As Darwin Núñez traipsed toward the touchline at the Estadi Montilivi on Tuesday, the Liverpool striker struggled to keep the frustration from his face and cut a forlorn figure as he was replaced by Cody Gakpo.

His 71-minute contribution to his team's 1-0 UEFA Champions League win in Girona was another night to forget in a season that -- for all of Liverpool's collective brilliance -- has been distinctly underwhelming for the Uruguay international, who was signed from Benfica for an initial 64 million transfer fee.

Against Girona, he managed just 16 touches -- the fewest of any starting player on the pitch -- and squandered two of Liverpool's four big chances. While goalkeeper Paulo Gazzaniga deserves credit for two fine saves, the moment when Núñez inexplicably try to nod Dominik Szoboszlai's deflected cross down into the turf, rather than toward goal, seemed to encapsulate the forward's present rut.

"What I can agree on is that he missed a few chances," Liverpool head coach Arne Slot said when asked in his postmatch news conference whether his No.9 is low on confidence. "Then it's always the question, 'Does this have anything to do with low confidence or is this a situation where he's in at the moment?' I think every striker all around the world has periods where every ball goes in, and sometimes he has a period when you try so hard but you're not able to score.

"I would have loved to see Darwin score, because every striker wants and needs to score goals. That is why I kept him on for quite a long time. He was a threat but, unfortunately, he couldn't score."

Of course, it would be unfair to lay the blame for Liverpool's subpar showing against Girona squarely at Núñez's door. With the exception of goalkeeper Alisson Becker -- making his first appearance in more than two months after recovering from a hamstring problem -- the Premier League leaders looked some way off their best. Even Mohamed Salah, who notched his 16th goal of the season from the penalty spot to continue Liverpool's flawless record in Europe this term, lacked his usual dynamism.

But with Diogo Jota closing in on a return from an eight-week layoff after a rib injury, it is hard not to feel that Núñez has missed his chance to prove he has the credentials to be Liverpool's long-term No.9.

Núñez has quality "coming out of his ears"

From the moment Núñez first pulled on a Liverpool shirt, he has been a polarising figure, as capable of the sublime as he is the ridiculous. He announced himself to Liverpool supporters with his eye-catching showings for Benfica against Jürgen Klopp's side in the 2021-22 Champions League, scoring both home and away for in a season in which he registered an impressive 34 goals in 44 appearances.

"Really good, really good," was Klopp's appraisal of the striker after Liverpool's 3-1 win over Benfica in April 2022. "I knew before, of course, but he played pretty much in front of me with his tough battles with Ibrahima Konaté.

"He was physically strong, quick, was calm around his finish. Good, really good. I always say in these situations if he is healthy, it's a big career ahead of him."

Two months later and Núñez was a Liverpool player, having moved to Anfield in a deal that could yet end up costing the club 85m; 10m more than the club-record fee paid for defender Virgil van Dijk.

It initially appeared it would prove money well spent, with Núñez coming off the bench to score in the 2022 Community Shield against Manchester City while his opposite number and fellow new arrival, Erling Haaland, spurned several good opportunities. That only intensified the belief that Núñez would develop into the prolific centre-forward Liverpool had been lacking under Klopp with his predecessor, Roberto Firmino, more accustomed to being the selfless facilitator for Salah and Sadio Mané.

In hindsight, those early comparisons with Haaland have transpired to be much more of a hindrance than a help for Núñez. In his maiden season at Anfield, the Uruguayan scored a respectable 14 goals and four assists in all competitions, though he drew plenty of criticism for his profligacy as Liverpool failed to qualify for the Champions League for the first time in seven years. Haaland, meanwhile, sent Premier League records tumbling, scoring 52 goals in as many appearances for City to help Pep Guardiola's side win the treble.

