MOCK WEMBANYAMA AT YOUR OWN RISK — THE WORLD IS TAKING OVER THE NBA
It seems strange to disparage the astonishing French phenom and focus on desperate trades — Chris Paul? — instead of recognizing the new truth: The NBA elite is global, and Wemby is eyeing U.S. blood
With hype comes heckling. Already, the slights of American xenophobia are aimed at the otherworldly, transformative, 7-foot-5 package of basketball wonderment known as Victor Wembanyama. You know: His legs are so skinny, they could be served as asparagus. His hands are so humongous, they could choke Arnold Schwarzenegger before he makes another self-biopic. His arms are so gangly, he could swim with the octopuses at the aquarium.
When he began to hop a subway turnstile in midtown Manhattan, part of his Wemby Over America tour before Thursday night’s NBA draft, Vegas laid +650 odds that he would faceplant. When he had to duck his head to leave a station built for 6-footers, the odds of a concussion went higher. I’m kidding, sort of.
“Watch your head!” one of New York’s finest shouted at him.
“I’m used to it,” said Wembanyama, who happens to ride the Metro in his native Paris, for the closeted and uninitiated.
And Stephen A. Smith, the nervous protector of U.S. superstars who’ve been displaced by a global set that has won the league’s last five MVP trophies, went on his ESPN program and said, “Let me tell you one of the things I am very, very happy about. I’m incredibly happy about the fact that after tomorrow night, I no longer get to hear about Victor Wembanyama.” Never mind that Smith’s own show producers are responsible, in part, for the overkill coverage, or that Smith once derided Shohei Ohtani for using a Japanese translator in interviews. And never mind that the world beyond our borders is starting to take over a sport that was invented by a man of Scottish descent, Dr. James Naismith, who happened to be born and raised in Canada.
But because we are Americans and we can’t believe anyone ever could be as revolutionary as LeBron, Michael, Kobe, Shaq, Steph and all our native sons — the last two MVPs from our shores were, cough, James Harden and Russell Westbrook — the time has come, nonetheless, to gawk and gape and tease and taunt. Welcome to our humble republic, Victor. Welcome to the land of the free (speech) and the home of the brave (when hiding online). Welcome to a place that prefers to laud the Golden State Warriors — damn, are they old and slow — for acquiring 38-year-old Chris Paul than marvel at a phenomenal foreigner half his age.
I’m not dismissing that the hype is a bit much. Is it humanly possible to validate such a massive lead-in to what might be a slightly-less-than-sublime career, merely excellent sprinkled with several All-Star appearances? Won’t someone so tall be vulnerable to nagging injuries, if not serious setbacks? Perhaps he wins one championship, not multiple titles. Does that mean Wembanyama has failed? Or does it mean the NBA/ESPN/TNT machine has flubbed in overselling him? That said, anyone with an eye for disruption — and a knack for projecting it into the future — realizes what we’re watching here: another Euromonster, probably the best of all, entering the dawn of history.
We all should say thanks, in the face of this marketing barrage, that he is extraordinarily mature for a 19-year-old. And defiantly so. Wembanyama won’t accept any notion that he’s a piece of French toast for stateside consumption. There is a polite haughtiness in Parisians that rejects our arrogance and Smith-like cockiness, especially when recent proof of international dominance is evident in the forms of Nikola Jokic, Giannis Antetokounmpo, Luka Doncic and Joel Embiid, among others. When he was asked on “Good Morning America” this week if he needed to “bulk up,” he laughed.
“Why? What for? You should tell others to skinny up,” Wemby said.
This is not the typical teenaged stooge, on our streets, who runs stop signs and vapes all day. He’s a different cat. He has a sketchbook and draws with colored pencils. He reads literature. He visits a park, in Rive Gauche, known for culture and murals. When his new coach/mentor in San Antonio, Gregg Popovich, talks to him about fine wine, he shouldn’t be surprised if Wembanyama’s knowledge belies his age. He is so on point about eating the proper foods, his nutritionist is concerned the quality will suffer in our land of saturated fat and sodium. Victor is high on life, not weed.
“I just feel really, really lucky to be able just to live this life,” he said. “I’m just so lucky.”
When was the last time you heard a player use the word “totem” in a media interview? Wembanyama did. “My totem is something bigger than basketball. It’s just accomplishing yourself inside this universe,” he said. “When I need motivation, when I need energy, when I’m tired and I need to fight on the court and it’s hard, I always remember, I’m free in the universe. I do what I can. I know what I want to do and nothing’s going to stop me from doing it.”
Free in the universe? And we thought only Bill Walton talked that way.
