An NBA All-Star, a legendary father and the enormous weight of legacy

FROM THE ROAD, the modern villa delivers Italy to Northern California. Old-growth olive trees shade the driveway leading toward Tuscan elms framing the front door while rows of Cabernet Sauvignon vines gather spring sunlight beside one of the two garages.

Suddenly, the quiet of a warm evening is broken by a child's laugh, and a smiling Domantas Sabonis emerges from the other garage -- which doubles as a gym, with weights, an ice bath and sauna -- in gray shorts, a white T-shirt and with an outstretched hand.

The Sacramento Kings' do-everything star forward and the Kings had landed after midnight, and Sabonis and his family returned to his home, about a half-hour's drive from downtown Sacramento, to spend the rare off day as his ninth NBA regular season nears its end.

Sabonis' wife, Shashana, carries their soon-to-be-9-month-old daughter inside, and the then-27-year-old Sabonis takes a seat at a round corner table beside a children's booster seat.

He lifts his 2-year-old son, Tiger, atop his knee.

"What does Daddy do?" the 6-foot-10 Sabonis asks.

Tiger is shy, but smiles. He knows. When he started crawling, he wanted to play with a basketball. His first word was "ball." Sabonis treasures photos and videos of those early days, but it was almost eerie, he says. They hadn't even introduced the game to Tiger; it was as if he was drawn to it, instinctively.

Now, Tiger has toy hoops around the house. He can dribble and dunk and Sabonis works with him on his shooting motion, showing him how to properly follow through. As he sits on his father's knee, Tiger is wearing cream-colored shorts and a matching shirt covered in basketball prints. "He is obsessed," Sabonis says.

Tiger comes to games, cheers and wants his dad to shoot and dunk every time he touches the ball. But Tiger doesn't yet know how good his father is -- that, last season, his father became the second player in NBA history to record 1,000 points, 1,000 rebounds and 600 assists in a season, joining Wilt Chamberlain, who did so in 1966-67 and 1967-68 and won NBA MVP honors in both seasons.

And this season, his dad is averaging a career-high 20.8 points on a career-best 62.2% shooting. He's shooting a career-high 42.9% from 3-point range, ranks third in the league in rebounds (12.7) and leads the league in double-doubles (21).

Sabonis, in his third full season in Sacramento, is trying to lift a woebegone Kings franchise that seeks sustained success in a powerful Western Conference, while also representing the continued evolution of the modern big man, someone who can handle the ball, shoot from long distance and serve as an offensive nexus.

Doing all three, he believes, will not only help steady the Kings, currently 12-13 and out of the play-in, but honor his legendary father, Arvydas, who, in many ways, began that evolution decades ago.

A FEW DAYS later, from Lithuania, Arvydas Sabonis travels back in time, to when Domantas was small, just bouncing the ball, just as his grandson Tiger does now.

"He was always on the court," Arvydas says.

Sons are born into their father's shadow, but few are ever as large -- literally and metaphorically -- as the one Domantas was born into in May 1996. He arrived during the Portland Trail Blazers' playoff run in Arvydas' rookie NBA season. The Trail Blazers had, for years, tried to lure the 7-foot-3, 292-pound Arvydas and had drafted him No. 24 a decade earlier.

But Lithuania was then part of the Soviet Union, and the Soviets wouldn't let their prized player play in America. Arvydas had begun playing for the Soviet junior national team at 15 and soon became considered the best international player in the world: a mountain of a man who whipped no-look passes like Magic Johnson, possessed a soft-shooting touch from beyond the arc and dominated beneath the rim.

In 1982, Indiana Hoosiers head coach Bob Knight said after an exhibition game between the Hoosiers and the Soviet national team, in which the 17-year-old Arvydas led fast breaks, made turnaround jumpers, and finished with 25 points, 8 rebounds and 3 blocks, that Arvydas "was as good a prospect as I'd ever seen."

For years, his legend only grew. U.S. politicians became involved, trying to assist in bringing him to the NBA, but Arvydas remained behind the Iron Curtain, caught in the geopolitical pull of the Cold War. He suffered two Achilles tendon ruptures in his early 20s -- he later suspected one was from overuse -- before the Soviets relented, allowing him to visit Portland for treatment in 1988. He led the Soviets to the Gold Medal in the ensuing Olympics in Seoul, even though he hadn't fully recovered, but Arvydas suffered knee injuries and stress fractures in the years that followed, when he played professionally in Spain. Still, the Trail Blazers never gave up their pursuit.