Núñez's stunning cameo against Newcastle United at the start of last season -- in which he came off the bench to score twice for 10-man Liverpool -- set the tone for a more encouraging campaign. He finished with 18 goals and 13 assists and, even as his wastefulness persisted, he appeared to establish himself as a vital cog in Klopp's machine.

"He is not bothered by it and just keeps going," the German said when asked about the criticism aimed at Núñez following Liverpool's 5-1 win over Sparta Prague back in March. "[He's a] wonderful guy, wonderful boy. He loves to play for this team together with these boys and has quality coming out of his ears, to be honest."

Still, a disappointing end to the season, with Núñez scoring just once in his last 11 league games as Liverpool fell away in the title race, once again raised questions about his Anfield future. With Klopp making way for new head coach Slot in the summer, it felt as if the stakes could barely be any higher for the striker heading into this season.

"Not a lot of people understand his game"

Unsurprisingly, the topic of Núñez's future was one of the first matters Slot was tasked with addressing during his official unveiling in July.

"I assume he will fit really well into this [playing style] because I like him," the Dutchman said. "I've told him already. He is one of the players I have spoken to. He might have had some struggles with finishing opportunities but he came a lot of times into those positions. I think he could fit in really well, but it's normal at a club like this that there are many more players who could play in his position."

Despite that endorsement, the Liverpool boss opted to start Jota up front for his team's Premier League opener against Ipswich Town, and the decision was vindicated as the Portugal international opened the scoring at Portman Road. Núñez had to wait until Sept. 21 for his first start for Slot, scoring a spectacular goal in Liverpool's 3-0 win over Bournemouth.

"My first instinct when he shot was, 'why does he shoot?'" Slot joked after the game. "I would have said, 'why don't you keep on dribbling?' He made the ball free and I think the defender was on the ground. But then it was a fraction of a second later when I saw the ball go in off the post. Then I was like, 'OK, maybe you are a better football player than I was in the past.'"

While the Dutchman's comments were meant in jest, they were reflective of the broader distrust of Núñez's finishing ability within some quarters of the fanbase. In spite of his struggles, the striker continues to have some high-profile advocates, including former Uruguay teammate and ex-Liverpool striker Luis Suárez.

In an interview with DirecTV in October, Suárez revealed he saw Núñez crying after being on the receiving end of Uruguay boss Marcelo Bielsa's criticism during a win over Argentina last year.

"I saw Darwin crying, and I told him: 'You are here because of your own merit, because of how hard you work, you are a goal scorer and you are the best,'" Suarez recalled. "'You have to continue like this, forget what others say.'" Salah, too, recently jumped to the defence of his teammate, with whom he has directly combined to deliver 16 goals in 97 games for Liverpool. In a live Q&A with fans, held over Zoom on Saturday, the Egypt international was asked to name his favourite teammate to play alongside.

"It was Firmino, now I feel I generally like playing with Núñez," he said. "A lot of people don't like him, but I like playing with him. I like playing with him in general. A player with different skills. Not a lot of people understand his game."

The past two months, however, have once again brought Núñez's erratic form into sharp focus. After Jota was injured in Liverpool's win over Chelsea, Núñez impressed off the bench, following up his fine cameo with a goal against RB Leipzig in the Champions League and a crucial assist for Salah in October's 2-2 draw with Arsenal.

Since then, though, Núñez has managed just one goal in nine games and was notably named on the bench for arguably Liverpool's biggest game of the season against Manchester City, with Slot instead opting to start Luis Díaz through the middle and Gakpo on the left.

Since the start of the 2023-24 season, Núñez has missed 53 big chances for Liverpool. While the numbers appear damning, Haaland has also been guilty of spurning opportunities, missing 77 big chances in the same timeframe, though crucially he has scored 54 goals compared to Núñez's 19.

So far this term, the Uruguayan has underperformed his expected goals (xG), scoring three times from a combined xG of 4.65. The introduction of Slot's tactical nuances has made Núñez less of a chance-magnet for Liverpool. But while the scintillating form of Salah has so far masked some of the No.9's deficiencies, it would be unfair to expect his brilliance alone to power Slot's side to major honours this season, and the clamour for Núñez to start delivering seems to be growing louder.

