This is not the way things should end. When the Denver Nuggets jumped to a 20-point lead over the Minnesota Timberwolves midway through the deciding game of the Western Conference Semifinals, it seemed as if the final chapter of this riveting, frenetic, epic series had been written: the defending champions, stunned and humiliated in Games 1, 2 and 6, had risen from the canvas to deliver the decisive blow at the decisive moment. Then something happened. Anthony Edwards happened.
Edwards, the No. 1 pick in the 2020 draft, has long been described as the future face of the NBA. At 22 years old, he’s already the undisputed leader of the Timberwolves — an impressive feat in itself, considering he’s playing with another former No. 1 draft pick (Karl-Anthony Towns), an all-time defensive great (Rudy Gobert) and a crafty veteran. guard (Mike Conley Jr). Edwards was shut out of the opening exchanges of Game 7 by a Nuggets defense eager to give the oft-failed Gobert an open look. He scored just four points in the first half, and his third quarter started inauspiciously: a shot from behind the arc rang off the ball. edge of the edge, after which he made another attempt. He shook off the miscues, got back on defense and then ran the length of the court for an easy layup.
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A pair of uncontested dunks off loose balls won on defense followed, and the way Edwards made them seemed to act as a signal to his teammates. Edwards is a masterful posterizer, with the full range of tomahawks, windmills, backscratchers and self-alley-oops – many of which have been on display in these playoffs, in which the sight of the Ant Man piercing the rim with bulging authority has been a regular wonder. Sunday night’s dunks were different. There was no theater, no flourishes, no shouts of conquest under the glass. Edwards simply placed the ball through the net and then turned to race back to the other side of the court to fulfill his defensive duties. These were business dunks, and they woke up the Timberwolves. After trailing by 20 points early in the third quarter, Minnesota went on a series-defining offensive run that blew away the defending champions. Three-time MVP Nikola Jokic spent the final quarter of the game looking simultaneously rheumatic and apologetic as he tried to close the gap with a series of desperate three-pointers. But even Jokic, the NBA’s reigning magician of the improbable, couldn’t undo the inevitable. As the final seconds of the game passed, Edwards said goodbye to the Denver crowd. The only role left for Jokic was to taunt his young rival for disrespect.
With a final total of 16 points, this was far from Edwards’ best performance. (That came in Game 1 against the Nuggets, when he exploded for 43 points.) But it provided an exhibition of many of the mental gifts that have made him such a magnetic addition to the ranks of the NBA’s superstars , and helped the Timberwolves to victory over the entire last series: nerveless coolness at the moment of maximum danger, the capricious ability to forget his misses, a mischievous gift for winking provocation. Above all, Edwards has an unwavering belief in himself and those around him. As soon as the Timberwolves fell 3-2 in this series, he immediately announced, “See you in Game 7.”
The player Edwards is most often compared to is, of course, Michael Jordan. Many players have been saddled with the label of “the next Jordan” over the past thirty years – some good (Kobe Bryant, Penny Hardaway), some not so good (Jerry Stackhouse, Grant Hill) – but none have provided as rich a visual foundation for the analogy as Edwards. The buttery mid-range play, the dunks, the turnaround fadeaway: Edwards’s stylistic dossier is bursting with Jordanesque associations, and this is before we even consider his aerial control, the sheer physical strength that allows Edwards to hang so patiently in the air while his opponents fall around him like crypto funds. But to compare this young calligrapher from the boards, full of movement and lush energy, to an old master like Jordan is to miss something of what makes Edwards so special, a talent like no other. Edwards, Anthony grew up with siblings named Antony, Antoine and Antoinette – an experience that, one imagines, has taught him to stand out in a world where outsiders are willing to mistake him for anyone else. His defensive intensity, his use of the board, his lateral ability and sheer unpredictability as a body in motion, not to mention his very real appreciation for his teammates and the gift he has for making those around him better: the catalog of Edwards’ greatness is as much about what makes him different from Jordan as it is about what brings them together.
Chin thrust forward, eyes twinkling with mischief, Edwards never seems quite satisfied with the serial wonders he produces on the field. And what wonders they are: in this series alone, the audience was treated to a series of moves that no other current player in the world would have been capable of. There was the play in Game 6 when he landed awkwardly on his tailbone, lay face down on the ground in obvious pain for a few minutes, then bounced up and promptly made two perfect free throws.
There were a handful of blocks made with his less favored left hand, including a monstrous break from Michael Porter Jr. in Game 1 that recalled the ridiculous rejection that won him a regular-season game against the Indiana Pacers in March. There was the wonderfully casual fake late in Game 6, in which Edwards tended to shoot with his right hand, then tipped the ball past his marker, sucked it to the rim and finished with a casual two-handed slam.
There were the silky threes crushed by bureaucratic bloodlessness; the dizzying stops and starts, changes of direction and sideways jumps; the many times he crashed through the paint, made false contact, lost his balance and still landed a shot in the air, an eternity that seemed to pass as he solved the problem of how to get the ball from his contortion body in the air had to propel into the net.
LeBron James, the greatest player of his generation, is Zeus. Steph Curry is basketball’s answer to drone warfare, devastating opponents with his precision from distance. Jokic is a one-man work program for attacking defensemen. Depending on the day, Edwards can be all three at once. One moment he’s a sprite disappearing between markers, the next he’s eager to conquer space on the field. He is less an ant than one of those deep-sea jellyfish that can change shape, volume and appearance at will. His greatest gift may ultimately be the gift of spontaneity, of knowing exactly which version of himself requires it at that moment. In a world full of fantasy competitions, here is a true fantasy player, an improvisation genius who operates with an alien relationship to space and time.
Above all, Edwards is fun, a must-watch American star in a league where the very best young players – Victor Wembanyama, Luka Doncic, Shai Gilgeous-Alexander – are often Canadian or European. After Charles Barkley announced in their post-game interview last night that he hasn’t been to Minnesota in 20 years, Edwards – 39, Barkley’s junior – immediately shot back: “Bring ya ass!” Even his trash talk on the field has a punkish charm: Edwards’ first intervention, on the mic for the first game of this series, was to give Porter tips on his shooting action. Opponents seem to enjoy playing against him: “Do you have me?” Jamal Murray could be heard asking over Edwards’ audio feed after it became clear who his Game 1 marker was. “Oh, this will be fun.” And when they’re not facing him, other players want to be him. In January, while playing for the Memphis Grizzlies, Edwards performed an outrageous self-oop off the glass through traffic; the next day, former MVP Joel Embiid went out and did the exact same thing.
Whether it happens this year or at a later date, the Timberwolves certainly appear to be able to claim a first championship under the leadership of their young maestro. The American future of the NBA is already upon us. His name is Anthony Edwards.