Finally, in the summer of 1995, five years after Lithuania broke free of a soon-to-crumble Soviet Union, a deal was struck. "If not NBA now, never," Arvydas said then. "Last chance." He turned 31 in his rookie season, was named to the All-Rookie first team, was a runner-up for Rookie of the Year and Sixth Man of the Year and averaged 23.6 points and 10.6 rebounds in the playoffs. Age and injuries had slowed him considerably, but he was still a force, which presented a tantalizing question that has lingered ever since:

What if Arvydas Sabonis had come to the NBA in his prime?

"We would have had four, five or six titles," former Blazers great Clyde Drexler once told ESPN. "Guaranteed. He was that good."

In his early seasons, Arvydas recalled Domantas -- who goes by Domas -- shooting and dribbling at the Trail Blazers' practice facility, developing a love of the game. "Domas, I remember always wanted to [wear] No. 23 because of Jordan." Arvydas says.

Domantas didn't then know about the legend of his father. To Domantas, Arvydas was just his dad whom he loved and admired and who also played basketball. Arvydas retired from the NBA after the 2002-2003 season, when he was 38.

A few years later, in 2006, after the family had moved to Málaga, Spain, Domantas sat at his computer. Alone and curious, he typed his father's name into YouTube. He was 10.

Highlight clips emerged. As Domantas began watching, his eyes grew wider with each no-look pass and deep 3.

"Wow," he thought to himself. "He was actually really good."

A part of Arvydas had always hoped that any of his three sons -- Zygimantas, Tautvydas and Domantas, the youngest -- might pursue the game.

"If someone plays basketball," he recalls thinking, "[I'll] be happy."

He didn't want to push them, to force them to live up to his legacy, which only grew when he was inducted into the FIBA Hall of Fame in 2010 and the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame one year later. But Domantas never imagined pursuing anything else. His two older brothers went on to play professionally in Europe, but Domantas had bigger goals.

Two years after his father's Hall of Fame induction, Domantas played for a Spanish professional team and the Lithuanian under-16 national team at the FIBA European Championships. He became known for piling up double-doubles, even grabbing 27 rebounds in one outing. He wore No. 11, his father's number.

Domantas wasn't as flashy as Arvydas, or as tall, and he couldn't shoot or pass like him, but he was quicker, with strong instincts for grabbing loose balls.

Arvydas would watch his son's games from the stands, and Domantas would feel his father's presence. Wearing "Sabonis" on his jersey meant hearing from others who wondered about his dad, or who saw his dad play and wanted to share stories, or who shared that they wished his dad could've stayed healthy -- what might have been.

Domantas took pride in carrying the name, motivated to prove that he was worthy of the greatness attached to it. In 2014, he enrolled at Gonzaga, playing two seasons before leaping to the NBA -- he was drafted 11th, fittingly the same as his father's jersey number -- and joining the Oklahoma City Thunder. In Domantas' preseason debut in October 2016, the Thunder traveled to Spain to face Real Madrid, a team Arvydas played for many years prior.

Arvydas flew in from Lithuania, and, hours before the game, the two sat down for an interview to talk about the connections, past and present, father and son. They sat beside each other on a patio, the Spanish sun beaming down -- the 20-year-old Domantas beside his towering father, then 51, streaks of gray through his dark hair.

"He was a 7-footer that could do everything like a point guard," Domantas said. "Everyone would say he could shoot, pass, play in the post, everything, hook shots, so if I can get anything from his game, that would be awesome."

The stoic Arvyedas turned to look at his son. He would soon respond by saying he wished his son all the best as he embarked upon the beginning of his NBA career, and how important it was to continue working. "In basketball always, you need to work, work and work and you never stop if you want to progress and be good," Arvyedas said.

But before Arvyedas said any of that, he told Domantas what every son wants to hear from his father.

Arvydas smiled. "I'm very proud."

ABOUT AN HOUR before tipoff on a spring night at the Golden 1 Center in Sacramento, Doug Christie rises from a courtside seat and points to a specific spot on the court -- one bookend of the free throw line, known as the elbow. Then, the former Kings guard calls upon a memory from his 15-season career, which stretched from the early 1990s and into the mid-2000s.

