# Dirk ESPN Article



## Tersk (Apr 9, 2004)

*Passive Aggressor*​ _BY CHRIS BROUSSARD _

It is chaos. Kids, adults, loiterers, even employees ¼ and none of them will be denied. They come bearing throwbacks, media guides, T-shirts, caps, photos and ballpoints. Some have been waiting for eight hours, fighting off boredom by clinging to the hope of maybe getting to rub their hero's new buzz cut-and now is their chance. Sons sitting on dads' shoulders and teens standing on the cement bases of light posts find themselves just high enough to look the object of their affection in the eye. One contingent has even learned a spot of German for the occasion, chanting “Let's get fired up!” in the man's native tongue. 

Dave Shore loves it. His program on KESN-FM in Dallas hasn't generated so much excitement since Tony Dorsett was in the house. In his four years as 

the show's host, this is the wildest scene he's witnessed. “He's like the Beatles in Dallas,” Shore says of his guest, Dirk Nowitzki. 

Now that Steve Nash is off to Phoenix, Dirkmania has been ratcheted up a notch or three this season. All the love the town previously split between the inseparable duo now rains down on Dirk alone. His is the undisputed face of this always hot franchise. 
And appropriately so. Nowitzki is a better player than ever, putting up career highs of 26 points and 10 rebounds a game, with best-evers in assists and blocks, too. Many players and refs call him the toughest matchup in the league west of Shaq. A seven-footer with that range and that quickness off the dribble? And Nowitzki is the only big man who doesn't throw purists into a hissy fit when he hangs out by the arc. 

No longer primarily a catch-and-shoot threat, now he takes guys off the dribble more, posts up more, gets to the foul line more, and, with the offense running through him, embraces the playmaker role more. Even his defense has improved. So yeah, the sight of the four-time All-Star causes quite a hubbub at the Malibu SpeedZone on this 

warm March night-and anywhere else in the Dallas Metroplex, for that matter. 

But Nowitzki isn't really feeling it. See, the man likes his peace. He'd rather hang with only a fat novel for company-currently Angels and Demons, by Dan Brown-than feign the rock star in front of hundreds of fans screaming “You're awesome” and “MVP.” (The Beatles analogy isn't 
totally inaccurate, though; Nowitzki likes to kick back with his sax, guitar and piano.) 

But here's the thing: not a soul on the premises can tell that the bashful Nowitzki is uncomfortable. When folks ask him to sign a Mavericks 41 jersey, he does it gladly. When they ask him to stand for pictures with their children in his arms, he poses with charisma. When they say the silly things people say around celebrities, he chuckles and engages them in conversation. When they surround him and draw closer than his most daunting defender, he keeps on grinning and laughing and writing his name. He looks as collected as George Bush on Inauguration Day, or Jack Nicholson at the Oscars. 

The Mavericks know all about Nowitzki, how 

he's overcome his natural instincts and mastered the public appearance. And yet they are raising the bar. Making the fans happy can't be enough anymore; the days of the beautiful box score and second-round-and-out are through. It's time for Dirk, the best player the Mavs have ever had, to do what the greatest of the great players do. He has to find a way to inspire his mates when 
they're down and intimidate them when they wander. He has to pat butts, pump fists and develop a persona that breeds confidence and loyalty. “You can't have a real strong contending team without leadership in the ranks,” says Mavs assistant Del Harris. “For us to be the best we can be, Dirk has to lead.” 

With Shaq out East and TD on the mend, this year's playoffs will provide the perfect opportunity for Nowitzki to rise to the challenge. 

And it is a challenge. 
SARAH MELTON, the Mavs' director of basketball communications, has pried the last hands off Nowitzki's brown-and-gold T-shirt and shoved him into the back of a black stretch. Dirk lets out a sigh of relief as he unfolds himself onto the leather. Fans still bounce like kernels of popcorn as the car pulls away. With soft rock playing on 

the sound system, Nowitzki settles in and begins to discuss his struggle. 

