Vučević?
Don’t Cut the Fins!
9: Chapter 9: Who?
Vučević?
Don’t Cut the Fins!
Three days later.
Dallas, Texas.
American Airlines Center.
The home of the Dallas Mavericks had temporarily stripped away its blue-and-white NBA paint and laid down fresh March Madness flooring.
In the courtside VIP seats, two tall figures were already pointing at the players warming up.
“Dirk, I swear on everything, you will not regret coming today.” The old fox Jason Kidd elbowed the German Tank beside him.
Dirk Nowitzki ran a hand through his signature blond hair and sighed with pure reluctance.
“Jason, I was supposed to be home enjoying one of the few days off I actually get.
Instead you dragged me out of bed at the crack of dawn to watch a bunch of college kids play in the mud.” “Trust my eye, Dirk.
This is not mud.” Kidd had been the one who insisted on the trip.
Late the previous night he had stumbled across the full replay of Rex’s thirty-three-point dismantling of Kansas.
One viewing was all it took for the legendary point guard—who had seen every kind of talent imaginable—to become completely captivated.
In more than a decade in the league he had never seen a college big this ridiculous.
So he had called Nowitzki in the middle of the night and forcibly hauled the German to the arena.
A few minutes later Rex appeared on the floor for warm-ups.
The moment the 7’1″ frame started moving, Nowitzki went completely silent.
“Forget everything else.
Show me the film.
Now.” Kidd grinned and pulled out a brand-new 2010 iPhone 4, scrolling to a saved clip.
“Watch this.
Second half against Kansas.
I only made it three minutes before my knees started aching in sympathy.” “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me…” After only sixty seconds Nowitzki couldn’t hold back the curse.
“I thought once Shaquille O’Neal got old my ribs and my paint could finally enjoy a quiet second half of my career.
Now you’re telling me the League is about to get another Shark-level super center?
And this one runs and jumps like a damn guard?!” Kidd watched his friend’s face collapse and nearly fell out of the seat laughing.
“Hahaha!
That’s why I said you had to come!
This kid is going to be the most insane dark horse in the entire draft.” … Reporters spotted the two Mavericks stars almost immediately.
“Dirk!
Jason!
Never expected to see you two here.” Cameras and microphones shoved straight into their faces.
“Tonight’s American Airlines Center is full of future NBA talent.
USC’s Nikola Vučević, Fresno’s Paul George, and the center who’s been blowing up the last few days—Rex.
In your opinion, who has the highest ceiling to become a true NBA superstar?” Kidd and Nowitzki exchanged a glance and answered in perfect unison, zero hesitation: “Rex.” Flashbulbs exploded.
Nowitzki took the microphone, expression serious.
“The other two are solid.
But in my eyes they’re still ordinary.
Rex’s violence reminds me of the young Shaq.
I’m looking forward to whatever he puts on film tonight.
He already has my full attention.” “Dirk’s right.
I came specifically to watch him,” Kidd added.
“Paul George has great tools and a mature game.
Vučević’s European post footwork, passing, and feel are basically perfect at the college level.
But they’re both conventional talents.
Rex is different.
His ceiling is in another stratosphere.” Two living legends had just publicly stamped the kid.
The arena buzzed instantly.
… Meanwhile, in the USC pre-game interview area, Nikola Vučević was already locked in and confident under the lights.
When a reporter brought up Nowitzki’s praise for Rex, Vučević’s answer was blunt.
“Skill.” Two words, dropped like a gavel.
“I’ve watched every second of his available film.
I know his strengths and his weaknesses.
Basketball is a game of technique, IQ, and spatial awareness.
His physical tools are explosive, but the way he plays looks like an old-school blacksmith swinging a hammer.
I’ve seen plenty of pure physical talents like him.
Without exception they get lost once the intensity rises.
Tonight I’m going to use pure European fundamentals to show him what high-level basketball actually looks like.” … Those words, of course, reached Rex within minutes.
A reporter immediately shoved a mic in his face, eyes gleaming.
“Rex, Vučević just publicly declared he will use perfect European post technique to beat you head-to-head.
Any response?” Every camera locked on.
The entire press corps waited for the expected arrogant clap-back.
Instead Rex blinked his big innocent eyes and looked genuinely confused.
“Who?” “Don’t-cut-the-fins?” “Never heard of him.” He scratched his head.
“Is that some new environmental slogan?
Don’t cut the fins… so I’m supposed to protect sharks while I play?
No more shark-fin soup?” The entire media scrum froze.
Three full seconds of collective brain lag.
Holy shit.
Round of 32 about to tip off.
The opposing star just called him out with maximum confidence for a technical beatdown.
And the kid didn’t even know the man’s name.
What the actual fuck…