It was the first time he played Arvydas Sabonis.

During the game, Christie remembers, the Trail Blazers' center stood at the elbow, caught the ball and tossed a swift, underhanded pass to a teammate, almost as if he were throwing a bowling ball down the lane. Christie almost did a double-take, he says now.

"Oh s---, wow!" Christie thought to himself.

Most centers passed from up high, above their shoulders, or offered a bounce pass, but in this moment -- and so many others to follow -- Arvydas was more creative, more daring. And Arvydas could step outside and shoot 3-pointers, too, which virtually no centers even attempted back then. Christie knew Arvydas was older, wracked by injuries and a sore back, ankles and troubled knees that left him lumbering up and down the court. "He had a torn Achilles, and he was still a monster," Christie says. "So you can imagine what he was as a young man."

After his playing career ended, Christie visited Pepperdine, to watch his alma mater play a Gonzaga team featuring Domantas. Christie immediately saw shades of Arvydas in Domantas' feel for the game, his ability to scan the court and move the ball, especially at his size.

Christie became a Kings assistant coach in 2021, and one year later, the team traded for Domantas, who had developed into an All-Star with the Indiana Pacers. Christie began working with him, and the connection wasn't lost on Christie: playing the father, coaching the son. And when asked about his early days of coaching Domantas, Christie points to the same spot on the floor that served as a flashpoint for his own memories of Arvydas: the elbow.

Domantas caught the ball and moved it above his head with one hand, scanning the floor for teammates, in the same way that his father had before him, reminding Christie too of center Vlade Divac and forward Chris Webber, his former teammates on the powerhouse Kings teams from the early 2000s. Both were big but skilled passers -- and if a teammate made a good screen and cut to the basket, the ball would find them. In Domantas, Christie saw the same type of potential.

And so, too, would coach Mike Brown.

FOR YEARS BROWN had been dreaming of building an offense centered around a skilled, versatile, cerebral big man who could make quick decisions, pass, screen, shoot and attack the rim. More of a point guard than a center. "A point center," Brown says.

The inspiration came from Brown's time as an assistant coach for the Golden State Warriors from 2016 to 2022. From the bench, he saw how integral forward Draymond Green was to the Warriors' offense: operating away from the rim, passing the ball, setting good screens to free up Klay Thompson and Stephen Curry, rolling hard to the rim, guiding teammates to specific spots -- serving as an air traffic controller. "He makes that thing go," Brown says.

And when Green caught the ball on the perimeter, the Warriors often ran a specific action that Brown found especially tantalizing: the dribble-handoff. Green would have the ball, and set a screen on his teammate's defender while handing him the ball.

In that moment, a world of options opened.

Green could free up the teammate for an open 3-pointer. Or he could fake the handoff and drive hard toward the rim, trying to score or pass to an open teammate when the defense collapsed. Or he could hand the ball off to a teammate, then roll toward the rim and be fed a quick pass for an easy bucket.

The DHO, as it's known in basketball parlance, was a potent weapon. And even more so, Brown believed, if it had the right practitioner.

What's more, he thought, not many teams employed it, so not many teams practiced defending it. If he ever became an NBA head coach again, Brown envisioned one day building an offense around the DHO.

What he needed was the right opportunity and, most of all, the right player to run it.

Meanwhile, some 2,200 miles away, Domantas was running DHO actions more and more during his time with the Pacers, where he spent five seasons after playing in Oklahoma City. In 2020-21, when he was named an All-Star for the second straight season, Domantas was involved in a league-high 780 handoffs, according to ESPN Research. The next season, 716, another league-high.

The only other player even close? Denver Nuggets star Nikola Jokic.

On Feb. 8, 2022, the Kings traded for Sabonis, sending Tyrese Haliburton, Buddy Hield and Tristan Thompson to the Pacers (while also receiving Justin Holiday, Jeremy Lamb and a 2023 second-round draft pick in return). A few months later, the Kings began looking for a new head coach, and Brown, keenly aware of who they just acquired, pushed to fill the role.

In the job interview, he laid out his vision, with Domantas being the centerpiece. Brown imagined Domantas running even more DHO actions, especially with Kings rising star guard De'Aaron Fox. Those two alone, Brown said, would present a powerful one-two punch. He got his wish.

