Halfway through the third quarter, the score was still tight. The Kings trailed the Clippers 66–69. Crawford's nearly unstoppable isolation plays had worn LaVine out. Everyone could see the young guard was giving it everything on defense, but the experience gap was simply too big, and the Clippers took advantage to pull ahead.
Facing LaVine's dribble, Crawford—rarely—locked in on defense. That earlier dunk had bruised the veteran's pride, and he was determined to get it back on this possession.
But things didn't go his way. LaVine gave a small fake, saw no opening, and kicked the ball out. To a streetball veteran like Crawford, that was the same as waving a white flag—pointless in his book.
Inside, Jokić caught the ball, shuffled his feet along the edge of the paint, and studied Griffin with a slow shake of the head. Griffin, looking at this oddly built big man, felt a twinge of unease. They were both 6'10", but his muscular frame somehow looked smaller next to Jokić's bulky build.
Jokić gave a subtle jab step, acting as if to back down. The moment Griffin leaned in, Jokić spun to face the basket for a shot. Surprised by how quick and fluid the big man was for his size, Griffin jumped to block—but in midair realized the ball wasn't there.
Jokić had slipped by him, spun again, and with the rim wide open, floated up an easy layup. The ball dropped cleanly through.
Griffin's face flushed. First LaVine's dunk over him, now Jokić's footwork making him look foolish. Normally even-tempered, the slam dunk champ felt his temper boil.
On the next possession, still fired up, Griffin demanded the ball inside. But Jokić, using his size and weight, held his ground and shut down the attempt. When the Kings pushed the ball back up and Jokić posted again, Chris Paul finally couldn't sit still on the bench.
"Are the Kings crazy? Still pounding it inside? Don't they want to save anything for the fourth?" Paul muttered. What shocked him more was that this rookie "fat kid" had such soft, precise footwork. With time to develop, he could become a matchup nightmare.
That's the difference in development paths. In the U.S., big men—blessed with elite athletic tools and shaped by a culture of individual heroism—often hold position, wait for the guards to feed them, then muscle their way to the basket. They're strong, relentless, but their finesse game isn't always on display.
In Europe, team basketball runs deep. Bigs are expected to do it all—score, defend, rebound, even run offense from the high post. They develop as all-around players.
So why don't European bigs dominate? Why is the U.S. still the world's top basketball power? The answer is straightforward: elite athleticism and depth of talent. Hard work can close some of the gap, but physical advantages—speed, strength, explosiveness—often tip the scales. And while American bigs may seem "less refined," that's often because they don't need to use every skill in their bag—when power alone wins the matchup, why break out the footwork?
That's where European bigs run into trouble against their American counterparts: the physical demands of the NBA can limit how much of their skill set they can actually show. It's a challenge faced by many international programs—not from a lack of talent or effort, but because even small natural advantages can separate the very good from the truly elite.
Back to the game… Griffin tried to take Jokić again, but quickly realized this European wasn't like the others—his physical tools were right there with his own. Griffin swung the ball back to Crawford on the perimeter. Crawford took it, slipped past Casspi with a flashy behind-the-back, and drove into the paint before lobbing it high.
A shadow loomed over Jokić's head. Griffin came flying in—Bang!—and hammered home the alley-oop, answering the earlier embarrassment.
But before Griffin could enjoy it, Jokić was already posting up again. Again? Griffin's eyes widened—did he think he was an easy mark? As the Clippers collapsed inside, Jokić flicked his wrist, sending the ball on a looping pass to the perimeter.
Gay caught it, dribbled once, and launched over Barnes' fingertips. Splash—three points.
That fat guy can pass too? Griffin was steaming. How do you guard someone like that? With Jokić in the paint, the offense kept shifting shapes—you never knew what was coming next.
Gay's triple tied it at 71–71. Sensing the shift, Rivers called timeout and sent in all his starters.
Malone matched the move, keeping Jokić in alongside Cousins to form a new twin-tower lineup.
"Slow it down! No transition chances! CJ, Ben—whenever we shoot, get back immediately!" Malone barked while sketching on the clipboard.
"Got it, coach. We'll get you and Chen that win streak so you can go ask the boss for a bonus," Cousins rumbled.
"You punk," Malone laughed, giving Cousins a light punch on the arm. "Just don't cause trouble. Now get out there and close it."
Back on the floor, the Kings still hadn't been shooting many threes. Chen Yilun couldn't exactly run out there and say, "I've got a buff—start launching." He could only sit on the bench, anxious, thinking these kids were wasting a perfect chance.
Then his frown eased. The Kings lined up in an outside set—not the usual one-in, four-out, but something odd. DeAndre Jordan stood near the free-throw line, glancing at Jokić out beyond the arc. What the hell? I'm a center—you want me chasing him out here?
CJ saw the opening and fed Jokić. The big man caught it, stepped back, and fired. Perfect arc—nothing but net.
Paul's face tightened. He went to Griffin and murmured, "You take Jokić. You're quicker. Lock him up."
"Got it," Griffin replied.
But within minutes, his confidence was gone.
If he pressed up, Jokić would draw the double and dish. If he backed off, Jokić would score himself. Griffin felt something he hadn't in years—being outsmarted.
The fourth quarter turned into the Jokić Show—drives, jumpers, passes, one after another. Even Paul, with all his experience, was out of answers.
The crowd was wide-eyed, reminded of Dallas's Nowitzki at his peak—utterly unguardable.
Of course, Jokić still had a long way to go before reaching Nowitzki's level. Even his prized footwork wasn't quite there. But this was his rookie season—and only his third NBA game. The potential was obvious.
Far away, someone was grinding his teeth.
Nuggets GM Connelly smacked his forehead watching Jokić tear it up. Both LaVine and Jokić had shown elite talent and instant impact tonight—and both could have been his.
The Kings had acquired the picks for LaVine (11th overall) and Jokić (33rd) from him. Looking back, Chen Yilun had turned a single first-round pick, Thornton, and a soon-to-retire Evans into two first-rounders, a second-rounder, and Mozgov.
Highway robbery.
To make it worse, Connelly's own pick, Vonleh, was underwhelming—worse than Randle, worse than Nurkic. He looked like the biggest sucker in the league.
Back in the arena, the Clippers were breaking under the Kings' relentless system. Lob City without its rhythm, stuck on defense, was doomed.
With two minutes left, the Kings led 102–91. Statistically the Clippers still had a chance, but the pace was all Sacramento's. A brief push, then the white flag.
Paul stood with hands on hips, watching the Kings' energetic young core. A wave of helplessness hit him. Am I really getting old? These kids just keep coming.
The Kings closed it out 113–108. Cousins posted a monster 30-point, 22-rebound double-double, while Jokić came off the bench with 22 points, 9 rebounds, and 13 assists—nearly a triple-double.
The league was stunned. A team that had been lifeless last season had just taken down three playoff teams in a row. And no one had realized they'd already rebuilt. Keeping the Cousins–Gay duo while getting explosive production from three rookies shocked everyone.
Was this still the "rookie graveyard" we thought we knew?
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