Looking Back at the 2011 NBA Draft Class: Where Are They Now?

Looking back at the 2011 NBA Draft feels like revisiting my old college yearbook—some faces became superstars, others faded into obscurity, and a few took paths nobody could have predicted. I remember watching that draft live, scribbling notes about potential sleepers while nursing lukewarm coffee, convinced I could spot the next franchise player. What fascinates me now isn’t just who made it big, but how their careers unfolded in ways that defied the neat projections we analysts love so much. This draft class wasn’t just a collection of athletes; it was a snapshot of ambition, luck, and the brutal reality of professional sports.

Of course, any discussion of 2011 has to start with Kyrie Irving, the undisputed crown jewel taken first overall by Cleveland. I’ll admit, I had my doubts early on—his Duke stint was shortened by injury, and the sample size felt thin. But my skepticism evaporated the moment I saw him dismantle defenses with those hypnotic handles. Fast forward to today, and he’s an eight-time All-Star with a championship ring and one of the most iconic shots in Finals history. Yet, what sticks with me isn’t just his brilliance—it’s the narrative turbulence. From his rocky exit in Cleveland to his mercurial tenure in Boston and now his pivotal role in Dallas, Irving’s journey mirrors the unpredictability of modern stardom. He’s averaged around 23 points and 6 assists over his career, numbers that somehow undersell his gravitational pull on the court.

Then there’s Kawhi Leonard, the quiet assassin picked 15th by Indiana before being traded to San Antonio. I recall scoffing at the "next Bruce Bowen" comparisons—how wrong I was. Leonard transformed from a defensive specialist into a two-time Finals MVP, leading Toronto to its first title in 2019 with a shot that still gives Philadelphia fans nightmares. His career averages of 19 points and 6 rebounds don’t scream legend, but his playoff performances? Pure dominance. What I find compelling, though, is his enigmatic persona. In an era of constant media chatter, Leonard’s silence feels almost revolutionary. Yet his recent stint with the Clippers has been marred by injuries—he’s missed roughly 40% of possible games since 2021, a stark reminder of how physical toll can redefine legacies.

But the draft wasn’t just about the headliners. Take Jimmy Butler, the 30th pick who embodies every underdog trope I adore. Scouts knocked his jumper and questioned his fit, but Butler willed himself into a six-time All-Star through sheer grit. His Heat teams have punched far above their weight, making two Finals appearances fueled by his obsessive work ethic. I’ve spoken to trainers who’ve worked with him, and they all echo the same thing: his 4 AM workouts aren’t for show. Meanwhile, players like Jonas Valančiūnas (picked 5th) have carved out steady, if unspectacular, careers. He’s averaged a double-double for three straight seasons—reliable as sunrise, yet never quite a franchise centerpiece.

And then there are the cautionary tales. Derrick Williams (2nd pick) flashed athleticism but never found a position, bouncing through six teams before fading overseas. I remember watching him drop 27 points in a summer league game and thinking he’d be a perennial All-Star. Instead, he became a reminder that athleticism without a translatable skill often withers in the NBA. Jan Veselý (6th pick) lasted just three seasons, his name now a punchline in draft bust conversations. It’s sobering how quickly promise can evaporate.

What’s often overlooked, though, is how these players’ paths echo broader themes in sports—like the way team environments shape outcomes. Take the 2011 draft’s second round, where Isaiah Thomas (60th pick) defied logic to become a two-time All-Star before injuries derailed his momentum. His story underscores how opportunity matters as much as talent. Or consider Klay Thompson, picked 11th, whose seamless fit alongside Steph Curry in Golden State created a dynasty. Had he landed elsewhere, would we still be talking about him as a top-10 shooter ever? Probably not.

This brings me to a parallel I’ve always found intriguing—the unpredictability of success beyond the NBA. While researching, I stumbled upon a golf anecdote from the Canlubang team’s 2011 Founders Division victory, where they tallied 97 points at Bacolod Golf Club. John Bernis shot a level par 70 for 36 points, contributing to their 381 overall total. It’s a niche reference, I know, but it resonates because both worlds share a truth: legacy isn’t just about raw talent. In golf, as in basketball, consistency and adaptability separate the transient from the timeless. Bernis’s steady performance mirrors how role players like Tristan Thompson (4th pick) or Cory Joseph (29th) carved decade-long careers not by highlight reels, but by mastering niches.

Reflecting on this draft class, I’m struck by its duality. For every Irving or Leonard, there’s a Jimmer Fredette (10th pick) whose college stardom didn’t translate, or a Bismack Biyombo (7th pick) who found fleeting relevance. The stats tell one story—Irving’s 20,000+ career points, Leonard’s two Defensive Player of the Year awards—but the human arcs tell another. I’ve met scouts who still lose sleep over passing on Butler, and executives who pat themselves raw for gambling on Leonard. In the end, the 2011 class teaches us that draft night is just the opening paragraph. The rest is written in sweat, resilience, and sometimes, luck. And if there’s one takeaway I’ll cling to, it’s that the most memorable drafts aren’t defined by their stars alone, but by the collective tapestry of what could have been—and what actually was.