The journey keeps rolling, and if I am being honest, this pyramid has taken over more mental space than I ever expected. I keep circling back to names, revisiting tiers, and replaying arguments in my head. Every conversation I have with Suns fans adds another wrinkle that makes me second-guess a decision I felt good about an hour earlier. There is a real fear of getting it wrong, of missing something obvious, of overlooking a moment that mattered to someone else.
At the same time, I know what this is. It is fluid. It is subjective. It has to be viewed through my lens, guided by my standards, my memory, and my sense of what impact actually means. That is the only honest way to do it.
My memory. God help us.
I think one of the biggest challenges with this whole exercise is the scope of it. I am staring down 58 years of Phoenix Suns basketball, and I have only lived through about 38 of them with my own eyes. That leaves a full two decades of history that I did not experience in real time, years I have to reconstruct through box scores, old clips, yellowed stories, and whatever context I can mine after the fact.
There is a difference between knowing something happened and feeling it happen. There are players whose impact lives in numbers and paragraphs for me, not memories. I can build a case. I can understand the logic. But I did not live the nights. I did not feel the temperature of the building or the way a guy changed the mood of a season.
And that is also what makes this fun.
This community is layered. There are fans here who have been around since 1968. They saw it all unfold in real time. They know where the stories exaggerate and where the stats undersell the truth. They can tell me where I am right. They can tell me where I am dead wrong. And they should.
This pyramid is not meant to be the final word. It is a conversation starter. A framework. A way to connect eras, memories, and arguments across generations of Suns basketball. And the best part is letting those generations talk to each other.
So without further ado, let’s reveal the Tier 5 of the Phoenix Suns All-Time Pyramid.
Now this is one area where there actually is a clear line of demarcation, because everyone on this list is a multi-time All-Star as a member of the Phoenix Suns. These are players who earned the right to represent the franchise on a national stage more than once. These are not one off seasons or brief flashes. These are guys who showed up, produced, and carried the identity of the team with them when the lights were brightest, and they earned that recognition through sustained impact and credibility in a Suns uniform.
Let’s get into it.
Tier 5: All-Star Impact
He is one of those true legends of the sport, a point guard who feels like part of a fading species. I’m writing this now, with his retirement fresh and real, which adds weight to where he sits in the long annals of basketball history.
Chris Paul spent 21 years in the league, and three of those seasons came in Phoenix, totaling 194 regular-season games, and those games carried enormous significance for the franchise. He left Phoenix ranked third all-time in assists per game at 9.5, led the league in assists during the 2020-021 season at 10.8 per night, and served as the engine of a team that reached the NBA Finals.
His time in Phoenix included two All-Star selections and two All-NBA honors. He also ranks second all-time in Suns history in assist percentage at 41.4% and fifth in free throw percentage at 86.7%.
Remembering Chris Paul also means acknowledging how his body broke down in the postseason, something that followed him late into his career as he played through ages 34 to 37. That reality does not erase the impact. He arrived at an organization that had gone a decade without touching the postseason, and everything shifted. The Suns mattered again. They competed again.
His influence on Devin Booker, a player who will sit much higher on this pyramid, defies clean measurement. The Point God did not fix everything, but he pulled the franchise out of stagnation, and that alone secures his place in Suns history.
There is only one ‘Original Sun’, and that designation belongs to Dick Van Arsdale. The Flying Dutchman.
As a 6’5” shooting guard out of Indiana, Van Arsdale arrived in Phoenix through the 1968 expansion draft after coming over from the New York Knicks. He stayed until he retired in 1977, logging nine full seasons with the organization and anchoring its earliest identity.
The resume holds up. He ranks fifth all-time in games played, sixth all-time in points, and third all-time in offensive win shares, which still jumps off the page when you put it in historical context. He was a core member of the team that reached the first NBA Finals in franchise history in 1976, and he earned three consecutive All-Star selections, starting with the very first season of Suns basketball in 1968-69.
Statistically, his best year came in the 1970-71 season, when he averaged 20.2 points per game and carried a heavy load for a young franchise finding its footing.
