Dirk Nowitzki never liked to talk about himself, and in the nearly three years since he walked away from basketball after 21 seasons, he hasn’t changed much. Still self-deprecating. Still humble. Still Dirk. Running his No. 41 up into the rafters Wednesday won’t elevate the ego of the guy who wore it. A star-studded retirement party and the christening of Nowitzki Way didn’t. Neither will a statue now in the works.
Frankly, the center of attention is embarrassed by all the fuss. He even hopes the Mavs are out of honors, if you want to know the truth.
“You guys know me,” he said, looking out over the media at American Airlines Center.
“That’s a lot for me.”
But the Mavs can’t get enough of Dirk, a notion that becomes clearer the further he recedes from the limelight. They need more than his nebulous role as a “special adviser,” a title even he can’t quite define.
Before the Mavs hoist your jersey, Dirk, any chance you might still play in it?
“I wish,” he said, smiling wistfully.
“I wish.”
Not nearly as much as the rest of us, probably. But if his ankle and age make his return as a player problematic, Dirk doesn’t need to be a ghost, either. Luka Doncic, in particular, could use a dose of Dirk these days.
The more the Mavs stumble along in the post-Dirk era, the more you realize what you took for granted in the two decades he ruled here. He was as reliable as rain at the Nelson. It wasn’t just the 13 seasons in which he averaged at least 21.6 points or the 14 All-Star appearances or the signature one-legged fadeaway, a silhouette of which decorates the AAC floor he once dominated.
But the point of today’s sermon is less about what Dirk did on a basketball court than who he was, and how it might rub off on the Mavs’ latest legend in the making, if Luka would only let it.
For the record, Dirk loves Luka. How could he not? Unlike Dirk, who arrived to the NBA as a gangly 20-year-old with a pretty shot, bad haircut and a serious case of homesickness, Luka came fully formed at 19. Dirk didn’t make his first All-Star team until his fourth season. Luka made first-team All-NBA his second year. NBA royalty was no less impressed. Two years ago, Jerry West, the Logo himself, told me that as much as he respects Dirk, Luka would one day surpass him as the greatest Mav ever.
West also said this when asked if Luka could be included in the conversation for the greatest player of his era:
“I think that’s a reach now. He could certainly be in the top five.
“Ask me that question in two years and we’ll see.”
Two years after West’s assessment, it seems safe to say Luka’s not there, and not even close. Granted, several factors out of his control haven’t helped, notably COVID, injuries, a coaching change and the Mavs’ inability to build a first-rate roster around him. Dirk is sympathetic. When he came to Dallas in ‘98, he could hide behind Steve Nash and Michael Finley in bad times.
“He’s been basically the No. 1 guy since he got here,” Dirk said of Luka. “So there’s a lot of pressure that comes with that.
“He’s a really sweet guy with a huge heart. On the court, he looks so mature the way he plays and how he reads the game. And then you catch him off the floor, you realize this kid is 22 years old. I mean, it’s fantastic and amazing what he’s doing.”
Even so, imagine what Luka could do if Dirk were in his ear, the way Holger Geschwindner was for Dirk?
In 1993, Dirk was a wunderkind on Wurzburg’s 16-and-under team when he caught the attention of Holger, the 49-year-old player-coach of DJK Eggolsheim, a German regional team. A physicist by training, Holger had captained the West German basketball team and had, among other things, managed a pecan farm in Mississippi before taking up residence in a run-down castle in Bavaria, where he headquartered in basketball season. He was so taken by Dirk’s play at 16, he offered his services immediately, according to The Great Nowitzki, a new book by Thomas Pletzinger.
“Do you have someone teaching you the tools of the trade?” Holger asked Dirk. “Someone who’s properly training you?”
Dirk shook his head.
“Think about it,” Holger said. “You need to learn this.”
Next thing you knew, Dirk trained with Holger daily. Like the instructor himself, the methods were unconventional. Holger made Dirk walk on his hands, jump on and off boxes, wear a lead vest while shooting. Over the years to come, as chronicled here, he would also make Dirk play the saxophone, paddle a canoe and read literature to improve his mind and game. On a more practical note, he used his background to calculate that 60 degrees is the optimal angle for the release of a basketball, thus giving birth to the one-legged fadeaway.
Of course, Dirk can’t do for Luka what Holger did for him. But Dirk could help. He’s got no interest in coaching, per se, but he said he’d love to coach an individual. He’d love to help Luka, in particular. He could show him the kind of discipline it took to remain in basketball shape year-round. He could tutor Luka at the free throw line and beyond the arc. Maybe even help him temper that temper.
Dirk could translate a little of Holger’s message, and Luka needs to hear it.
“He has my number,” Dirk said. “We can meet at any time. I’d love to help him reach his goals.”
Pick up the phone, Luka. A legend awaits. Maybe two.
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