Soaring down the court he’s not a basketball player, more like a violinist commanding each finger to push the ball, the artistry of his movement a constant crescendo. He is Paganini, Perlman, starts, stops, probing scales to find frequency, where the notes penetrate the lane just right. His rhythmic 20-minute pregame routine began with Sonya and Dell, united at their Virginia Tech, then Ohio, later Charlotte, where Steph endured plyometric boot camp, revised his shooting form, learned toughness, grit. Faith, family, academics, pillars of the Curry home, where Sonya’s volleyball and Dell’s basketball were the athletic foundation. Slight of stature, the Hokies told him to walk on, but Davidson had the vision, saw the baby-faced assassin before all the others. The world soon learned, 2009 a Warrior, a Dub, a 3-point threat. The rest starts to become legend, Pistol Pete type lore, without the underlying obsessive darkness. Curry’s music an arsenal of visual disbelief: one hand pass behind the back, crossover to swish, breaking ankles, floater, heaved shots with spin, shooting from all angles with the left or right. John McPhee said of Bill Bradley’s practice, he moves systematically from one place to another around the basket, but Curry is taking tunnel shots, elevation, evolution, greatest shooter of all-time.