"It's the story with Darwin Núñez," former Liverpool forward Luis García told "ESPN FC" after Tuesday's game. "We all agree; his work rate is fantastic. He's helping the team because he's always trying to push the opponent but we're missing the last part; the scoring rate.

"It's something we've been waiting for for the past years but it's not arriving. He can score goals but he's not a player who can maybe score 25-30 goals. Something is missing there and we're still waiting. Every single game he gets one, two, or three chances and he's missing the last part. He's missing a little bit of composure in the last moment."

Núñez certainly has a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, which has endeared him to Liverpool supporters. The striker appeared to appeal directly to those fans -- and his detractors -- in a post to his Instagram story on Wednesday which read: "They are not all, they are some. Thank you Reds for your support, we are all still together."

Certainly, the Anfield crowd have shown no signs of abandoning faith in their mercurial No.9 so far. Even when he spurns a chance, chants of "Núñez, Núñez" can be heard, and there is a palpable sense that match-going supporters are desperate for the striker to come good.

With five more games before the end of the year, Núñez will no doubt get more opportunities to prove he should be part of Slot's long-term plans. But with the Dutchman asserting on Tuesday that "standards have to go up" if Liverpool want to compete for the biggest prizes, there is a sense that Núñez is running out of time to raise the bar.

THEY MET EVERY week, Bill Belichick and a handful of his former assistants with the New England Patriots. Matt Patricia, Michael Lombardi, Josh McDaniels, to name a few, men with whom he had won Super Bowls, all of them out of work. They'd chat over Zoom, and go through each NFL game, as they once did in Foxboro, as only they could. Teams. Trends. Salaries. Schematic shifts. Stuff only they knew to look for, questions only they knew to ask, a common language and way of thinking, once the envy of the NFL and beyond, from other sports to business schools, now valued less around the league. The subtext was unspoken, but understood: Which NFL teams might make a coaching change this year? And of those teams, which of them might be interested in a 72-year-old, eight-time Super Bowl champion? And of those teams, which would Belichick want most?

According to sources with direct knowledge, the group deemed that the Chicago Bears were probably the most attractive job, but that team brass was unlikely to consider Belichick. The group expects the same thing that most around the league do: that the Bears will go offense, hoping to give quarterback Caleb Williams a chance at a career, probably targeting Lions offensive coordinator Ben Johnson.

The New York Jets were a nonstarter; Belichick had issues with owner Woody Johnson back in 2000, before Johnson officially bought the team, and he had been critical this past season in his media roles with Johnson's horrific stewardship. Maybe the Giants, where he had spent the '80s, could work, but Belichick knew that it would be a rebuild, with the New York press at his heels. Plus, he believes the team would do best to retain its current coach, Brian Daboll. Dallas was a potential spot -- nobody can take a collection of talent and turn it into a team like Belichick -- but nobody knew if owner Jerry Jones would move on from Mike McCarthy, and if he did, if he'd want to hand over the team to Belichick. Jacksonville was another potential landing spot, but was it the right one? On his podcast, Lombardi took a shot at Tony Khan, son of owner Shad Khan who for years has run an analytics department emblematic of the problems with the current NFL. Additionally, there wasn't a lot of back-channel communication between anyone close to Belichick and owners; the league and three teams are almost two years into battling a discrimination lawsuit by Brian Flores.

Belichick's feelings toward the NFL have shifted he has told confidants. Look at the past year. Robert Kraft, whose life and legacy was forever altered by Belichick, fired him in January. Only one out of seven teams with openings showed interested in hiring him. The Falcons interviewed him twice, but when it came time for the team's brass to rank choices, Belichick failed to land in anyone's top three candidates -- in part, ESPN later reported, because Kraft helped torpedo his chances. Weeks later in February, "The Dynasty," the Kraft-owned Patriots documentary, launched on Apple and minimized Belichick's role in the team's historic run so roundly that former Patriots players spoke out against it. Belichick was entertaining in his myriad media roles, but the league seemed to move on without him. Owners spoke of him respectfully, but not desirably.

