Luka Doncic saved my life, but Nico Harrison ruined it

This is a follow-up to my 2020 essay on addiction, grief, brotherhood and the redemptive power of Luka Doncic‘s basketball brilliance.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. 

Were Luka Doncic ever to leave the Dallas Mavericks, a possibility that induced a festering anxiety in every Mavericks fan since the day he was drafted, it was supposed to be his decision. A decision he reached after enduring several years of poor team-building and playoff disappointments, the consequence of asset mismanagement and a somewhat famously dysfunctional front office, ill-equipped to grapple with the responsibility of building a team that gave the best player in the world his best chance to win a championship. 

Were Luka to leave, that was the path. When he spent years surrounded by below-replacement level players logging heavy minutes, that was the path. When they refused to sign his best friend and mentor, Goran Dragic, that was the path. When they let his close friend and confidant, Jamal Mohsley, leave for the Magic without the courtesy of consideration for the head coach position, that was the path. When they cashed every asset in his early career for a disinterested, disengaged Kristaps Porzingis, that was the path. When they decided Jalen Brunson, face of the Knicks and current all-star, wasn’t worth the money, that to extend him would limit their trade options, that was the path. 

Luka’s first few years in Dallas felt eerily close to LeBron James’ first stint in Cleveland. That iteration of the Mavericks’ and their front office were presented with a similar conundrum. Like LeBron, Luka was so good, so early that they had no choice, or felt they had no choice, but to accelerate the timeline. He was instantly a win-now player. This meant that they couldn’t keep bottoming out for the next few years to flank Luka with the kind of young talent that would’ve best fit his timeline. 

When Porzingis didn’t pan out, and Brunson walked for nothing, the writing was on the wall. Luka wasn’t Dirk, and his all-world talent and the expanded labor consciousness of the modern NBA meant that the patience Dirk afforded Cuban could be neither offered nor expected from Luka. 

For most of Luka’s first few years in the league, every Mavs fan had reserved a portion of their heart to be guarded should Luka choose to exercise his freewill and head out for brighter lights and greener pastures. 

But he didn’t. 

He signed an extension. Then he made Matt Ishiba write an apology letter to Phoenix fans. He single-handedly changed the trajectories of no fewer than three separate franchises (Suns, Clippers, and Timberwolves), all of whom made drastic changes to their rosters after meeting him in the playoffs. 

He was a world-destroyer. The heavy hand of fate. A superstar killing machine, fearless and cocky and so intent on winning that he played until blood seeped from his knees. And he was ours. 

Now, unfathomably and against his will, he will perform his nightly miracles for a franchise that has enough of those to last until the Sun swallows the Earth. It is not hyperbolic to suggest that Luka one day donning the purple and gold was a worst-case scenario for Mavs fans. The fact that this outcome was not even his decision adds a layer of heartbreaking irony so dissonant it’s impossible to process. 

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I wrote about my personal connection to Luka in an essay published by FanSided in 2020, detailing how his emergence with the Mavericks and the life-affirming joy that defined his playstyle helped me begin to process the death of my brother and navigate a world that felt overwhelming and unfamiliar after getting clean from my own drug addiction. I didn’t write the essay with the intent of publishing, and certainly never entertained the idea that it would find an audience or resonate with anyone outside of whatever select friends and family with whom it was shared. I wrote it because I felt compelled to explain why the love I felt toward Luka transcended that of a normal fan–player relationship. Not to anyone else, just to myself. It was something beyond sports love, it was a gratitude and affection that sprouted from the deepest essence of what it means to be human. 

That essay went what I would call lowercase ‘v’ viral, eventually being retweeted by Mark Cuban himself before making its way to the desk of its very subject, Luka Doncic. 

That day is a blur now. It was far and away the most attention I’ve ever received for a piece of creative work, and I spent 20 years writing songs and making records. That article’s reach eclipsed everything else I’d ever done combined, and I’m proud of it functioning as a tribute to both my late brother and the young man who’d unknowingly helped pull me from the darkness. 

There were lots of social media notifications that day as the essay made its rounds, but I only remember two. 

Luka Doncic has followed you on Twitter. 

Luka Doncic has sent you a direct message. 

I will always remember the feeling in that moment, a truly dizzying combination of excitement and disbelief. His message was short and sweet — he was inviting me to a game. My response was, truthfully, too long and labored. But what I said was true, and remains true to this day. Dallas loves you, Luka, You mean the world to this city. We stand with you forever. Not quite those words, not quite that phrasing, but that was the idea. It brought me peace to know Luka knew what he meant to me, and in a more general way, hopefully, what he meant to the city of Dallas. 

I never followed up on the tickets, partly because, even though I hadn’t set out to, I had accomplished the mission of connecting with him directly to communicate his significance to Mavs fans, and partly because I just didn’t want to impose. It would’ve felt greedy to hit him up later to go see a game. That essay contained my most sacred truths, communicated for the sole purpose of me being able to make sense of my own life. A life I had begun to reclaim with the help of a 20-year-old Slovenian basketball God and the effervescent, sparkling joy he brought to my hometown’s basketball team. To capitalize on it materially felt, at the time, like it might cheapen what that moment was. 