He was hired in May 2022 and brought with him two assistants from Golden State. In his first season as the Kings head coach, the team ran 1,136 total direct handoffs with Domantas, then the most in the Second Spectrum tracking era, which dates back to 2013-14.

Domantas averaged 19.1 points and a league-best 12.3 rebounds and was named an All-Star for the third time. Fox, meanwhile, earned his first All-Star nod. The Kings' offense improved from 24th the season before to the league's best in Brown's first season. The Kings broke a 16-year postseason drought, the longest active streak in the four major North American men's professional sports leagues, and Brown, for his part, was named the NBA Coach of the Year.

To watch the Kings now is to see Brown's vision in real time. Sabonis' 91.7 touches per game last season ranked third among all players, trailing only Jokic (101.3) and Luka Doncic (92.1). And when Domantas has the ball, he moves it quickly: Among the top 25 players in total touches last season, Sabonis had the second-shortest average touch length, ahead of only Anthony Davis of the Lakers.

While his touches per game have dipped this season with the arrival of DeMar DeRozan, he still ranks 3rd in the NBA among centers, behind only Jokic and Anthony Davis.

Brown knows all the numbers. And he's effusive in his praise.

"I'm not saying Domas is better than Jokic or anything like that," Brown says, "but, to me that's why Domas is a better playmaker than Jokic."

Brown says that Jokic is one of the best passers ever, a player more akin to Aryvdas, who says of Jokic, "Look, Jokic is incredible. He can do everything. He's not too quick, but he's very smart."

But Domantas' role is different, he notes. He's more of a point guard, tasked with bringing the ball up on one side of the floor, then, if nothing is there, moving to the other side of the floor off the dribble to make a play for others. It's not something Jokic does or is tasked with doing, Brown says. It's not something Aryvdas did, either.

In his day, Arvydas was considered the best passing big man in the world. While Domantas may not be as flashy, he ranks second in passes per game this season, trailing only Jokic. That uptick comes after the Kings have employed the DHO even more with Domantas -- 1,421 in 2023-24, a new league-high in the Second Spectrum tracking era. Domantas' DHOs have been as effective as ever this season: the Kings average 1.05 points per direct handoff from him, the second-highest figure in a season in his career as Sabonis, once again, leads the NBA in handoffs leading directly to an action.

From Lithuania, Arvydas beams with pride. In so many ways, his son represents the culmination of a movement that he helped begin. He could appreciate the connection, the evolution, from himself to his son.

"I'm very happy the Sabonis blood is there and showing [well]," Arvydas says. "My story, it ended short. Now comes a Sabonis with a long story."

SINCE ARVYDAS SABONIS retired, he has found little use for the spotlight.

"Look, I'm [nearly] 60 years old," he says. "Everybody knows about whatever they need [to know] about me. It's been written. Everybody knows. That's it. But Domas, okay, that's another story. But about me? What to talk about?"

If there's anything Arvydas might be wrong about, it's this. Domantas says he hears about his father almost every night, and has for years. He understands, too, that there's an aura about Arvydas, an unanswerable what-if that hangs over the history of an entire sport.

Aryvdas knows that his name and legacy dominate his son's life. But in Arvydas' own life, it's the opposite.

"Here in Europe, I'm traveling around and everyone is asking me about him," Aryvdas says.

A 10-hour time difference separates California and Lithuania, and a 7 p.m. tipoff in Sacramento requires Arvydas to watch his son's games at 5 a.m. local time. He watches live, but it's difficult, he says. When he does watch, he is quiet. He studies. He loves the progress Domantas has made. Two years ago, Domantas began dribbling the ball up the court. Last year, he improved his passing. This year, his 3-point shooting. "Each year, something new," Arvydas says.

Sometimes, Arvydas will ask his son why he didn't see a certain opportunity to score. Or why he didn't see a specific teammate who was open.

"You were also 7-3, Dad," Domantas will say. "You could just shoot over the top or see over the top. I'm smaller. I've got to work a little harder."

Domantas knows that his father possessed almost supernatural court vision. And even if he tried to make some of his father's no-look passes, which Domantas readily describes as "insane," he's not sure his teammates would even be ready.

"His teammates expected it every time," Domantas says. "If I threw one of those right now, it would hit the back of my teammate's head."

Hearing this, Arvydas offers a solution.

