The landscape of American professional basketball has undergone a seismic shift in the modern era, a period I’ve been fortunate to observe not just as a fan, but as someone who’s analyzed team dynamics for years. The rise of superteams and the intense rivalries they spawn isn't just about star power on the perimeter; it's a complex ballet of strategy, sacrifice, and, crucially, an often-underappreciated aspect of team chemistry. This brings to mind a philosophy I’ve always believed in, one that echoes a sentiment I once heard from a seasoned coach discussing player motivation: “Everyone will get their share, especially the big men, because of course, their job isn't easy—rebounding, boxing out—I want them rewarded because they need to eat, too.” That simple, almost familial logic—they need to eat, too—is, in my view, the hidden engine behind the most dominant teams of this era. The public rivalry is between the Steph Currys and the Kevin Durants, but the private, decisive battle is often won by how well a team empowers its role players, its “bigs,” to do the dirty work that allows the stars to shine.

Think about the Golden State Warriors' dynasty, which from my perspective, redefined modern basketball. Their rivalry with the Cleveland Cavaliers in the late 2010s was legendary, a clash of titans featuring arguably the two greatest players of their generation. But peel back the curtain, and you see the foundation. Draymond Green, though a star in his own right, often sacrificed traditional scoring stats for defense, playmaking, and yes, that gritty rebounding and boxing out. The Warriors’ system, and their culture, explicitly rewarded that. They understood that for Curry and Thompson to launch those mesmerizing threes, someone had to set the bone-jarring screens and secure the possession. It was a perfect embodiment of that “everyone eats” mentality. When they added Kevin Durant, the calculus changed, but the principle remained: a hierarchy of sacrifice where even a superstar like Durant bought into a system that demanded defensive effort from everyone. Their rivalry with LeBron James’ Cavs wasn't just a shootout; it was a war of attrition in the paint, where a single rebound could swing a championship. I’d argue the team that better “fed” its interior players, its unsung heroes, often gained that critical edge.

This philosophy took a different, but equally compelling form with the rise of the Toronto Raptors and the Milwaukee Bucks. Their rivalry, though shorter-lived, signaled a shift back towards a more balanced, defense-first approach. The Raptors’ 2019 championship run was a masterclass in this. Kawhi Leonard was the undeniable alpha, but Marc Gasol and Serge Ibaka provided the intellectual and physical backbone. They were the quintessential “bigs” doing the hard work, anchoring a defense that stifled the league’s best. Nick Nurse, in my opinion, is one of the best in the league at making his role players feel indispensable, at ensuring they “eat” from the feast of a championship run. Similarly, the Bucks’ ascent was built on Giannis Antetokounmpo’s freakish talent, but also on the system crafted by Mike Budenholzer that maximized Brook Lopez’s rim protection and the collective rebounding might of the team. Their 2021 title over the Phoenix Suns wasn't won on Giannis’ 50-point Game 6 alone; it was won on a crucial charge taken by Jrue Holiday and a team-wide commitment to controlling the glass. The data, though I’m recalling from memory, was staggering—I believe they out-rebounded the Suns by nearly 60 total rebounds in that series. That’s not an accident; it’s a culture.

Now, we’re witnessing the latest chapter with the Boston Celtics and the Denver Nuggets establishing themselves as the new power centers. The Celtics, with their arsenal of two-way wings, play a style that feels like the evolution of the Warriors’ model, where everyone can shoot, handle, and defend. But watch them closely. Al Horford, at 37 years old, is the soul of that team. He does the boxing out, sets the screens, and makes the savvy passes that don’t fill the highlight reel but fill the win column. They’ve built a roster where Jayson Tatum and Jaylen Brown can thrive precisely because the “hard job” is valued and distributed. On the other side, the Denver Nuggets, the 2023 champions, are perhaps the purest current example of the “everyone eats” doctrine. Nikola Jokic is the revolutionary centerpiece, but his genius is in making everyone around him better, in ensuring his teammates are rewarded. Aaron Gordon’s transformation from a primary option in Orlando to the ultimate cutting, defensive finisher in Denver is a case study in role acceptance and reward. Jokic, in his own way, is that coach on the floor, making sure his bigs—and his guards—get fed for doing the hard work.

In conclusion, while the narratives and headlines will always chase the glittering rivalries between marquee franchises and their superstar faces, the true rise of these top teams is cemented in the mud of the painted area. The modern era’s great teams have all, in their own way, solved the same fundamental problem: how to motivate and maximize the contributions of the players whose jobs are fundamentally difficult and often thankless. The rivalries we celebrate are decided on the margins, on a single contested rebound or a perfectly executed box-out that leads to a game-changing fast break. As someone who values the intricacies of team building, I’ll always be more fascinated by how a coach or a star player ensures his teammates “get to eat” than by the final score itself. That’s the real, enduring rivalry within the rivalry—the constant battle for collective buy-in, and the teams that master it are the ones that rise to the top and stay there.