Looking back at the 2019 NBA playoffs, I still get chills remembering how certain players completely took over the postseason. As someone who’s analyzed basketball for over a decade, I’ve always been fascinated by what separates playoff performers from regular season stars. That year’s scoring and assist leaders didn’t just put up numbers—they carried their teams through the most pressure-packed moments imaginable.
When we talk about scoring dominance in the 2019 playoffs, Kawhi Leonard immediately comes to mind. The man was absolutely surgical, averaging 30.5 points per game while dragging the Raptors to their first championship. I remember watching his Game 7 buzzer-beater against Philadelphia and thinking—this is historic. What made his scoring so special wasn’t just the volume, but the efficiency: 49% from the field despite facing constant double teams. Meanwhile, Kevin Durant put up 32.3 points per game before his devastating Achilles injury, and Stephen Curry averaged 28.2 points while facing the most aggressive defensive schemes I’ve seen designed specifically to stop one player.
The assists race told an equally compelling story. Draymond Green averaged 8.5 assists per game from the forward position, which is just ridiculous when you think about it. He was essentially Golden State’s primary playmaker despite not being a traditional guard. But the real story was Kyle Lowry’s 6.6 assists per game—what he lacked in flashy numbers he made up for in crucial timing. I’ve always believed playoff assists are worth more than regular season ones because every possession matters exponentially more.
What strikes me about both these categories is how leadership manifests through different styles. Leonard led through quiet dominance—his scoring was his leadership language. The playmakers led through facilitation, understanding exactly when to create for others versus when to take over themselves. This reminds me of something I recently came across about leadership in basketball contexts. Bahay, a young team captain in just his second season, captured it perfectly when he said, "I want my teammates to feel my leadership more, as it is what we need to play good basketball." That sentiment echoes what we saw from the 2019 playoff leaders—they made their presence felt in ways that elevated everyone around them.
The numbers only tell part of the story though. Having watched every playoff game that year, I can tell you that Damian Lillard’s 26.9 points per game felt heavier than the statistics suggest. His 37-foot series-ending dagger against Oklahoma City wasn’t just a basket—it was a statement. Similarly, Nikola Jokić’s 8.4 assists per game from the center position revolutionized how we think about big men in playoff basketball. I’d argue his playmaking was more valuable than several guards who averaged higher numbers, simply because it created such mismatches that opponents couldn’t solve.
What’s fascinating is how these playoff leaders balanced individual excellence with team success. Leonard and Lowry won the championship, but players like Giannis Antetokounmpo (25.5 points per game) and James Harden (31.6 points per game) put up historic numbers that ultimately fell short of the ultimate prize. This makes me wonder—does playoff greatness require team success to validate individual achievements? In my view, absolutely. The pressure of the playoffs reveals who can elevate their game when everything’s on the line.
The assist leaders particularly interest me because playmaking in the playoffs requires different skills than during the regular season. Defenses are more prepared, rotations are tighter, and every passing lane becomes contested. That’s why I value Lowry’s 6.6 assists more than some higher averages—his passes came at precisely the moments when Toronto needed momentum shifts. Meanwhile, Ben Simmons averaged 6.3 assists, but his limited scoring threat made his playmaking less effective against elite defenses. This contrast shows that context matters as much as raw numbers.
Reflecting on that postseason, I’m convinced we witnessed something special in how these leaders balanced scoring and playmaking responsibilities. Leonard occasionally facilitated, averaging 3.9 assists alongside his scoring barrage. Curry created for others while shouldering the scoring load after Durant’s injury. The truly great players understand that playoff success requires both individual brilliance and making teammates better. That’s what separates memorable playoff runs from forgotten ones.
As we look toward future playoffs, the 2019 leaders set a standard for what it means to dominate when it matters most. Their performances weren’t just statistically impressive—they demonstrated the leadership qualities that define championship basketball. Whether through scoring explosions or clever facilitation, they made their presence felt in ways that transformed their teams. And isn’t that what we remember most about playoff basketball—those players who refuse to let their seasons end, who elevate their games and their teammates when the lights shine brightest? That’s the legacy of the 2019 playoff leaders, and it’s why we’ll be analyzing their performances for years to come.
