Everyone remembers the car. 2011 NBA All-Star Weekend. A choir singing "I Believe I Can Fly." Blake Griffin jumping over the hood of a Kia Optima to cement himself as the league’s premier human highlight reel. It was a moment of peak celebrity, the kind that defines a career.
But if you look closely at the footage or dig into the box scores from the years leading up to that, you’ll see another Griffin.
Taylor Griffin.
He’s the older brother. The one who usually gets relegated to a footnote in Blake’s Wikipedia entry. People mostly think of him as "the guy who also played at Oklahoma," or worse, the "lesser Griffin." Honestly, that’s kind of a raw deal. While Blake was the supernova, Taylor was the foundation.
You can't really understand Blake’s path to becoming a six-time All-Star without looking at the 2009 NBA Draft—a bizarre, historic night where two brothers from the same school were selected just a few hours apart. Blake went #1 overall to the Clippers. Taylor went #48 to the Phoenix Suns.
The Driveway Battles That Built an All-Star
Growing up in Oklahoma City, the Griffin household was basically a basketball laboratory. Their dad, Tommy Griffin, played at Northwestern Oklahoma State and coached the boys at Oklahoma Christian School. But the real education happened in the driveway.
Taylor is three years older.
For a long time, that three-year gap was an eternity. Taylor was 6’8” and 230 pounds of solid muscle while Blake was still figuring out how to coordinate his limbs. Taylor didn't take it easy on him. He didn’t "let" him win. Those early games weren't about brotherhood; they were about survival.
"Being older, bigger, and stronger, I was always on the winning side," Taylor once admitted in an interview with Sooner Sports. He was the star first. He led their high school to back-to-back state titles while Blake was just the "little brother" trying to keep up.
That dynamic is exactly why Blake became so physical. He had to be. If he wanted to get a shot off against Taylor, he couldn't just rely on a jumper. He had to learn how to absorb contact, how to use his leverage, and how to play with a chip on his shoulder. Basically, Taylor provided the blueprint for the "Lob City" era before anyone knew what that was.
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The Oklahoma Reunion and the 2009 Elite Eight
When it came time for college, Taylor went to OU first. He was a solid, dependable forward. When Blake joined him two years later, things got weird for the rest of the Big 12.
It wasn't just that they were brothers; it was that they had a psychic connection on the floor. During the 2008-09 season, they were a nightmare. Blake was putting up 20-20 games like they were nothing, but Taylor was the glue. He was the guy diving for loose balls, defending the opponent’s best big man, and hitting the occasional corner three.
They led the Sooners to the Elite Eight in 2009.
In that senior year, Taylor averaged about 9.6 points and 5.8 rebounds. Respectable numbers, sure, but his value was in the intangibles. He was the one who told Blake to stay in school for a second year to develop his body. He was the one who kept the ego in check. Without Taylor at Oklahoma, there's a real chance Blake doesn't stay that second year, doesn't become the National Player of the Year, and doesn't go #1 overall.
Life After the Suns: The Pro Career Nobody Talks About
Taylor's NBA career was short. He played eight games for the Phoenix Suns in the 2009-10 season. Totaling 32 minutes.
It's easy to look at that and call it a "bust," but that ignores how incredibly hard it is to even get drafted. He was the 48th pick. He fought through the G-League (then the D-League) with the Iowa Energy and the Santa Cruz Warriors.
If you want to talk about grit, look at Taylor’s time with Santa Cruz.
He didn't quit after the Suns waived him. He went to Belgium to play for Belgacom Liège. He came back, suffered a season-ending injury in 2014, and still fought back to win a D-League Championship with the Santa Cruz Warriors in 2015. Most guys with a rich brother and a degree would have just hung it up. Taylor wanted to earn his own ring, and he did.
What Really Happened with the "Brother" Narrative?
There's a common misconception that Taylor only got looks because of Blake. That’s just not true. Taylor was a three-star recruit on his own merit. He was the #34 power forward in the country coming out of high school. He earned his way onto that Phoenix Suns roster because he was a high-IQ defender who understood spacing.
He eventually finished his career in Italy, playing for Pallacanestro Trapani in 2016.
Since retiring, he’s stayed close to the game, but he’s also stepped out of the spotlight. You’ll see him in the stands at Blake’s games, or occasionally on a podcast or a talk show like The Jennifer Hudson Show, where the brothers recently reminisced about their journey. There’s no bitterness there.
Why the Griffin Brotherhood Still Matters
In a world where sports families often turn toxic or competitive in a bad way, the Griffins are an anomaly. They were home-schooled together. They played for their dad together. They went to the same college. They were drafted on the same day.
The "Other" Griffin didn't fail. He provided the friction that polished a diamond.
If you're a parent or a coach, the Taylor Griffin story is actually more relatable than Blake’s. Not everyone is born with a 40-inch vertical and the ability to dunk over a mid-sized sedan. But everyone can control their effort, their role as a teammate, and their willingness to push the person next to them to be better.
Actionable Insights for Following Professional Journeys:
- Look beyond the box score: A player’s value often lies in the development of those around them. Taylor’s impact on Blake’s toughness is undeniable.
- Respect the G-League grind: Making the NBA for 32 minutes is a feat 99% of basketball players will never achieve.
- Brotherhood over business: The fact that the Griffin brothers remain best friends after a decade of "who’s better" comparisons is the real win.
The next time you see a highlight of Blake Griffin posterizing someone, remember the guy who spent a decade fouling him in an Oklahoma driveway to make sure he was ready for it.