So why Tier 5 instead of Tier 6? Because every organization has a starting point, and for the Phoenix Suns, Dick Van Arsdale was that point. The 1968-69 team that finished 16-66 also featured another All-Star in Gail Goodrich, but Goodrich was traded in 1970. Van Arsdale stayed. He became the constant through the early years, the player who embodied what the Suns were before there was any real definition of success.
Being the foundation is relevant. Dick Van Arsdale was not only productive, he was present, steady, and representative of the franchise from its first breath.
Some of my earliest Suns memories live in an offense that ran straight through Tom Chambers. Yes, Kevin Johnson was running the show, setting the table, and pushing the pace, but when it came time to finish the play, it was Chambers rising up and cashing it in, over and over again, with a consistency that defined that era of basketball in Phoenix.
Chambers spent five seasons with the Suns, arriving in 1988 as the first unrestricted free agent in NBA history, a decision that mattered then and still matters now. He chose Phoenix, and in doing so, he became the centerpiece of some of the best Suns teams that rarely get talked about anymore.
Everyone remembers 1992 -93 when Charles Barkley showed up and changed the national conversation, but the groundwork was already there long before that. Those teams were good. In some seasons, they were great.
In Chambers’ first year, the Suns went 55-27 and reached the Western Conference Finals. The next season, 54-28, same result. In 1990-91, they finished 55-27 again and bowed out in the first round. Then came 1991-92, a 53-29 season that ended in the conference semifinals. Over that four-year stretch, the Suns went 217-111.
It was a sustained run of winning basketball that positioned the franchise to take the final swing that eventually brought Barkley to town. The team could not quite get over the hump, but Tom Chambers was a massive reason they were knocking on the door year after year.
Individually, his production still towers over franchise history. His 27.2 points per game in the 1989-90 season remains the gold standard for scoring in Phoenix. He holds the top two single-season scoring totals in Suns history, with 2,201 points in 1989-90 and 2,085 points the year before. He made three All-Star teams as a Sun, earned two All-NBA selections, and his 20.6 points per game average in Phoenix ranks eighth all-time.
Tom Chambers feels like one of the forgotten greats of the NBA. No player has scored more career points without reaching the Hall of Fame, and it is still baffling. That 27.2 point season was fourth in the league in scoring that year, trailing only Michael Jordan, Karl Malone, and Patrick Ewing, while finishing ahead of Dominique Wilkins, Charles Barkley, Chris Mullin, Reggie Miller, Hakeem Olajuwon, and David Robinson. Every one of those names is enshrined. Chambers is not.
He should be.
And within the context of Phoenix Suns history, his place is clear. Tom Chambers belongs in Tier 5 of the Suns All Time Pyramid, without hesitation, without apology, and without revision.
Connie Hawkins arrived in Phoenix and immediately gave the Suns a sense of legitimacy, a player who lived above the rim and played the game with a style and confidence that felt ahead of its time. He was electric, graceful, and undeniably great, the kind of presence that changed how a young franchise was perceived the moment he stepped on the floor.
For those unfamiliar with his backstory, Hawkins carried a complicated history into the league. Early in his career, he was swept up in a point-shaving scandal and banned from the NBA, a decision that later came to be viewed as deeply unfair and damaging. By the time he reached Phoenix, he was playing with both talent and something to prove, and the Suns benefited from all of it, a gifted player reclaiming his place and leaving a meaningful imprint on the franchise in the process.
As Dave King wrote in 2017, following the passing of The Hawk:
I know you didn’t watch The Hawk when he played for the Suns back in the late 60s. He joined the expansion Phoenix Suns in 1968 when he was 25 years old after stints with the ABL, Globetrotters and ABA. He won MVP awards in both leagues, and was Dr. J before Dr. J.
Unfortunately, Hawkins had eight of his best years ripped from him for being wrongly implicated in a point shaving scandal in 1961. Despite obvious evidence to the contrary, his name wasn’t cleared by the athletic world until 1969, during which time he was blackballed by colleges and the NBA.
