014: Dako Appeared Just Like an Ordinary Player Before Lynch (Please Keep Reading!)

Perhaps Serbia will never again witness such a youth team match that draws so much attention. Although it wasn’t Lynch’s first time playing in a large arena, this being FMP’s home court brought him an exhilarating sense of home crowd atmosphere like never before.

The players from both sides gathered near the center circle, and the fans clad in FMP jerseys began to sing. The chant of “Olé, Olé, Olé” echoed throughout the arena, accompanied by rhythmic, synchronized jumping, resembling surging waves. A massive team flag emblazoned with a black panther fluttered in the stands, while five thousand people stomped in unison, creating thunderous drumbeats.

The atmosphere of European basketball was never any less intense than in North America.

Dakota Milicic, with his blonde hair chewing gum, gave a thumbs-up and drew a circle on his neck, as if predicting the fate awaiting Lynch and Theo. Beside him, a grim-faced buzz-cut man rudely pointed at Lynch and Theo.

“Just a little reminder, you little bitches—don’t bark at Dak the Dog. Lucifer’s (Dak’s) wrath is not something you can endure. When the time comes, I won’t be gentle with you either.”

Lynch knew this man; he had noticed him when studying their opponents before the game. Nemanja Jokic, close friend of Dakota Milicic, and older brother to Nikola Jokic.

Fans of the 2020s would remember one thing clearly—whenever Nikola Jokic got into conflicts on the court, his two brothers, who looked like gang bosses from the movie John Wick, would become extremely agitated, shouting wildly from the stands and threatening to settle scores on social media.

Both brothers were notorious for their fiery tempers. Yet they were not mere aimless Eastern European thugs; Nemanja, the second brother, had also been a basketball player.

Before Nikola Jokic rose to fame, Nemanja was the one expected to become a basketball star. He played youth basketball in Serbia and later spent some time playing college basketball in Detroit.

But no one expected his chubby, basketball-uninterested younger brother—who consumed at least two liters of cola daily and loved horses deeply—to become the star instead.

Lynch could understand why Milicic and Nemanja Jokic had become close friends; they were cut from the same cloth.

In his brief months playing basketball in Serbia, Lynch had yet to throw serious trash talk at anyone.

Many European players who moved to the NBA often cited speed, physicality, and trash talk as their biggest challenges adapting to the league.

European basketball culture did not emphasize trash talk as much.

However, Dakota Milicic and Nemanja Jokic, who were soon heading to the United States, had clearly already assimilated into American basketball culture. They mimicked everything American players did—flashy hairstyles, crude trash talk, provocation, toughness, and hostility.

Most of the time, no one responded, allowing Dak and Nemanja to push their limits further.

But tonight, standing before them was another non-traditional European player.

“Nemanja, you remind me of that lame stray dog in the alley behind my family’s restaurant. It always barks loudly to bluff, but runs away with its tail between its legs once you get close because it knows it’s nothing. So shut up, you mutt, and be careful not to let me get near you.”

“You fucking—”

“Enough!” Milicic shouted, ending the quarrel.

“In ten minutes, they’ll all fall silent like lambs slaughtered,” the golden-haired prodigy said confidently.

The referee tossed the ball, and Dakota Milicic effortlessly snatched the first possession from the basketball maestro.

In the opening play, Milicic held the ball at mid-range, faked a shot, then drove strongly. With just one step, he bypassed Luka before his knees could even bend—this towering figure, standing 213 centimeters tall, moved like a cheetah.

After the crossover, Milicic immediately leapt, gliding an astonishing distance for his height.

This easy basket demonstrated to the world why he was considered a top-three NBA draft prospect.

Standing 213 centimeters with a 226-centimeter wingspan, explosive power, elite agility, a robust physique—a blend of Dirk Nowitzki and Kevin Garnett—Dallas Mavericks coach Don Nelson saw these descriptions vividly embodied in Milicic within just one play.

The live broadcast cut to the stands, focusing on Don Nelson.

Scouts alone didn’t capture the full extent of the expectations for Milicic; the presence of an NBA coach added color to the prodigy’s story.

Years later, although Milicic was proven a draft bust, few questioned the Detroit Pistons’ judgment.

His talent was undeniable; Nuggets general manager Kiki Vandeweghe once said, “We thought the Pistons would pick Cameron, and we’d get Milicic.”

In other words, even if the 2003 draft were redone, even if the Pistons passed on him, he wouldn’t have fallen out of the top three.

His talent never lied; it was merely that fate’s gears had slipped half a tooth.

Don Nelson was certain no player in the league possessed greater talent than Dakota Milicic.

That recently popular number 10? Good luck to him.

Milicic scored, but Lynch shot a warning glance at Nemanja Jokic.

Just moments before, Lynch had intended to help defend the paint to stop Dak, but Nemanja’s pull-back had caused him to miss the best opportunity for help defense.

Nemanja smugly said, “I was right by you, and nothing happened.”

The game continued. FMP attacked; Theo and Luka Modric executed a pick-and-roll, leading to an easy jump shot.

The Forsatz team was not a powerhouse, lacking the star-studded rosters of Red Star or the Guerrillas. Their outside shooting posed little threat to Theo; their main strengths were Nemanja and Milicic.

Theo’s basket didn’t create much sensation. Lakers overseas scout Antonio Masellas and most on-site observers were focused on whether Lynch could withstand the test.

“After all this talk, he’s just a worthless little guy scoring against the short guys,” Nemanja nagged directly into Lynch’s ear.

Lynch said nothing, instead studying their offense intently.

He saw Milicic again holding the ball at mid-range, planning to drive past Luka.