He says that speaking in front of teammates is just not him. It's not that he doesn't have anything to say. At times, he's got plenty, like the night before. The Mavs were being trampled by the Timberwolves, whom they'd beaten easily two days earlier. Looking like lottery material in their home arena, they were down by 13 at halftime. Passes had been fumbled out of bounds, defensive resistance was minimal, execution ragged. If ever a crew needed to be ripped ¼ here was a moment for someone to get up and chew them out, and Nowitzki knew it. 

But in such situations, he usually does nothing, sitting silently in front of his locker as thoughts race like dragsters through his mind. Should I 
yell? Kick a chair? Make eye contact? Praise the good before mentioning the bad? Or should I keep my mouth shut, because, hey, I didn't do jack either? As usual, he chooses the latter. “It's just not my personality,” he explains. 
One of Nowitzki's greatest strengths is also one of his greatest hindrances. An eternal pessimism fuels his tireless work ethic; he thinks he doesn't get to the foul line enough, even though he's fifth in the league in free throw attempts. But it also makes him bite his tongue in the locker room. He feels he has to be perfect on the court before he can mount a soapbox off it. “Hopefully, in a year or two, I'll be more of a complete player,” he says. “And then I'll be more comfortable saying stuff.” Maybe. But there's something else to Nowitzki's reluctance to take charge. It's something he doesn't believe is a factor, but others, including Harris, Vlade Divac and Mavs president Donn Nelson, do: his European upbringing. Although international players have made major headway in debunking the myth of American hoops supremacy, few have stepped forward as the emotional core of NBA teams. The league's three top international players-Nowitzki, Yao and Peja-would much rather lead by example. Critics say that timidity keeps them from graduating to the next level-superstar status. 
On the German national team, Dirk reigns supreme. His familiarity with the language and culture combined with his talent and fame make him a natural and vocal boss. But English, with its strange idioms and slang, can be confusing. And while Nowitzki both surprises and amuses with his smack talk-teammate Michael Finley says he speaks “German and Ebonics”-he knows the effect the wrong word or phrase can have. 
He learned that in his first playoff series against Utah, in 2001. With three days off between Games 1 and 2, the Mavs flew back to Dallas rather than stay in Salt Lake City. Nowitzki told the press they'd gone home because Salt Lake City “was a bad city,” when what he meant to say was the Mavericks were more comfortable in their own beds. Jazz fans didn't let the 22-year-old foreigner off the hook. They booed whenever he touched the ball and made him feel like some sort of international pariah. 
To this day, he worries about offending teammates unintentionally or failing to get his message across altogether. “Sometimes I sit and try to figure out how I'm going to say something,” Nowitzki says, as the limo nears his sprawling home not far 
from the Southern Methodist U. campus. 

Under the best of circumstances, it’s not easy being the franchise kingpin. Nowitzki’s path makes it that much more difficult. He came to the Mavs as a 6'11", 19-year-old phenom who’d never lived outside Germany. Like many international players who turn pro in their teens, he’d always been the youngest on his team, never the big man on any campus. “Dirk didn’t say two words his first year,” says Shawn Bradley, the only Mav to play with Nowitzki his entire career. “He was young and shy, and this was a whole new experience for him.” Divac, a great locker room guy, didn’t grow into the role until after he’d been in the league for a decade, and learned from one of the most inspirational of all players, Magic Johnson. Lesson No. 1: in America, leaders can’t just play; they have to play and speak up. 

Nowitzki has Finley, Darrell Armstrong and coach Avery Johnson telling him the same thing. Armstrong will sidle up and say, “Yo, man, we’re playing terrible. Cuss these guys out. Get in their face.” Armstrong knows he could say it himself, 
but it wouldn’t mean nearly as much as it would coming from the star. Johnson has been on Dirk too. Immediately after the fiery ex-point guard took over the sideline from Don Nelson, he had a sitdown with Nowitzki to discuss what he expected from him as a team leader. 

