Five years separated the drafting of Andrea Bargnani and Jonas Valanciunas, but little else. At first.
Both were close to 20 years old. Both were well-advertised European big men noted for the hallmark of that breed – soft hands and soft bodies.
While Bargnani was celebrated as a lottery jackpot, little was made of Valanciunas's procurement. Having been burned so badly by the Italian's lack of fire, the Toronto Raptors chose to present the Lithuanian as a low-risk, long-term investment. Valanciunas was an unsexy mutual fund for the NBA's most spendthrift franchise.
Even the fact that he was not contractually able to come straight to Toronto seemed an advantage. The longer he stayed hidden in Vilnius, the longer he would remain unscarred by the animus that had slowly built up around Bargnani's failure.
Upon arrival, you could not help but note his spindliness. Valanciunas was still a kid, and looked like one. He acted like one, too. There was a lovable goofiness to him that you rarely find in American stars.
Notably, that's never gone away. Some guys arrive acting big-league. Most get there quickly. Valanciunas remains unaffected. Any request to talk is routinely greeted with a "Who? Me?", as though he's surprised people are interested.
He still prefers to deflect any serious question with a groaning one-liner. In interviews, he rocks side-to-side and throws his hands around in the air awkwardly, like a great galumphing grade schooler trapped into a confession. His eyes dart around while he talks. Every once in a while, he'll sneak a look down to see how he's going over. He never appears hopeful.
In the locker room, he remains the happy butt of jokes. Several of his teammates continue to pronounce his first name wrong – with a hard 'J'. Valanciunas doesn't seem to mind.
Famously, he had no idea what he was getting himself into. For the first few weeks of his rookie season, Valanciunas would spend the team's prep time nodding agreeably through his man-on-man assignments, then consistently guard the wrong people.
Eventually, Raptors' coaches recognized the problem – Valanciunas didn't know who anyone in the NBA was. Even the most famous names in the sport meant nothing to him, but he was too shy to speak up. He learned to identify his opponents by jersey number.
Valanciunas and Bargnani developed into very different sorts of players, but this was the key distinction – Valanciunas learned. Bargnani never became much more than the player he was at 20. You might plausibly argue that he got worse.
Valanciunas set his own bar in Year 2 and then tripped over it. In Game 7 against the Brooklyn Nets, Valanciunas managed only one basket.
"I have to do a better job of controlling my head," he said afterward. "That is the next step for next year."
Coach Dwane Casey did not forget Valanciunas's freeze at the critical moment. He disappeared from late-game situations. The fan base grew restive. The name 'Valanciunas' became a sort of code word for those irritated at Casey's conservatism and tendency to favour marginal veterans. Why wouldn't he let Valanciunas grow by failing?
It's apparent now that the point wasn't to embarrass the younger man. It was to protect him.
While DeMar DeRozan and Kyle Lowry routinely (and quite rightly) ride the roller coaster of fan angst, Valanciunas has been sheltered from expectation. People only seem to notice him when he plays well.
"I'm still growing. I'm 20 …" Valanciunas said Friday, then stopped and looked around, grinning. "How old am I?"
"Twenty-four," a reporter who's too used to this sort of thing replied, deadpan.
"I'm 24!" Valanciunas said, delighted. "I'm still a young player."
Whether he accepts it or not, that's all ending right now.
Next year, Valanciunas' new four-year, $64-million (U.S.) deal kicks in. When he was negotiating it during the last off-season, Raptors general manager Masai Ujiri used the four-year, $70-million deal signed by Oklahoma City's Enes Kanter as a benchmark.
As when Valanciunas was drafted, it seemed a small risk at the time. Now it is a preposterous bargain. By taking the money early, Valanciunas cost himself tens of millions. It's hard to imagine him upset.
Throughout this postseason, he has been the Raptors best player and their only consistent difference maker. If you knew nothing about this team, you would assume Valanciunas was the all-star.
For the Raptors, the playoffs have been a simultaneous exercise in wish fulfilment and existential apprehension. The team is good. It's nowhere close to good enough.
It would be wrong to call their two stars disappointing. That would suggest you expected things to correct themselves. Instead, DeRozan and Lowry have proved they are flawed when considered as a complement. The Raptors have got this far despite, rather than because of, them.
So, what's the future? Is it possible to grow with Lowry in charge, or has any team led by him peaked? Though signing DeRozan is the smart thing, is keeping him wise?
Even while the Raptors are cresting their biggest ever wave, you have to start thinking about hitting the shore. Because it's coming.
When Ujiri and his braintrust sit down in the summer, their only unwavering consolation is Valanciunas. Though it is difficult to build a modern NBA team around a big man, the Lithuanian is now the core of the Raptors.
His continued improvement is the team's central mission.
That's why the Raptors won't make Valanciunas the offensive mainstay now, even though it might cost them a game (and also because you don't want to see what happens if this team gets any slower). They are not about to mentally unbalance their prize asset for one series win.
"I'm just enjoying playing basketball," Valanciunas said after Thursday's effort. "That's my life. I enjoy play basketball."
As long as he does, the Raptors investment will continue to pay small – and some day, large – returns.
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