In that vein, he isn’t the least bit overwhelmed, or even fazed, by the NBA challenge that awaits him. Quickly, he went on record and said, “I’m trying to win a ring ASAP.” He expects to be Rookie of the Year with the Spurs, in a Popovich culture that will focus more on development than statistics. He knows what LeBron James called him: “an alien.” He knows what Steph Curry said about him, that he gives off “cheat-code-type vibes.” He knows the drum kept banging when Antetokounmpo said, “I think he’s going to be one of the best to play this game.” He is appreciative. He also won’t say they’re wrong.
“I don’t let all this stuff get into my head. I’ve got such high expectations for myself that I’m immune to all this stuff. I really don’t care. I’m trying to be the best,” Wembanyama said. “Being the best, it’s not only on the court. There’s whole dimensions in the job of basketball player, an NBA player. I want to be the best also at the media, the press conference, all this stuff. I don’t like to do things halfway.”
Nor did he hesitate when asked to name the player he most wants to compete against. “I say KD,” he said of Kevin Durant, among those to whom he is favorably compared.
Walking on stage at Barclays Center, where he was greeted with his first of many thankful hugs by commissioner Adam Silver, was an experience he has envisioned since he was 12. That’s when he became a student of the game, studying YouTube clips of Durant and Dirk Nowitzki. He wanted to be the first player chosen, on principle. “It’s a question of pride. I’ve always hated to have someone over me,” he said. “I can’t accept not to be number one.” He wore all green, the color of money, neck to toe. When the announcement came, he sat down with his family and sobbed, letting his tears flow.
“It’s just accomplishing something I’ve been dreaming of my whole life,” he said on the telecast. “When I heard that sentence from Adam Silver, I’ve been dreaming of it so much. I’ve got to cry.”
His long-awaited arrival supersedes the usual maneuvers surrounding draft week. Bradley Beal joins Durant and Devin Booker in Phoenix, where the Suns still have to play with one ball, assuming impulsive owner Mat Ishbia doesn’t try to steal it at his courtside seat. Draymond Green survived his training-camp punch of Jordan Poole and turned it into a Paul-for-Poole deal that will mean nothing if the Point God is a Point Gimp. Poole joins the Washington Wizards, who’ve become partners in sportswashing with Qatar, which bought a five percent stake in the team’s parent company — and means Saudi Arabia isn’t far behind. The Boston Celtics decided they needed more post-up offense, in the person of the forgotten Kristaps Porzingis, than they needed heart-and-soul leader Marcus Smart, who heads to Memphis to instill cultural toughness and try to be a cautionary voice in Ja Morant’s head. Zion Williamson remains in New Orleans, for now, and Damian Lillard likely will retire in Portland without sniffing the Finals. All were sideshows in the main act that is Wembymania.
The transition to megastardom will take time. We can talk forever about his 8-foot wingspan, about his ability to protect the rim and 3-point line in a quick swoop, about his shotmaking and passing and ballhandling, about the threes he shoots with a one-leg hop, about the possibility he can combine all the skills as a hybrid that the game’s greats have showcased in specialized compartments. Do not make the mistake of attending his first game at Madison Square Garden and thinking he’ll go for 40 points, 20 rebounds and 12 assists. Don’t expect him to face Jokic and the champion Denver Nuggets — what a fine idea for Opening Night — and come away with anything but a lesson and a loss.
But as observed this week in New York, where he landed in Newark and shouldn’t have been stunned to see swarms of autograph-seekers, he will not buckle to whatever America throws at him. In fact, looking ahead to a 2024 Olympics tournament hosted by his hometown, he says, “My goal is to beat Team USA in the final.” All you need to know about Victor Wembanyama is what he said when looking out at dozens of reporters, amid lights and TV cameras, in his opening remarks of his first official NBA press conference.
“What’s up, everyone?” he said, simply, unassumingly.
What’s up is him, of course, at 7-4 or 7-5 or whatever he’ll be in two years. Would you believe 8-feet tall? It will provide additional mocking fodder for his critics, making it all the more fun when teammates throw him simple lobs and, effortlessly, he lifts off to slam the ball through the basket — an unstoppable attack of weaponry. A piece of advice, then, to the United States of America.
Shut up and enjoy the unprecedented.
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Jay Mariotti, called “without question the most impacting Chicago sportswriter of the past quarter-century,’’ writes general sports columns for Substack while appearing on some of the 1,678,498 podcasts and shows in production today. He is an accomplished columnist, TV panelist and talk/podcast host. Living in Los Angeles, he gravitated by osmosis to film projects.