As it turned out, Hawkins never even knew about the point-shaving. He just had the misfortune of knowing some of those who did, and borrowing a couple hundred bucks at one point from the attorney at the center of the scandal so he could pay some school expenses. That $200 was even repaid back to the attorney before the scandal even broke. Hawkins, a freshman in college who wasn’t even ALLOWED to play for the varsity team when the point shaving was supposed to have occurred, still got blackballed by both the NCAA and the NBA even though he was never arrested or indicted.
The Suns were assigned the 25-year old Hawkins after he was finally cleared to play, and after winning a $1.3 million judgment in a lawsuit he filed years before against the NBA for wrongful banning. During his 8-year exile from traditional basketball settings, Hawkins spent a few years traveling with the Harlem Globetrotters and winning MVP awards with both the ABL and ABA.
He spent four and a half seasons in Phoenix, and that first year alone announced exactly who he was. In 81 games, Connie Hawkins averaged 24.6 points, made the All-Star team, earned All-NBA First Team honors, and finished fifth in MVP voting, which tells you how loud his arrival was and how quickly the league took notice. He would go on to make three more All-Star teams as a Sun, four total, and his 20.5 points per game still rank tenth in franchise history.
The way he played jumps off the page even now. He averaged the third-most free throw attempts per game in Suns history at 7.4 and logged the fourth-most minutes per game at 37.8. In the 1969-70 season alone he attempted 741 free throws, the second-most ever in a single Suns’ season. Hawkins played through contact, invited it, and lived at the line because defenders had no clean answers for him.
This is one of those players I never got to see with my own eyes, and that part stings a little. Sitting on my desk is a 1971 Topps Connie Hawkins card, and every time I look at it, I feel like he would have been my guy if I had been around then.
He was built different. He played with force, attitude, and a physical edge that felt personal. The numbers tell the story, but the feeling of his game is what really lingers. At least so I’m told.
Alright, Suns fans, this is where it really starts to get fun, because Jason Kidd was an absolute stud during his time in Phoenix, and I remember that arrival vividly.
He came over in December of 1996 in a trade that sent Sam Cassell, Michael Finley, and A C Green out the door, and that move landed right after one of the most directionless seasons I can remember. The 1995-96 Sans Barkley Suns finished 41-41, their worst record since the late eighties, and the whole thing felt stale, like a team stuck pacing in place. Trading Michael Finley hurt, because he was one of my guys, but what Phoenix got back was a young All-Star point guard who had already shared Rookie of the Year honors with Grant Hill, and that felt like a real reset.
Kidd’s arrival was significant because it signaled that the Suns were ready to compete again, and they did compete, even if the results never quite broke through the ceiling. Over four and a half seasons, Phoenix never made it past the second round, but the nightly product felt serious again, organized, and intentional in a way it had not before.
Statistically, Kidd’s Suns run was loaded. He sits first all-time in franchise history in assists per game at 9.7, sixth in total assists with 3,011, eighth in steals with 655, third in minutes per game at 38.9, and second in steals per game at 2.1, trailing only Ron Lee. He also owns the top spot in triple-doubles in Suns history with 25, nearly double Kevin Johnson’s total of 13.
There is a very real case for him landing in Tier 4. He was a three-time All-Star in Phoenix, a three-time All-NBA selection, and a three-time All-Defensive player while wearing a Suns uniform, and there are not many players in franchise history who stacked that much hardware during their time here. That alone carries weight.
Where this lands for me is more personal and more subjective, and that is unavoidable in a project like this. The teams during his tenure never reached the heights you hope for when a player of that caliber is running the show, and those years between Barkley and Nash often feel defined by Kidd and Marbury filling space rather than delivering sustained success.
On a stylistic level, his limitations always stood out to me. He shot 33.1% from three in Phoenix, averaged 14.4 points per game, and while he elevated everyone around him and rebounded at an impressive 6.4 per night, it often felt like something was missing offensively. And then there is the way it ended, the allegations, the off-court issues that became an ugly and unavoidable chapter in his story, something that will always color how that era is remembered.
For all of that, Jason Kidd still belongs firmly on this pyramid, and for me, tier five is where he lands. Not as a dismissal of his greatness, but as an acknowledgment of the total picture, the brilliance, the gaps, and the complicated legacy he left behind in Phoenix.
The pyramid is starting to take shape. What do you agree with? Where did I get it wrong?