A few months ago, Belichick started to bring up college programs on the Zooms. He was spending a lot of time at Washington, where his son Stephen is in his first year as the Huskies' defensive coordinator. His former offensive coordinator in New England, Bill O'Brien, and longtime assistant, Berj Najarian, are at Boston College. Another former assistant, Joe Judge, served as a senior analyst at Ole Miss.

It reinforced and reaffirmed that there was another option out there. At first, the image of Belichick as a college coach made no sense. It was hard to picture Belichick sitting in a teenager's living room, in a hoodie with jagged sleeves, delivering his recruiting pitch. Nick Saban, one of Belichick's longest and closest friends, had retired from college football in large part because of the transfer portal and NIL. Tom Brady did an impression on television of Belichick last weekend: "Listen, you really wanna come here? We don't really want you anyway. I guess you could come. We'll figure out if you can play."

But something about ending his career by not chasing Don Shula's NFL wins record, but instead on campus, appealed to Belichick. When he agreed to terms with North Carolina, it was not only because of a new challenge after coaching only in the NFL since 1975, at a school where his father, Steve, had worked when Bill was a boy, and not only because his future in the pros was unclear.

It was because, in the words of a confidant, Belichick is "disgusted" in what he believes the NFL had become.

"This is a big f--- you to the NFL," another Belichick confidant says.

BELICHICK HAS ALWAYS cared about football's history, and his place in it. And he has always cared about leading a true football program. Unlike Bill Walsh's philosophy, it was not primarily based on a playbook; indeed, Belichick's schematic ideology is his lack of ideology, tailored and adapted to situation and circumstance. He has always wanted to build a team -- a true team -- despite the cultural and financial forces conspiring against that idea and ideal.

What became known as the Patriot Way was rooted in more than mutual sacrifice and mastery of situational football, ruthless decision-making and Brady's greatness. It was about teaching and education. Only Belichick's Patriots had full-team meetings in which players were quizzed not only on the opponent's statistics and playmakers, but the résumés of all of the assistant coaches. It was a football laboratory, augmented by some of the greatest players in NFL history.

Belichick was raised on campuses and has loved helping shape young minds. In April 2006, I watched him deliver the annual Fusco Distinguished Lecture at Southern Connecticut State University, on a stage that had also featured Colin Powell, Madeleine Albright and Christopher Reeve, among others. Like many, I worried that it would be a two-hour version of his news conferences. But he was in his element, relaxed and energized, speaking to students as they prepared to enter the real world. He told them to chase not money, but a job that was a continuation of a passion. One of the proudest moments of his life was when he passed on a career in finance and moved to Baltimore to do whatever the Colts asked of him.

When Belichick was fired by Kraft, despite it initially being presented as a mutual parting -- Kraft later cited trust and an eagerness to reclaim organizational power as factors -- he knew that his next job was not going to resemble the one he'd held for more than two decades. The NFL had moved away from the coach-centric model that Belichick learned under Bill Parcells. There are more layers now. Belichick insisted to the Falcons and made clear to other teams with openings last year that he wasn't seeking the total control of football operations he enjoyed for most of his head coaching career, both in Cleveland and in New England. He was willing to work with existing staff, whether it was Falcons general manager Terry Fontenot or Commanders general manager Adam Peters or Jerry Jones or Howie Roseman, if the Cowboys or Eagles, respectively, had decided to change coaches.

