Court of Gold: A Review of the 2024 Olympics Docuseries
I recently found out that I’m a terrible person. Or at least, a terrible teammate.
You see, last week, I competed in the Interscholastic Association of Southeast Asian Schools (IASAS) badminton championships. It was a team championship; a competition where you play for your teammates, not just yourself.
But I can’t say that I played for my team. I mean, yes, I cheered for them, coached them during games, and supported them. Yet when my teammate got a match point against an opponent I’d lost to the day before, I was silently hoping he wouldn’t get it. And when another teammate won his final match to end with a better record than me, I wasn’t happy for him. I was envious.
Reflecting on the tournament afterwards, I felt like I failed to live up to the responsibilities of a team athlete—the “Eagle Way” as my school’s athletic director likes to call it. I’d seen Steph Curry, in his interview after winning the NBA Most Valuable Player award, say that the “award didn’t matter to [him]...that the team is bigger than individual success.” And Shi Yuqi, after going undefeated to lead China to the Badminton Team Championships gold, famously said “I don’t care about my individual score; I’m only happy because the team won.”
I’d always heard my favorite athletes talk about how unselfish they were. How the team came first. I did exactly what these athletes said not to do.
So when I watched Court of Gold, Netflix’s 6-part docuseries on basketball at the 2024 Paris Summer Olympics, I was ready to feel even worse. To see more athletes talk about how bad of a teammate I am.
But surprisingly, Court of Gold didn’t shame me. It saw me.
❝Court of Gold reveals the true messy, complex, and emotional nature of Olympic sport.❞
Court of Gold captures more than the composed player interviews I’d been so accustomed to. The show pulls back the curtain on Olympic basketball, recording locker room talks, hidden conversations on the bench, and one-to-one meetings between coaches and players. In doing so, the show reveals that even at the highest levels of sport, my struggles with envy, pride, and resentment weren’t exclusive to the weak-minded or self-absorbed. They’re endemic to competition itself.
We see Kevin Durant telling USA’s assistant coach how he doesn’t deserve to be on the bench, Anthony Edwards checking player stats to see if he dethroned Lebron James, and Steph Curry wondering why in the world he was subbed out for a twenty-year old.
The willingness to embrace this emotional vulnerability is what distinguishes Court of Gold from Netflix’s expanding catalog of sports docuseries, a roster that includes the tennis docuseries Break Point, the cycling docuseries Tour de France: Unchained, and Formula 1’s Drive to Survive. Unlike Drive to Survive, which manufactures rivalries through aggressive editing and overdramaticizing the racing world, Court of Gold doesn’t fabricate anything. Instead, through uncovering parts of Olympic basketball never seen before, Court of Gold reveals the true messy, complex, and emotional nature of Olympic sport.
The first episode of the show frames the history of Olympic basketball. We learn how the dominance of the USA “dream team” at the 1992 Barcelona Olympics inspired a “global basketball revolution”—as the show likes to call it. We see clips of seven-year-old Nicolas Batum, the current captain of the French basketball team, watching the dream team—proclaming that he will “beat the USA” one day. The USA were hailed as the kings on the throne. The rest of the world envied their position. And all they wanted was a chance to seize the crown.
The USA “Dream Team” dominated the 1992 Barcelona Olympics—averaging a winning margin of 44 points.
Court of Gold shows viewers how the 1992 Barcelona Olympics lit a spark that fueled competition at the Paris Olympics almost thirty years later. At the French and Serbian training camps before the Paris Olympics, the show captures the teams cheering “we’ll beat the USA”—almost sounding like the singular win would mean more than a medal. Court of Gold shows how the Basketball Olympics wasn’t just about competing for a medal. It was about challenging the untouchable supremacy of the USA, and proving that the rest of the world had caught up.
Gaining these insights from a regular post-game conference would be unthinkable. After all, an interview of French player Wembenyama saying his team’s goal is to “beat the United States” just doesn’t hold the same gravitas as the image of thirty French teammates chanting “beat USA…beat USA”. The show managed to craft this compelling narrative as the undercurrent for the entire competition. For Olympic Basketball fans, every game becomes more exciting than just a matchup—it becomes part of a larger story about pressure, national pride, and dreams.
But I would say that Court of Gold’s ability to craft narratives about teams’ motivations and goals is most interesting to athletes—like me. My coaches always told me to treat each game the same way: to not care about the opponent, the tournament, or the prizes. I, however, could never do it. I would feel a confidence and superiority when paired with someone I’d beaten before, and a timidness and doubt when paired with someone I’d previously lost to.
