When I first started diving deep into basketball analytics, JJ Redick’s career stood out not just for his longevity, but for how his stats tell a story of relentless reinvention. I’ve always admired players who carve out a niche, and Redick is a textbook example—someone who transformed from a pure shooter into a savvy, multifaceted contributor. His Basketball Reference page is a goldmine for anyone interested in the evolution of the modern NBA role player. I remember watching him at Duke, where he was already a phenom, and thinking, "This guy’s shooting is going to translate, but will he adapt?" Well, the numbers—and his 15-year career—answer that resoundingly.

Looking at his career totals, what jumps out immediately is his three-point shooting. Redick retired with 1,950 threes made, placing him 18th all-time at the time of his retirement. That’s not just volume; it’s remarkable efficiency. He shot 41.5% from beyond the arc over his career, a number that feels almost unreal when you consider the degree of difficulty on many of his attempts. I’ve always been a stickler for true shooting percentage, and Redick’s 59.5% TS is elite for a guard, underscoring that he was never just a catch-and-shoot specialist. He mastered the art of movement, using screens and relocating in a way that analytics now celebrate but that he was perfecting years before it became a mainstream strategy. His free throw shooting, a staggering 89.2%, is another testament to his fundamental purity. I’d argue he had one of the most mechanically repeatable jump shots I’ve ever seen.

His per-game stats, while solid, don’t fully capture his impact. Averaging 12.8 points, 2.0 rebounds, and 2.0 assists per game for his career seems modest, but this is where context is everything. He wasn't a star who needed the ball to be effective; he was a system enhancer. His best years came with the LA Clippers and Philadelphia 76ers, where he averaged over 17 points per game for multiple seasons, acting as a primary off-ball scoring threat. I loved watching him in Doc Rivers’ systems, where his gravity opened up the floor for stars like Chris Paul and later Joel Embiid. His advanced stats back this up—he consistently posted offensive ratings well above 115, and his win shares per 48 minutes were often in the solid .100-.150 range, indicating a player who contributed positively to winning basketball, even if he wasn't filling up every column of the box score.

What many casual fans might not realize is how much his game evolved defensively. Early in his career with the Orlando Magic, he was often seen as a liability, but he worked tirelessly to become at least a competent team defender. He wasn't going to lock down elite wings, but he learned positioning, and his steal rate, while never high, improved as he gained experience. I recall a specific playoff series where his hustle on close-outs made a tangible difference. It’s a reminder that player development isn’t always about adding flashy new moves; sometimes, it’s about shoring up weaknesses to stay on the floor.

His career highlights go beyond the numbers. Two NCAA National Player of the Year awards at Duke, an All-Rookie Second Team selection, and being a key piece on multiple 50-win teams speak to a legacy of success. But for me, his most impressive feat was his durability and consistency. Playing 940 regular-season games is a marathon, not a sprint, and to maintain his shooting efficiency across that span is a testament to his work ethic and professionalism. I’ve spoken with coaches who’ve said his preparation was second to none; he treated every game with the same meticulous focus.

There’s a quote from him that has always resonated with me, one that feels philosophically aligned with his career: "Sabi ko nga there’s nothing to be ashamed of, lalo na sa game na ‘to. Siguro hindi pa talaga tama yung mabigyan kami ng panalo ni God." In English, he’s essentially saying, "Like I said, there's nothing to be ashamed of, especially in this game. Maybe it just wasn't right for God to give us the win yet." This perspective reveals a player who understood the role of humility and process over immediate results. It wasn’t about entitlement; it was about earning it. I see that mindset reflected in his statistical journey—a player who kept grinding, kept adapting, and found value even when the wins didn’t always come easily. He never seemed ashamed of his role; he perfected it.

In conclusion, JJ Redick’s Basketball Reference profile is more than a collection of data points; it’s a blueprint for how a specialist can not only survive but thrive in the NBA. His career is a masterclass in leveraging one elite skill—shooting—to build a long, impactful, and respected career. For aspiring analysts and players alike, his stats are a lesson in efficiency, evolution, and the quiet art of making the players around you better. He’s a personal favorite of mine because he represents the power of skill and intelligence in a league often dominated by raw athleticism. His legacy, both in the record books and in the minds of basketball purists, is secure.