But something about it was always hard to buy -- and owners didn't. It wasn't that Belichick was disingenuous or too set in his ways; it was that if you hire Belichick, you hire him to do it his way. Belichick's system is him, from his player procurement program to contract incentives to the types of players he drafts. Because so much flowed out of his mind and because he almost always was the ultimate decision-maker, the Patriots were able to withstand the losses of key players and coaches -- everyone except Brady. How would Belichick, who ran a thin operation in New England, without many layers, handle running a team with a huge infrastructure? Was Belichick, who has had his share of player-evaluation whiffs but has also drafted the greatest quarterback and tight end ever, along with Hall of Fame defensive tackle Richard Seymour and several others who will join him in Canton, really going to abide by the philosophies of someone like Fontenot or Bears general manager Ryan Poles, if Chicago had hired Belichick after this year?

"Listening to Fontenot discuss drafting systems last January, as if he knew it all, bothered him," a Belichick confidant says.

All of those things were on his mind this fall. He told confidants that Shula's record mattered to him, but it wasn't the essential thing. It wasn't why he has worked hours that have come with a steep personal price. He has always competed as if his self-worth was tied to the result. Losses took on a life of their own. Imagine the throttled rage inside him all spring after a group of men who routinely botch their most important hire not only mostly ignored him but gloated about it, telling ESPN that he was "voted off the island." He never forgets. Belichick knew that he'd have to compromise if he got another NFL job, maybe even more than the year before, and also knew that he faced a league that was skeptical of him.

If he didn't fix his new team right away, he'd be dealing with a media narrative for the third straight year in coaching that he'd lost his fastball. College coaches have many headaches -- they essentially re-recruit their players daily -- but Belichick came to believe that he'd have the space to run his program, winning or losing on his terms, all he has ever asked for. He'll have what he had in New England: He'll be the football czar. He knows there are politics, the way there are politics in the NFL, and challenges to building a team, but they feel manageable and worth the risk.

Says a source with knowledge of his thinking: "I'll go be the highest draw in college football, and will have the greatest coach in the ACC, instead of you guys who don't want [him] anymore because there are people who don't deserve to be empowered. ... Everyone is running away from college football. I think Bill thinks this landscape is better for him. ... More transactional and less relational. In his mind, this is better for me."

Maybe the signs were there a month ago, when Belichick told "The Pat McAfee Show" of the horror stories of answering asinine questions from owners. He told a confidant within the past week that he's "tired of the stupidness" of the NFL. Unlike Brady, Belichick has always embraced his darker side, with actions more often than words, and made no secret of his grievances. He turned the postgame handshake into a spectator sport. He seethed at the piousness around the league after Spygate. After Deflategate, he walked out of a league meeting when commissioner Roger Goodell spoke. And then, after his unquestioned greatness was suddenly questioned and became talk-show fodder for two years -- How good is he without Brady? -- he watched owners display abject indifference to his services. "He's disgusted," a confidant says.

If we've learned anything about Belichick over the years, it's that he'll often do the unconventional thing -- and that when at a crossroads, he will take control of his career.

TWO DECADES AGO, legendary journalist David Halberstam wanted to write a book about Belichick. They knew each other casually. Belichick respected Halberstam but initially was cool to the idea; it would go against every fiber of his being if he turned the spotlight on himself. Halberstam rethought the pitch and gave it another shot: "I suggested that there might be a book in the education of a coach, especially since the most important teacher in his life was his father, Steve -- a coach's coach," Halberstam later wrote. "It was an idea that interested him, and eventually he agreed to cooperate." After Belichick had become the first coach to win three Super Bowls in four years, Halberstam spent more time with him than any reporter to that point, working on what would be an authorized biography. Later in 2005, "The Education of a Coach" was published. Halberstam hit the media circuit, promoting the book, and on a Boston radio show, he was asked, "Will [Belichick] ever get sick of this?"

