Dirk Nowitzki sat down at his desk, finally having made himself ready for this task of greatest import. Getting out the flamboyant feather pen that he kept around for occasions such as these, he looked at the blank parchment in front of him, wondering if he would know what to write. He had never been much of a writer, and the parchment had been expensive. It would not do to screw up at this juncture, so he paused.
Looking at the championship ring on his left hand, he felt the welling-up of an unknown force travel up his body, and he knew then that his concerns were unfounded. He wrote:
“To the adventurer who finds this,
Congratulations. Your determination and stamina are unparalleled, but even you, who possess these things and more in great abundance, know that those things alone did not bring you here today. Only a worthy successor to my legacy would feel their inner compass guided to the spot where you now stand. A basketball player who has overcome all the trials that life saw to put in his way – that player would be the one who will continue to forge the path that I and others have laid down. That player is you, and I trust that you will not waver in your pursuit of this goal and all others.
You may read this message and think, “This is all well and good, but it does not make me a better basketball player.” That would be a correct notion to hold, as I have no advice which you have not already discovered in your NBA experience. However, you should know that an unbreakable connection now exists between you and I, and that connection will strengthen and invigorate you when you suffer from weakness of body. I would also be able to grant strength of mind if the situation arose, but I know that I will not need to, as your will to succeed is unbreakable.
You are my equal, and in time, you may even surpass me. I feel nothing but joy in writing these words, for you alone have been dubbed worthy.
-Dirk Nowitzki, June 12, 2011″
Dirk finished writing and found that he was covered in sweat. Re-reading the words he had penned, he could not recall having put them there. This apparent forgetfulness did not bother him, as he knew that a higher force had guided his hand during their composition.
Folding up the parchment into a neat square, Dirk got up and got in his car. His destination: Dallas’ American Airlines Center.
Walking down another bland hallway, Dirk stopped in front of a door marked, “authorized personnel only.” Dirk thought that he probably wasn’t the “authorized personnel” they had in mind, but it didn’t matter.
Opening the door revealed a musty staircase fashioned from brick, uncharacteristic for the modernity of the arena as a whole. It was not widely-known that the arena had actually been built atop the remains of an old Spanish mission. Dirk was not interested in the history of the structure, only in the out-of-the-way hiding places it afforded.
He quickly walked down the stairs and, upon reaching their bottom, set off in a random direction. Most of the walls were adobe, which would not do, so he walked for a long while before coming across a brick wall in the mission’s chapel.
His focus-lined face lit only by flickering candlelight, Dirk carefully pried a loose brick out of its place in the wall. Tenderly placing his note in the newly-opened hole, he then replaced the brick among its brothers. Taking a step back, he couldn’t even tell that there was an anomaly in the structure of the wall, which, of course, was exactly the goal; he did not want unworthy intruders to stumble across this most vital of messages.
Dirk wondered who the chosen player would be, if it would be somebody currently in the league or somebody yet to be even born. His curiosity was short-lived, though. When the right player came along, Dirk would know. He would feel. Then, and only then, the transference of power would occur.