Some of it is starting to get through. More and more, Nowitzki pulls guys aside for one-on-ones. And nearly everyone associated with the club—beat reporters, players, front office personnel—points to a dressing down of Jason Terry in a nationally televised game at Minnesota on March 13 as evidence of what’s to come. With the Mavs trailing by four and their offense faltering late in the second quarter, Terry hoisted a quick three that nearly bent the rim. At the next timeout, Nowitzki chewed him up. “Jet,” he screamed, using his teammate’s nickname. “What the hell kind of shot was that? Stay focused.” 

Two sentences and fire in the eyes. That’s all it took. Terry hit 18 of his 22 points after halftime and led the Mavs to victory. “That was a good sign,” the chastened guard says of Dirk’s outburst. 
IN FACT, the shy guy is now a bit of a class clown. After the final whistle has blown to end pregame shootarounds, Nowitzki runs to halfcourt, revs up, sprints to the hoop and throws down what he calls a “monster slam.” Landing with a swagger, he lets 
out a grunt or gets in a teammate’s face and yells, “Whatcha gonna do ’bout that?” For some reason, his antics still elicit howls. (And a dis. “It’s not really a monster slam,” Bradley jokes. “More like a Monsters , Inc. , slam.”) 

The 36-year-old Armstrong and Nowitzki have grown into quite the entertaining Odd Couple. Think Abbott and Costello or, more fittingly, 
Dr. Dre and Ed Lover. On the bus, Armstrong likes to croon improvised songs about his teammates, and Nowitzki likes just as much to remind him his singing reeks. Armstrong, who is known as Black College because he attended Fayetteville State, has coined a nickname for his new friend: Third World. 

“I tell him, ‘Come on, Third World, you’ve got to be like Black College and keep digging,’ ” Armstrong says. 

Nowitzki has already become more like Armstrong in one way. In the past, teammates and club officials would often enter the locker room and be met with German-inflected versions of old-school rock, such as Bryan Adams’ “Cuts Like a Knife” or Extreme’s “More than Words.” 

“And you talk about DA!” they would shriek, covering their ears. 

“C’mon, it’s hot,” Nowitzki would reply, without shutting down his groove. 

Nowitzki will play the prankster in public, too. At the SpeedZone, he’s an on-air comic with Shore and his co-host, who happens to be Johnson. Just as Shore is about to run down a list of questions he’s typed up, the big man grabs the cheat sheet and throws it to the ground, much to the crowd’s delight. After a giddy, red-faced Shore regroups, 
he tries to get his guest back, asking Nowitzki about his pregame ritual of running off the court during the opponent’s pregame introductions. 

“Are you superstitious?” Shore wonders. 

“No, I just like going on the court with an empty bladder,” Nowitzki cracks. The fans, jammed in a room half the size of a basketball court, roar. 

The conversation turns to the NCAA Tournament, and Nowitzki can’t help but take a swipe at his coach. As they run down the list of contenders, Nowitzki shouts, “What about Southern?” calling out Johnson’s alma mater. 

“We’re NIT this year,” Johnson concedes. “Not In Tournament.” 

The show is a raging success. After the sign-off, Nowitzki begins his slow slog through the grabby crowd. Johnson smiles. He knows Nowitzki is fighting through his shyness to give them what they want. The coach appreciates the effort on its own merits, but he also sees in it the genesis of a personality that may soon give the Mavericks what they want too. “It’s a struggle for him right now,” Johnson says later. “But he’s going to have to grow out of it, because he’s the face of this franchise. End of story.” 

And, Johnson hopes, the beginning of a wonderful new chapter.


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## soulhunter (Nov 2, 2004)

ESPN said:


> IN FACT, the shy guy is now a bit of a class clown. After the final whistle has blown to end pregame shootarounds, Nowitzki runs to halfcourt, revs up, sprints to the hoop and throws down what he calls a “monster slam.” Landing with a swagger, he lets out a grunt or gets in a teammate’s face and yells, “Whatcha gonna do ’bout that?”


:biggrin:


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## Dre (Jun 20, 2003)

Nice read.


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