At the time, Belichick was 53 years old. He had yet to be busted for Spygate. He had yet to coach a team to within a minute of an undefeated season. Had yet to tell a documentarian that he'd never coach into his 70s, then blow past it, knowing deep inside that he needed the game more than it needed him. He had yet to draft Rob Gronkowski, Julian Edelman, Devin McCourty, Matthew Slater, and Dont'a Hightower, had yet to win 11 games with Matt Cassel, had yet to deploy the "Baltimore" and "Raven" formations, had yet to pass Deflategate into Brady's lap, had yet to send Malcolm Butler into the final seconds of Super Bowl XLIX, had yet to look up at a Super Bowl LI scoreboard that read 28-3, had yet to curtail access for Alex Guerrero, had yet to be called the "biggest f---ing a--hole in my life" by Kraft, and had yet to win a sixth Super Bowl. He had yet to watch his daughter, Amanda, coach lacrosse at Holy Cross, had yet to watch Stephen coach at Washington.

"He's really a coach and a teacher," Halberstam told the hosts. "I mean, you could almost see him, when this is done, saying, OK, I've ... you know, if he's done it and won X rings, saying OK, I'm going to go and teach at an Ivy League school or something like that. I'm going to do something smaller, without as much pressure."

And without the NFL, which he left before it could leave him. Again.

Seth Wickersham is a Senior Writer at ESPN. His next book, "American Kings: A Biography of the Quarterback," published by Disney Publishing's Hyperion Avenue, is available for preorder now.

HOUSTON -- A livid Steve Kerr said the officiating crew made a call he has never seen in his NBA career, and it cost the Golden State Warriors a 91-90 loss to the Houston Rockets and a chance to go to the NBA Cup semifinals in Las Vegas.

"I'm pissed off," Kerr said, echoing the Warriors locker room late Wednesday night. "I wanted to go to Las Vegas. We wanted to win this Cup, and we aren't going because of a loose ball foul, 80 feet from the basket with the game on the line. I've never seen anything like it in my life, and that was ridiculous."

With the Warriors up by one in the final seconds, Stephen Curry missed a 3-point attempt and a scramble for the loose ball ensued as bodies from both teams hit the floor.

Gary Payton II got possession of a rebound on the floor, but Houston guard Fred VanVleet slid on top of him and Payton tried to pass the ball to Jonathan Kuminga. Kuminga and the Rockets' Jalen Green hit the floor for the loose ball, and Kuminga was called for a personal foul with 3.5 seconds left. Kerr could only watch with his mouth agape.

Green buried both free throws to give the Rockets a 91-90 lead. On the final possession, Curry was blanketed near the sideline and passed to Brandin Podziemski, whose 3-point attempt from the corner was blocked by Jabari Smith Jr. to secure the win for Houston and snap a 15-game losing streak to the Warriors.

Houston will face Oklahoma City on Saturday in Las Vegas.

Afterward, a furious Kerr lit into the officiating crew, led by crew chief Bill Kennedy, who called the personal foul on Kuminga. Kerr and the Warriors argued that officials had allowed both teams to play a very physical game up to that point.

"I've never seen a loose ball foul on a jump ball situation, 80 feet from the basket with the game on the line," Kerr said. "I've never seen that. I think I saw it in college one time 30 years ago. Never seen it in the NBA. That is, I mean, unconscionable. I don't even understand what just happened. Loose ball, diving on the floor, 80 feet from the basket, and you're going to give a guy two free throws to decide the game when people are scrambling for the ball. Just give them a timeout and let the players decide the game. That's how you officiate. Especially because the game was a complete wrestling match. They didn't call anything.

"So you've established you're just not going to call anything throughout the game. It's a physical game. And call a loose ball foul on a jump ball situation with guys diving on the floor? With the game on the line? This is a billion-dollar industry. You got people's jobs on the line."

Kennedy explained the call to a pool reporter afterward.

"The defender makes contact with the neck and shoulder area, warranting a personal foul to be called," he said.

