A Complete Guide to the NBA MVP List by Year Since 1956

Looking back at the NBA's Most Valuable Player award history, I’ve always found it fascinating how the narrative around "value" has shifted over the decades. Since its establishment in the 1956 season, the Maurice Podoloff Trophy has not only honored individual brilliance but also reflected the evolving philosophy of what makes a player truly indispensable to their team. I remember watching old footage of Bill Russell, the very first winner, and thinking how his defensive dominance—something stats of that era barely captured—set a precedent. It wasn’t just about scoring; it was about impacting winning in ways that transcended the box score. That idea, of course, brings me to a recent quote I came across from a coach, Nitura, who said, "Ang pinaka-highlight ko this year is yung panalo namin ngayon kasi talagang teamwork yung nangyari kanina." While he wasn’t talking about the NBA, that sentiment—that the ultimate highlight is a win born from teamwork—perfectly encapsulates the central tension in the MVP conversation. How do we weigh staggering individual statistics against a player’s ability to elevate their team into a cohesive, winning unit?

The early years of the award, from the late 1950s through the 1960s, were dominated by legendary big men who anchored their teams. Bill Russell won it five times, and his rivalry with Wilt Chamberlain, who claimed four MVPs, defined the era. Russell’s Celtics were a dynasty, winning 11 championships in 13 years, and his value was intrinsically linked to that team success. Chamberlain, on the other hand, put up numbers that still seem fictional today, like averaging 50.4 points per game in the 1961-62 season. I’ve always been slightly more partial to Russell’s case, as his leadership and defensive IQ created a system where everyone succeeded. The 1970s introduced more variety, with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar securing a record six MVPs. His skyhook was the most unstoppable shot I’ve ever seen, a weapon of pure efficiency. This era also saw the rise of all-around guards like Oscar Robertson and Bob Cousy, proving that value could come from orchestrating an offense as much as from dominating the paint. The list from this period reads like a who's who of basketball fundamentals, where stats like rebounds and assists were the primary currency for MVP consideration.

Then came the 1980s, a golden age that gave us the iconic rivalry between Magic Johnson and Larry Bird, who traded the MVP trophy three times each. This was when the award started to feel like a celebration of basketball IQ and charisma as much as raw production. Magic’s Showtime Lakers were a spectacle of fast-break artistry, and his value was in his visionary passing. Bird’s Celtics were the epitome of gritty, fundamental excellence. I’ll admit, I’m a Larry Bird guy. There was a cocky brilliance to his game that I found irresistible. He could trash-talk you and then hit a game-winner in your face, all while making it look effortless. Their battles elevated the league’s profile globally and set the stage for Michael Jordan’s arrival. Jordan’s five MVPs in the 1990s, while arguably fewer than he deserved, cemented the idea of the MVP as a global superstar—a player whose individual greatness was so immense it transcended the sport. His 1987-88 season, where he won Defensive Player of the Year and MVP, is still, in my view, the single greatest individual campaign in league history.

The post-Jordan era, from the 2000s onward, has been defined by a statistical revolution and a new wave of versatile talents. This is where the conversation gets really interesting for me. Tim Duncan’s two MVPs represented quiet, systemic dominance, while Steve Nash’s back-to-back wins in 2005 and 2006 highlighted the value of a floor general who could transform an entire offense. I know some purists argued against Nash, pointing to his modest scoring averages, but what his Suns teams did offensively was revolutionary. He made everyone around him better, a living embodiment of that "teamwork" ideal Nitura mentioned. Then came LeBron James, a physical marvel who has claimed four MVPs and could easily have had more. His 2012-13 season with the Miami Heat, where he shot a ridiculous 56.5 percent from the field while leading the league in win shares, was a masterclass in all-around efficiency. The recent years have been a battle between established giants and dynamic guards, with Stephen Curry’s unanimous MVP in 2016 changing the very geometry of the court and Giannis Antetokounmpo’s back-to-back wins emphasizing a return to two-way dominance in the paint.

As I look at the current landscape, the debate is as vibrant as ever. Nikola Jokic winning two MVPs in a row has pushed the boundaries of what we consider a valuable skillset, prioritizing playmaking and offensive efficiency from the center position in a way we’ve never seen before. It makes you wonder what the next evolution will be. Will a defensive stalwart like Rudy Gobert ever get serious consideration again in an offense-driven league? My personal bias leans towards players who, like Jokic, make their teammates exponentially better. It’s that intangible quality that stats are still struggling to fully quantify. The MVP list is more than just a chronology of winners; it’s a living document that tells the story of basketball itself. It shows us how the game has changed, what we’ve chosen to celebrate, and what we might value tomorrow. And at the heart of it all, from Russell’s Celtics to Jokic’s Nuggets, remains that timeless truth echoed in that quote about teamwork: individual glory is most meaningful when it is in service of a collective victory.

By Heather Schnese S’12, content specialist

2025-11-14 09:00