Milicic’s combination of size, speed, and ball control made driving past a big man like Luka almost effortless, as if pressing pause on time.

If he wanted, he could easily drop 40 points on Luka with this move alone.

But Lynch wasn’t going to let that happen. He refused to wait for Milicic to build momentum; instead, he sharply jabbed Nemanja’s ribs with his elbow, quickly breaking free and shouting, “I’m on it!”

Hearing the command, Luka Modric retreated into the paint. While Nemanja clutched his ribs, Lynch and Luka switched defense, trapping Milicic.

The crowd’s cheers surged instantly. Don Nelson unconsciously held his breath.

He didn’t understand why he was nervous, as if about to witness a clash between peak Michael Jordan and peak Yao Ming.

“Doesn’t matter who comes,” Dakota Milicic instantly exploded forward, sprinting with the ball.

He planned to use the same tactic against Lynch; no one could withstand his speed and physicality.

He powered his shoulder into Lynch’s chest, preparing for a long step and an explosive leap.

As Milicic’s left shoulder collided with Lynch’s chest, Wu Lan in the front row trembled, as if hearing two raging bulls clashing.

Milicic’s pupils widened—this genius who had crushed countless giants realized he couldn’t break through Lynch’s defense!

His proud stride and speed were useless; Lynch seemed like cold iron chains locking down a titan, holding him fast!

“Damn!”

Milicic still had the height advantage; he forcibly rose, holding the ball as high as possible, ready to slam and end the suspense.

Milicic still believed in his talent; at least in youth leagues, he thought he could devour anyone.

But leaping into the air, he was shocked to find his height and jumping advantage had vanished without a trace!

Lynch’s hand hovered beside his head, waiting. As Milicic hammered the ball toward the hoop with one hand, Lynch’s palm pressed against the side of the ball.

In that moment, Milicic’s talent turned into fragile bubbles before Lynch, cruelly burst.

“Bang!”

The ball wedged between the backboard and rim. Milicic missed the dunk and lost balance, falling like a griffin with broken wings.

Lynch secured the ball and passed to Theo. Theo’s long pass streaked like a meteor across the night sky but was prematurely ignited by the roar of the crowd before reaching its target—no one cared about the fast break. Five thousand eyes were fixed on Lynch, cheering the moment the warrior felled the griffin!

Don Nelson’s eyes widened; the unbeatable talent was embarrassingly defeated in the first play against Lynch!

FMP fans erupted in even crazier cheers, chanting Lynch’s name.

This place no longer felt like a basketball court but the very scene of Lynch’s coronation!

One play later, Milicic curled to the mid-range, caught the ball, and shot immediately.

But since he hadn’t shaken off Lynch, Lynch easily shadowed him, tightly contesting the shot and blocking it right in his face.

“Clang!”

Even Nowitzki-like jump shots failed. Against Lynch, Milicic suddenly seemed like an ordinary player.

The echo of the ball hitting the rim hadn’t faded before a more violent collision erupted in the paint—Lynch launched like a cannonball, using his shoulder blade to shove Nemanja aside and snatch the rebound.

“By the standards of the Serbian rural women’s league…” Lynch shook his finger mockingly above Nemanja’s head as he flipped the ball to Theo, “You’re considered tough.”

Theo brought the ball beyond the three-point line, casually stepping past his defender.

But Milicic immediately appeared, a nearly insurmountable barrier between Theo and the basket.

His defensive presence was as terrifying as Lynch’s.

Naturally, Theo Dosic chose not to attack head-on but instead bounced a pass to Lynch.

Milicic quickly pivoted, showcasing his remarkable agility.

He took a long stride to Lynch’s side, raising both arms like a deadly net, perfectly executing help defense.

It looked as if he single-handedly locked down FMP’s twin stars!

Lynch indeed had no chance. Just as everyone wondered what he would do, he exploded with both hands, took a jump step to the basket, pressed close against Milicic’s raised arms, and leapt for the finish.

It was a simple, brutal, even seemingly foolish offensive choice.

If Lynch charged up and attacked Milicic, it would be understandable, but here, he effectively challenged Milicic’s defense from a standstill—a near-suicidal move.

Could you imagine anyone daring to challenge Shaquille O’Neal face-to-face under the basket?

Don Nelson shook his head, already imagining Lynch’s miserable fate.

That number 10 defender’s defense was solid, but his offense was too crude.

Yet what did he see next?

Lynch soared, overpowering Milicic with tremendous strength, rising to an unimaginable height, then swung his long arm in a perfect arc, slamming the ball past Milicic’s fingertips!

“Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!” Bosko jumped and spun excitedly in place.

Milicic landed, stunned, no different from the big men who had been dunked on by Lynch before.

Where was his talent?

His talent seemed far less impressive before Lynch.

Don Nelson’s view was blocked by the standing crowd’s cheers, but he himself remained seated.

Ashes from his cigar fell onto his suit as his clouded eyes reflected memories: Moses Malone crushing Kareem Abdul-Jabbar in the 1983 Finals, Hakeem Olajuwon stifling Patrick Ewing in the 1994 Finals.

Those were two series that left fans lamenting, “Damn, how could he be so cruel to another superstar?”

No one treated Kareem like a prophet, nor Ewing like the Dream.

And until now, no one had ever treated Dak Milicic like Lynch was doing.

These two rounds of finals were classic examples of one side’s talent suddenly “disappearing” in direct matchups.

And the side whose talent “disappeared” always met a tragic end.

Antonio Masellas continued taking notes in his notebook.

“I thought tonight would be a test of Forsatz’s twin towers against Lynch. I was dead wrong.

In fact, tonight is Lynch’s torment of Dakota Milicic.

Before Lynch, Dak was just an ordinary player.”

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