The Warriors (14-10) blew a six-point lead and failed to score in the final three minutes. Curry missed a step-back 3-pointer with his team up by one with 11.1 seconds left before the loose ball scramble that resulted in the ending that left Kerr beside himself and the Warriors locker room in almost a dead silence afterward.

"I haven't seen the replay, but ... if you're telling me it was a clear foul, I'll shut up, but I don't think that's the case," Curry said. "Was it? There's indecision in the group, so that means then let the game play out and let us decide it and not two free throws, 90 feet from the basket."

Curry and Kerr also were upset about another play that occurred minutes earlier in which they thought Curry was fouled on a 21-foot jump shot by Aaron Holiday. The jumper fell well short of the basket with 8:14 left and the Warriors up six. Curry and Kerr argued with the officials, but there was no call.

"We can talk about the refs all day, it's not why we lost," Curry said. "But there are swings in the game, obviously the last two free throws and that play, it's a five-point swing."

Curry said official Mousa Dagher explained to him that the ball was already released when Holiday hit his hand or wrist.

"I am like, if I shoot an 18-footer and I miss it by 6 feet, then either you tell me he hit the ball or it's a foul," he said. "I have never shot an 18-footer [that went] 12 feet. And they go down and [Tari] Eason hits a 3 in the corner. That is a huge swing. We can't let the refs take us out of it, which I don't think we did. But those are clear plays that can dictate a very tough, low-scoring game where you give a team an extra possession which they don't deserve.

"Which is why I was going crazy. I don't yell at the refs like that. It was a clear foul."

Curry and the Warriors said they were very motivated to go to Las Vegas to win the NBA Cup in its second season. Instead, they were left steaming in the visitors locker room at Toyota Center while the Rockets celebrated a huge win.

This was the second loss in eight days in which Kerr questioned a late call by officials that he believed cost the Warriors a game. At the end of a 119-115 loss at Denver on Dec. 3, Kerr argued that the Nuggets' Christian Braun signaled for a timeout after securing a loose ball while Denver had no timeouts left. The officials said they did not see Braun clearly signal for a timeout, which would have resulted in a technical foul and possession for the Warriors with 1.9 seconds left and the team down by four. The officials called for a jump ball instead.

"I am stunned," Kerr said after Wednesday night's loss. "I give the Rockets credit. They battled back. They played great defense all night. But I feel for our guys. Our guys battled back, played their asses off and deserved to win that game or at least have a chance for one stop at the end to finish the game.

"And that was taken from us by a call that I don't think an elementary school referee would've made because that guy would've had feel and said, you know what? I'm not going to decide a game on a loose ball, 80 feet from the basket."

Los Angeles Lakers star LeBron James is unlikely to play Friday against the Minnesota Timberwolves, sources told ESPN.

It would give James, who missed Sunday's game with foot soreness, eight days in between games if he returns Sunday against Memphis.

Because of the NBA Cup, the Lakers are able to take a prudent approach with the schedule to allow James to recalibrate and recharge his body.

L.A. plays just two games in a 10-day stretch Dec. 9-18 -- coach JJ Redick gave the entire team Monday off and designated Tuesday as an optional "get what you need" day.

Redick met with many of the Lakers' players individually Tuesday, but James was not present, the coach said Wednesday.

On the season, James is averaging 23 points on 49.5% shooting (35.9% from 3), 9.1 assists and 8.0 rebounds. Redick said he is in constant communication with the player and Mike Mancias, James' longtime athletic trainer, about managing the four-time MVP's workload as he nears his 40th birthday at the end of the month.

"In game, he's asked for a sub a couple times because he's gassed," Redick said Wednesday. "For us, we have to be cognizant as we play more and more games, just the cumulative effect of playing a lot of minutes, and Sunday, being banged up with the foot thing, it felt like a good opportunity for him to get some rest."

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 Arvydas 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," Arvydas said.

But before Arvydas 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.

"My story, it ended short. Now comes a Sabonis with a long story." Arvydas Sabonis, about his son Domantas

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!"