few, it can level the playing field. For instance, the Golden State Warriors snagged Sarunas Marciulionis in the sixth round, and though he wasn’t a household name, his international flair paved the way for global players today. In my view, the 1987 class taught us that drafting is an art, not a science. It’s about seeing beyond the immediate "good salary" and first-pick hype to find those who will leave a lasting mark. As I wrap this up, I’m struck by how this draft mirrors life—full of surprises, regrets, and triumphs that we only fully appreciate in hindsight.