As the biggest rock star in the world, Jay-Z’s got the music, he’s got the girl and he’s definitely got the swagger—the guy brashly anointed himself the new Sinatra, and no one really found room to disagree. He even has the attention and curious interest of neophytes like me, because by now, even stiffs know every word of “Empire State of Mind” without necessarily knowing the real meaning of some of the lyrics. (To wit: I not only needed a clarification between Jesus and Jeezy, but also an explanation of what it means to pay LeBron and Dwyane Wade, and why one option is preferable to the other.)
I can nod my head and sing along, but the truth is, I’m never really sure what Jay-Z’s spitting about. I do know, though, that one of his songs made a cameo at Countdown to Craziness in October because of Nolan Smith. He may be a DMV homer, but he’s one of those people who gets Jay-Z. As the junior walked onto Coach K Court rocking star-shaped shades, with his hands above his head, “Public Service Announcement” blared throughout the quaint stadium. Its opening cadence:
“Allow me to reintroduce myself.”
What a perfect lyric for Smith, I thought without even knowing the name of the song, and it’s only become more apt since ACC play began. Is there a better way to describe Smith’s breakout season?
Around this time last year—in fact, right after Clemson stomped Duke in Littlejohn Coliseum—Smith lost his starting spot, then added injury to insult when he ran into a blind screen at Maryland and sat out three games with a concussion. (If Smith hadn’t been supplanted by Greg Paulus and then Elliot Williams, would Jon Scheyer still be a shooting guard? These are the things you think when listening to “Public Service Announcement” for research.) Before his sophomore season, Smith was touted as a player ready to evolve into the muscle behind Duke’s potential NCAA Tournament run. Neither happened. As the Blue Devils bowed out quietly in the Sweet 16, Smith ended the year out of the spotlight with unremarkable numbers that hardly distinguished his second season from his first.
The Blue Devils, in short, needed to allow Smith to reintroduce himself.
It was understandable that Smith—despite having emerged in the offseason as a goofy, likable character on Twitter and perhaps even the public face of the program—entered this year without the buzz, which was instead heaped on Kyle Singler and Jon Scheyer. Smith was no longer the point guard stealing a starting spot from a senior, nor was he the symbolic face of Duke’s response from an opening-weekend flameout in 2008. Instead, Smith was an afterthought when, all along, he’s been just as crucial to the team’s potential as Scheyer, whose steadiness anchors the team.
Smith, too, has been consistent, just in the opposite way. Smith and Scheyer are virtually tied for second in the ACC in scoring partly because Smith’s 3-point percentage is up from 34.6 percent to 50.8 percent, best in the league. Smith’s strength, however, isn’t behind the arc but inside the lane, where he is Duke’s most dynamic playmaker. He can elevate for a jumper over a forward, and he can explode to the rim for a dunk. Last year, as Gerald Henderson developed in the middle of his junior season into the team’s preeminent creator, Smith’s role didn’t suit his talent. “He has the ability to create his own shot,” Krzyzewski said Saturday after Smith led Duke with 22 points. “He’s not great at it, but he’s the best guy we have at doing that.”
No one’s comparing him to John Wall —speak not the name!—but then, Smith doesn’t need to be. Last I looked, the traits of a good NCAA Tournament team haven’t changed since last October, when raving about Smith was all the rage. Duke, like every other team, needs what Smith provides. If these Blue Devils are primed for a trip into April—and like anyone else who follows this team, I’m not yet sure that they are—Smith is going to be the catalyst in March, mostly because he has to be. Right now, there’s no one on this Duke team who can do what Smith does.
That became all the more clear Saturday at Clemson. Last year, when he didn’t pick up his dribble in the backcourt, Smith wriggled into suffocating traps. He shot 1-of-7 with no assists and four turnovers in just 23 painful minutes. Smith didn’t really recover, but the problem had existed long before that night, which Krzyzewski dubbed “embarrassing.” Smith never looked as comfortable as a point guard as he did off the ball; he wasn’t himself.
The time off and drastically different look of this team gave Smith an opportunity for transformation and he punctuated it at Clemson, shooting 8-of-13 in 37 minutes with two assists and, most importantly, zero turnovers.
With every game growing in significance—fresh out the frying pan into the fire, as Jay-Z would say—Smith’s reintroduction had arrived right on time. He looked like himself.
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