That NBA It is considered according to the seasons. Measuring legacy in this way is as much existential as it is symbolic. Martin Heidegger argued that time is not something we pass through, and our state of being is not a path, but a pressure. Yes, it's a heavy thing, but the NBA has always operated under the same weight.
The millennial superstars who stabilized the league for two decades are now entering their twilight years: LeBron James (who turned 41 on Tuesday), Stephen CurryKevin Durant, Russell Westbrook, James Harden and Chris Paul. After them comes something truly new. For the first time, the league's next dominant generation is undeniably international. The NBA's Gen Z elite now come from Slovenia, Serbia, Greece, Canada and France.
America's domestic potential continues to produce talent, but the excesses of AAU culture, the monotony of college basketball and the erosion of its fundamentals have dulled its once overwhelming edge. In a garden overgrown with its own growth, the question is which variety will ultimately thrive.
Every millennial star now plays under the pressure of a limb. Heidegger described it as living To closure is a realization that sharpens responsibility rather than diminishes it. It's a sentiment that defines the league's aging icons. For them, responsibility means another race. Collectively, this group has won 10 championships and appeared in 23 finals, but the chances of a final triumph are slim. Curry is trying to extend a dynasty that is slowly falling apart. LeBron is both the Lakers' biggest signing but no longer their centerpiece. Westbrook is chasing relevance on a lottery roster. Harden remains productive but turbulent. Only Durant, who recently joined a growing Houston team, appears poised for another push.
The question of succession is inevitable. Elder statesmen Nikola Jokic (30) and Giannis Antetokounmpo (31) understand the times well enough to know this is an emergency. Shai Gilgeous-Alexander (27) looks capable of cementing something lasting in Oklahoma City, with Luka Doncic (26) and Victor Vembanyama (21) following him. The American presence has not disappeared, but it has declined since the 1990s. Jalen Brunson, Anthony Edwards, Cade Cunningham and Jayson Tatum support the idea of internal continuity, while 19-year-old Cooper Flagg now completely complicates the pecking order.
The NBA has never tried to define its image. From its emergence into the national consciousness, the league's prestige flowed through the black American players who made the game modern and compelling, even despite deep economic divisions. But dominance is being destroyed. The world has caught up.
Generation Z is moving differently. Previous generations were asked to implement systems that rarely worked in their favor. These players emerge as brands in their own right, unencumbered by history. American courage still matters, but it no longer travels alone.
For decades, only Hakeem Olajuwon briefly undermined American dominance, and even that required the resignation of Michael Jordan. Now the balance has shifted. The millennial generation has changed the sport—expanding shooting options, leveling the playing field, arming teams with guns—but even golden eras are coming to an end, and their demise has left a vacuum that no country can easily fill.
There is an uncomfortable symmetry in time. As America's standing on the world stage wanes, so does its basketball hegemony. Players from countries that were once peripheral to the sport are now its centers of gravity.
Can the American reclaim the mantle? Until recently, the answer seemed inconclusive. Then Cooper Flagg arrived. As his shooting stabilizes, his path becomes clearer—and it begins where greatness has always been defined: on defense.
For generations, truly great stars have shared not only the brilliance, but also the responsibility at both ends of the court. Julius Erving, Michael Jordan, Kobe Bryant and LeBron James could dominate the game while protecting his most dangerous opponent. That same two-way versatility defines Flagg. This is what gives his ceiling its historical weight.
Immediately taking on the burden of replacing Doncic-level expectations, Flagg was hesitant at first. But after Dallas moved on from general manager Nico Harrison, a collective exhalation allowed it to get back on its feet. The Mavericks are on the fringes of the game, but Flagg is already ticking the league's most important box: trust.
What makes him viable as the next face of the NBA is his rare combination of responsibility, versatility and control at an age when most players are still learning how to stay on the court. He plays the type of basketball the league prefers to develop – two-way, connective, portable. His defensive impact resembles that of elite players, while his offensive reads reflect those of major creators. He notices inconsistencies early, switches between strength and patience, and resists wasting possessions.
The NBA rewards players it can trust. As the youngest player in the league, Flagg is already playing like an old man.
If the NBA is formed by chance rather than ceremony, then passing the torch is not an event but an obligation. LeBron's generation led the league until their bodies gave out. The world has come forward to declare this. But as Heidegger reminds us, what matters is not the future we imagine, but how we deal with it when it arrives.
The league isn't waiting for Cooper Flagg to become someone else. It is already reacting to who he is.
