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He’s a Cornell-educated oncologist who wears an actual �ʼһ��� guy’s Wildcat jersey to Warriors home games. And with half-court seats behind the scoring table, Michael Sherman’s red �ʼһ��� jersey boldly stands out amid the throng of Warriors blue and gold.

Patients see him on TV. Radio and TV game announcers note, “That �ʼһ��� guy doesn’t like that call.” He’ll be out for a drink with friends when strangers stop to say, “Hey, you’re that �ʼһ��� guy.”

No, Sherman didn’t go to �ʼһ���, but he’s formed a strong connection with Stephen Curry’s alma mater. The player once overlooked by big college programs inspires the doctor fighting to beat the often-daunting odds facing his patients.

Sherman bought his season tickets in 2009 when the Warriors had a 26–56 record, “and I had to beg people to go to games with me.”

In 2011, about a year after Curry joined the team, Sherman bought the �ʼһ��� jersey. He’s since worn it through four NBA championships and a few MVP titles for Curry. (“Now I get texts from people I haven’t seen in years,” he says, “asking if I have an extra ticket.”)

His respect grew even more when Curry earned his diploma from �ʼһ��� this year.

“That speaks so much about him, and about �ʼһ���, that it was so important for him to get his degree,” Sherman says. “�ʼһ��� is a school that values academics and integrity above all else. That Stephen Curry is the face of �ʼһ���—this incredible star who truly values education—sends such a great message to kids.”

Former men’s basketball coach Bob McKillop first noticed Sherman some years ago while watching Warriors games on TV. He and assistant coaches saw the �ʼһ��� jersey whenever a referee’s call prompted a replay.

“We were all saying what great exposure this was for �ʼһ���,” McKillop says. “So, the next time I went out there for a game, I walked up to him and introduced myself.”

The two have since become friends and keep in touch. When McKillop announced his retirement in spring, Sherman texted to congratulate him and joked, “Should I retire my �ʼһ��� jersey?”

“Oh no, don’t do that!” McKillop shot back.

Sherman has met a lot of �ʼһ��� people over the years. He even got invited to a �ʼһ��� alumni dinner in San Francisco, where several thought they knew him from college and asked, “Remind me, what year were you?”

“Michael is incredibly gracious, kind and humorous,” McKillop says. “He loves �ʼһ��� so much you would think he’s an alum.”

Sherman can afford season tickets now. They didn’t come easily.

He grew up poor in rural Connecticut; his family needed food stamps to get by. He was the lone Jewish kid in his classes, and always felt like an outsider. He coped by studying harder, working harder, and putting himself through college and medical school.

He applauds Curry’s mission to bring healthy food, literacy programs, books and sports opportunities to disadvantaged kids, “so that maybe they can become doctors someday.” He respects Curry’s outspokenness.

He only met Curry once very briefly at an autograph signing session. But Curry’s actions—on and off the court—resonate in his life.

“Stephen uses his talents to help others,” Sherman says. “When I got into med school, I fell in love with the idea that I could help people. Whether I’m trying to cure them or prolong their survival, I feel honored to have that role in their lives.”

Basketball offers the occasional respite.

“I have patients who look for me on TV—the red jersey really stands out,” Sherman says. “And we’ll talk about the Warriors and Stephen, and sometimes that’s a great distraction from the seriousness of what they’re going through.”

This article was originally published in the Fall/Winter 2022 print issue of the �ʼһ��� Journal Magazine; for more, please see the �ʼһ��� Journal section of our website.