"You need to pass to their face two times," Arvydas says with a hearty laugh. "On the third time, they'll catch it."

There is room to grow, and Domantas knows it. "I watch Jokic as much as I can," he says, "just to see how he's doing things, how their guys are moving." He wants to be more aggressive offensively, and Christie wants him to look at the basket more and be a threat to drive to the rim.

Christie also feels a deeper responsibility. Two summers ago, he traveled to Lithuania, smoked cigars and drank wine with Arvydas, his old adversary. He watched the father and son together, the dynamic. The gravity of their lineage resonated, and when Christie returned home, he did so with a greater purpose. This past summer, they worked more on Domantas' right hand, on his jump shots. "We're starting to see it," Christie says.

When Christie started working with Domantas, one of the first things he told him was that Domantas didn't even know how good he was -- and how good he could be. Christie believes Domantas will tap into abilities that he doesn't even know he possesses. Arvydas believes this, too.

"He has time," Arvydas says of his son's NBA career, mentioning the greatest thing lacking from his own.

If there is one constant in his feedback, one point that Arvydas preaches more than any other, it is physical health, which greatly undercut his own career.

"After each game, you need to go and do recuperation," Arvydas tells his son. "It doesn't matter if it's two hours, three hours. It's all for you. For your health."

And Domantas heeds the advice. "I'm always in the treatment room," Domantas says. "Either ice bath, massages. We have all these types of machines nowadays to help you recover."

Those machines didn't exist for Arvydas, nor did other advances in modern medicine.

"I don't feel nothing about this," Arvydas says. "It's impossible to know. What happened is what happened. I'm too happy to come [over to the NBA]. Okay, I'm coming and I'm 30 years old, but I know what is there and that's it. What happened if I come if I'm 18 years old or 20 years old? Who knows?"

That question will live forever, but in Domantas there is another Sabonis, a young and healthy one, playing at a dominant level in the NBA.

"I just feel bad because I'm nothing like him," Domantas says of his father. "He's at a whole different level, so it's not the same."

Sitting at his kitchen table, Domantas says he isn't sure he'll ever measure up to his dad.

"You know how some legends never die?" Domantas asks. "Well, it's hard. I'm just another basketball player. He's a legend."

It doesn't matter that he has posted one of most dominant seasons in NBA history, one that drew statistical comparisons to Wilt Chamberlain. The statistics don't matter, he says. It's much bigger than that. It was his father's impact on his country, too.

"I still have time, but I don't know," Domantas says. His father was historic. And his skill level? "I feel like there's a big difference there."

Relay all this to Arvydas, and he is dismayed. "I feel uncomfortable to hear this," Arvydas says. "He has his way. He's playing his way. He's Domantas Sabonis. He's lefty and a different story. We see what happens when it's final, when he's finished this job. It's not over."

Relay all this to others around Domantas, and they say he's being overly modest, that he plays more like his dad than he knows.

"There's times where he's just driving and he hits a behind-the-back pass to a guy that's cutting, and you're like, 'How did you see that?'" Fox says. "So there's a little there."

With the Pacers, Domantas wore No. 11, a tribute to Arvydas. And beginning this season, he started wearing No. 11 for the Kings. (The number was previously retired by franchise legend Bob Davies, but his children gave their blessing for Domantas to wear it. In a June news release, Domantas stated, "The number 11 holds a special place in mine and my family's lives, having worn it throughout my career in honor of my father.")

For his own career, Domantas continues to collect accolades, and his profile continues to grow. Last season, he was featured in the inaugural season of the Netflix documentary series "Starting 5" with four other household names: LeBron James, Jimmy Butler, Anthony Edwards and Jayson Tatum. Looking ahead, he wants to win medals with the Lithuanian national team, just as his father did, and to get the NBA title that eluded his father too.

For all their differences, Arvydas notices one powerful commonality.

"He is a warrior -- like me."

Back at his house, Domantas says it feels good that he has helped the family name live on, and he pictures Tiger learning more about him and his grandpa, and maybe pursuing the game just as they did.

The early evening sunlight starts to fade, and out from behind the kitchen island, Tiger emerges again. He eyes his father and the toy hoop nearby.

"You want to play hoops before dinner?" Domantas asks his son.

The answer, from the next generation of Sabonis: an emphatic "YEAH!"