Another surprising effect of that essay’s virality is the volume of stories I received in response. I wasn’t alone in my grief, everyone has lost someone, or will. I wasn’t alone in my addiction struggles, many had fought similar fights, some still fighting now. But those experiences are human, not bound to any sport or athlete. What united me with all those who shared their stories in the aftermath of my article was the other common denominator — Luka was relief. 

Dallas is mourning, the sense of grief is palpable. The wet air hangs heavy and more suffocating than every August of my entire life combined. It would be emotionally dishonest to in any way compare this to a loss of human life — I’m not insane enough to suggest that — but it does evoke that flavor. Something unbelievable, unfathomable, something that should not be — is. It can’t be changed, it doesn’t make sense. The emotional violence is profound. 

My heart is broken, for every Mavericks fan, for Luka and his family, for the 10-12 years of Luka Doncic-led Mavericks Basketball of which we are now deprived, and all the steady comfort that would’ve provided for the fans who will someday have their own lives upended by tragedy. 

My heart also breaks for the players, including the two newest, Anthony Davis and Max Christie. Those two, through no fault of their own, have found themselves in an impossible situation. Even if they deliver the Mavericks an NBA championship, many — if not the majority — of Mavericks fans will respond with a muted solemnity. It will mean nothing to the people who would’ve rather gone 10-72 with Luka than 82-0 without him. 

Nico Harrison claims the fans will come around if they start winning. I’m not so sure. I can only speak to my own feelings which, after the initial explosion of shock, have settled into a kind of quiet devastation, but I don’t know if I’ll ever watch the Mavericks again. Or even the NBA. I say this as someone who has the cowboy hat logo tattooed on my forearm. Someone who’s logged no fewer than 70 games every season for over 20 years. Countless tickets and jerseys bought, endless hours of Mavs-related content consumed. How do you lose a fan like that? 

You betray them. 

There are infinite angles to this story. Dumont, the Adelsons, and their casinos. The fact that Cuban, in one of his final acts as governor after so many missteps during Dirk’s career, hired the man who executed this trade and sold the team to the demons that approved it. Nico Harrison, shoe salesman and pitchman extraordinaire, mortgaging an entire city’s sports future in an ill-advised attempt to buy a championship with players he’s coveted since before he was employed. The mud-slinging leaks about what they really thought of Luka, an abject failure of a face-saving attempt fired off after he was confronted with the seismic backlash from a city betrayed. 

Many now call for Nico to be fired. I do not join this chorus. The time for that was the moment he pitched the trade. Firing him now would be an act of mercy. He’ll simply move on to some other seven-figure job he can fail at without consequence. I hope he stays long enough to confront his failures here, to spend the next ten years being booed so loudly that it rings in his ears for the next thirty. In my angrier moments, I hope he never knows a moment’s peace. 

I don’t begrudge anyone who feels differently. Whether you want him fired, or are now rooting for LA, or strictly loyal to Luka Doncic as a player, or even continue to root for the Mavs — that is your choice and there is no wrong answer. This is an unprecedented moment in sports history. Take the path that offers you the most peace. It’s a blank check no one will blame you for cashing. 

This trade has generated a historic amount of coverage, from better writers with deeper insights and a greater understanding of the front office executive mindset and on-court implications. I’m only taking this opportunity to express my perspective on the human angle. 

It is very hard to imagine this essay having the same reach and impact as the last one I wrote about Luka, and even harder to imagine he sees this one, as I doubt Jeannie Buss will retweet it as Cuban did with the first one. 

Still, I’d like to close by speaking to Luka Doncic directly

Luka,

There is a small comfort in knowing it would be impossible for you to have not seen the reaction this situation has elicited from Mavericks fans, here in Dallas and all over the world, as well as the Slovenian fans who grew to love the team because of you. 

There’s also solace to be found knowing that finally, on the Lakers, the world will appreciate you fully and understand how historically great you are as both a player and a person. The refs and the media will finally be on your side!

Beyond that, hope is limited. We know this can’t be undone. We didn’t want to win a title with anyone else. We wanted to win a title with you. We wanted you to be our champion and overtake Dirk as our franchise’s greatest player. While it’s foolish to be certain about much in life, I know that that’s what would’ve happened. Every Mavs fan grieves the loss of that destiny. 

We watched you bleed on the court, with suction cup bruises all over your body, just to give the team a chance to win a regular season game against whatever Eastern Conference play-in team was in town that night. 

We watched you vanquish the Clippers, put a nickel on the tracks of the OKC hype train, and then banish twenty-seven-time defensive player of the year Rudy Gobert to the netherworld. 

Every single second that you spent with the Mavericks’ jersey on your tired and taxed body, carrying the city on your shoulders, was a privilege to experience. You gave us so much hope. 

I hope you win 10 MVPs in a row. I hope you win a ring for each finger. You are already one of the greatest players to ever pick up a ball. I hope you seize what feels like your inevitable destiny by becoming the greatest to ever do it, period. 

Until then, thank you for everything you did for us. Thank you for the hope, the community outreach, the clutch shots, the shit-talking, the inspiration.

Thank you for the magic.