So it was refreshing to find out that top athletes weren’t perfect. That they, indeed, get buzzed when playing a rival, scared when playing a higher-ranked team, and nervous when playing a high-stakes match. I was relieved—maybe I did have the mindset of an athlete.
Court of Gold teaches us the truth behind sport—that you can forever chase a goal you may never attain.
Perhaps what was most shocking to me, however, wasn’t Court Of Gold’s portrayal of the dynamic between teams—but the dynamic within one. Court of Gold makes the effort to compartmentalize the Olympic basketball athletes into three categories: the young talents, the players in their prime, and the old legends. 23 year old Anthony Edwards is a talent playing in his first Olympics, 27 year old Jason Tatum is an established all-star player, and Lebron James is a 40 year old legend whose career is coming to a close.
Court of Gold shows how each player, despite playing on the same team, is dealing with their own private battle. Anthony Edwards tells us that he grew up ideolizing the legends: Lebron James, Kevin Durant, and Steph Curry. In Paris, we find out he wants to prove that he is one of the greats himself—someone whose name deserves to be etched in the hall of fame. We see scenes of Edwards, after a win, asking his assistant coach how his stats compared to Lebron’s—hoping he got close. Court of Gold beautifully portrays the pressures tugging players like Anthony Edwards: they want to get their team the gold medal, but also prove that they, individually, are gold medal players.
For Durant, on the other hand, his chances of playing another Olympics are fleeting. We see Durant, usually unshaken, break down while discussing what basketball means to him. His tears, as much as they are about love for the game, are about the inevitability. That much like the reflection of his tears, he, inevitably, will be the one watching, yearning to be on that court, envying those who still get to play. Court of Gold captures that truth better than any other sports documentary. It shows that every athlete, no matter how dominant, eventually faces the heartbreak of letting go.
Kevin Durant uncharacteristically breaks down in his interview in Court of Gold
My age of 18 isn’t quite retiring age yet, but I did sympathize with Durant. As a senior in high school, this past IASAS championship was my last. It was the last chance I had to get my school a medal—and my final opportunity to show my rivals and friends how far I’ve come. Court of Gold’s portrayal of Durant was reassuring—it taught me that taking pride in my individual results was okay.
So, yes, Court Of Gold not only makes the Olympics more exciting, but also helps us see that top-level athletes aren’t all the flawless teammates we believe them to be. After finishing the docuseries, however, what stuck with me most had nothing to do with basketball.
2023 FIBA Basketball World Cup The United States suffered a shocking performance—finishing in 4th place. USA entered a roster full of NBA G-League and rookie players, not even close to their top team. Many attributed the USA’s loss to their cockiness in not entering the best team in the tournament.
In the first few episodes of Court of Gold, the producers capture the excitement at the possibility of the world dethroning the USA. They showed team USA losing the 2023 FIBA Basketball World Cup—hinting that another loss is on the table. They spotlighted the rise of international stars like Luka Dončić and Victor Wembenyama—highlighting how the best players in the world are no longer only in Team USA. The show’s message is clear: with drive and hard work, no team is untouchable.
And as viewers, that’s encouraging—we want to believe we can accomplish what we set our minds to. It’s encouraging for the Olympics as well. After all, the Olympics, as an institution, thrives on this dynamic, on the idea that with enough effort, an upset is possible.
But eventually, when Steph Curry drained the clutch three in the last minute of the gold medal game, Court of Gold reminds us that challenges are often insurmountable. Batum, who had spent the entire tournament psyching himself to believe, grins in bitter-sweet acceptance. The game was closer than expected, but envying another team alone didn’t bridge the gap. The show teaches us that some players, some teams, are simply better. The world chases Team USA, but Court of Gold shows that for now, at least, they can only watch in awe.
Court of Gold teaches us the truth behind sport—that you can forever chase a goal you may never attain. Lee Chong Wei lost four straight Olympic Badminton finals to the same opponent. Charles Barkley topped the NBA in stats, but never won a championship ring. Cristiano Ronaldo never won the Soccer World Cup despite being in most’s top 5 greatest players of all time lists.
For these players, the failures weren’t a matter of hard work, motivation, or humility. Court of Gold teaches us that sport is just brutal. That there’s always uncertainty about who wins and who loses.
But maybe that’s just the essence of sport—the uncertainty. The idea that no matter how hard you train, no outcome is guaranteed. That sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes, no matter how much you want something, you fall short. Court of Gold doesn’t hide from this truth. It leans into it.
In the end, Court of Gold reminds us why we love sport in the first place—not because it’s fair, or because it always rewards the right people, but because it’s real. And for all its unpredictability, its drama, its cruelty, and its glory—we can only stand back and respect it.