I still remember watching the 1987 NBA draft unfold on television, that particular blend of anticipation and uncertainty hanging in the air. It was a draft class that, on paper, promised to reshape franchises. Looking back now, with the benefit of decades of hindsight, the journey of its top picks reads less like a straightforward script and more like a complex drama of fulfilled potential, heartbreaking setbacks, and unexpected turns. The legacy of a draft isn't just written on draft night; it's carved out over long careers and, sometimes, in the paths taken long after the final buzzer has sounded. It reminds me of a sentiment I once heard, which perfectly captures the duality of such a high-stakes selection: "If they're looking for a good salary, it's really great here. Of course, there's still a lot we don't notice, so we just keep looking and looking, but of course, it's a good choice for the first pick." That's the essence of the draft—a calculated gamble on potential, a "good choice" that can be brilliant or fraught with unseen complications.
David Robinson, the consensus first pick by the San Antonio Spurs, was that brilliant choice. Of course, we had to wait two years for him while he fulfilled his naval commitment, a delay that only built the anticipation. When he finally arrived, my goodness, he was worth the wait. The "Admiral" wasn't just a player; he was a franchise cornerstone. His legacy is etched in two championships, an MVP award in 1995, and ten All-Star selections. He was the definition of a transformative pick, a player whose fundamental soundness, athleticism, and character lifted an entire organization from mediocrity to perennial contention. His career averages of 21.1 points and 10.6 rebounds only tell part of the story; his leadership and professionalism set a standard that reverberates in San Antonio to this day. He was the safe pick who became a spectacular one, the kind of first selection that front offices dream about.
Then there was the second pick, Armon Gilliam, selected by the Phoenix Suns. "The Hammer" was a solid and productive power forward, a reliable scorer and rebounder who carved out a respectable 13-year career. He averaged a solid 13.7 points and 6.9 rebounds for his career, with his best years coming in Phoenix and later with the Charlotte Hornets. But his legacy is a testament to that "looking and looking" phenomenon. He was a good player, a very good one even, but he existed in the considerable shadow of Robinson and, as we'll see, another player taken later. Gilliam’s career is a reminder that being a high draft pick guarantees nothing; it merely provides an opportunity. He maximized his talent, but the "what if" that often surrounds a draft class doesn't really apply to him. He was who we thought he was: a dependable professional, but not a superstar.
Ah, but the third pick. This is where the 1987 draft gets truly fascinating and where my personal perspective as a basketball historian gets a little opinionated. The Golden State Warriors selected Dennis Hopson from Ohio State. Hopson had a decent rookie year, averaging about 8 points a game, but he never found his footing in the league. He bounced around a few teams, including a stint with the Chicago Bulls where he won a championship in 1992 as a deep reserve, and was out of the NBA by 1993. His legacy is largely one of a "miss." It’s a stark reminder that the draft is an imperfect science. For every David Robinson, there's a Dennis Hopson, a player whose game just doesn't translate to the next level, for reasons we can't always pinpoint on draft night.
This brings us to the fifth pick, and in my view, the true heart of the 1987 draft's narrative: Scottie Pippen, selected by the Seattle SuperSonics and immediately traded to the Chicago Bulls. Here is the ultimate example of the "lot we don't notice." Nobody, and I mean nobody, on that draft night envisioned Pippen becoming a top-50 all-time player and the quintessential wingman. He was raw, from a small school (Central Arkansas), and his potential was a blurry photograph. But his legacy is monumental. As Michael Jordan's running mate, Pippen was the defensive lynchpin, the secondary playmaker, and the versatile forward who made the Bulls' dynasty possible. His six championships, seven All-Star appearances, and reputation as one of the greatest defenders in league history cement a legacy that arguably surpasses everyone in his class not named Robinson. The Bulls didn't just find a player; they found a perfect basketball complement, and it’s a stark lesson in player development and system fit.
Other notable picks from that first round include Reggie Miller at number 11, another player whose legacy far outstripped his draft position. His deadly three-point shooting and clutch performances for the Indiana Pacers made him a Hall of Famer and one of the most feared scorers of his era. Kevin Johnson, taken at number 7 by the Cleveland Cavaliers and later traded to Phoenix, became a multi-time All-Star and the engine of those exciting Suns teams in the early 90s. And then there was Mark Jackson, the 18th pick, who would go on to lead the league in assists as a rookie and eventually become the NBA's all-time assists leader until Steve Nash and later John Stockton surpassed him.
So where are they now? The legacies are as varied as their careers. David Robinson is a revered figure, involved in philanthropy and still connected to the Spurs organization. His impact is measured in banners and community respect. Scottie Pippen remains a global basketball icon, though his post-playing career has been marked by some public friction, particularly regarding his portrayal in the "The Last Dance" documentary. Reggie Miller is a successful and outspoken television analyst. Others have taken quieter paths. Armon Gilliam, tragically, passed away in 2011 from a heart attack while playing pickup basketball. Dennis Hopson found success in coaching at the collegiate level. Their lives after basketball reflect the same diversity of outcome that their playing careers did.
Reflecting on the 1987 draft, it serves as a perfect microcosm of the entire NBA selection process. You have the clear, can't-miss superstar in Robinson. You have the overlooked gem who becomes a legend in Pippen. You have the solid, dependable professional in Gilliam. And you have the high pick who never quite figures it out in Hopson. It’s a tapestry of human potential, system fit, luck, and relentless work. That initial observation about it being a "good choice" for a first pick is only half the story. For Robinson, it was. For Hopson, it wasn't. The true legacy of the 1987 draft isn't just in the careers of its top picks, but in the enduring lesson it teaches us about potential, perception, and the unpredictable journey of an athlete's life. It’s a draft class I find myself revisiting often, a fascinating case study that never fails to reveal a new layer.
