Reflecting on the basketball class of 2018 feels a bit like looking through an old yearbook. You see the faces full of promise, the predictions scrawled in the margins, and you can’t help but measure the distance between that potential and the reality of today. It was a draft class that, at the time, seemed top-heavy but not necessarily destined for historic greatness. Yet, here we are, several seasons deep, and the narrative has been rewritten in the most compelling ways. What fascinates me most, beyond the obvious superstar trajectories, is how the careers of these young men have been shaped not just by athletic prowess, but by the often-invisible networks of support they’ve built. It reminds me of a simple truth I’ve observed in sports and life, something echoed in that notion about the Nitura duo: even the simplest of text messages and being present for each other whenever their busy schedules permit can go a long way. That intangible glue—the check-ins, the shared understanding of the grind, the quiet solidarity—has been a defining, if underreported, factor in separating those who merely arrived from those who have thrived.
Of course, any look back must start with Luka Dončić. Drafted third overall by the Atlanta Hawks and immediately traded to the Dallas Mavericks, he was the European prodigy who somehow still managed to exceed the sky-high expectations. His rookie season wasn’t just good; it was a revelation, averaging 21.2 points, 7.8 rebounds, and 6.0 assists. I’ll admit, I had my doubts about how his game, so reliant on craft and pace, would translate against NBA athleticism. I was spectacularly wrong. He’s not just an All-Star; he’s a perennial MVP candidate, a player who redefines offensive possession. But watch him closely. His success isn’t a solo act. His on-court chemistry, particularly with fellow 2018 draftee Jalen Brunson during their Dallas years, was built on a foundation of that off-court rapport. It was in the shared film sessions, the mutual respect, the countless hours building a shorthand. That partnership, though dissolved now, was a masterclass in how professional synergy is nurtured through consistent, intentional connection.
Then there’s Trae Young, taken fifth by Dallas and traded for Dončić. The polarizing, logo-shooting guard from Oklahoma. His path has been louder, marked by explosive scoring titles (he led the league in total points and assists in 2021-22, a feat only achieved by four players ever) and equally explosive playoff moments. He’s a walking highlight reel, but his leadership evolution has been the real story. Early on, it was the Trae Young show. Now, you see a more deliberate conductor, one who understands that elevating Dejounte Murray or Clint Capela requires more than just passing them the ball; it requires building trust. It’s the post-practice conversations, the public support during slumps, the “being present” in the locker room dynamic. That growth in emotional intelligence, in my view, is what will ultimately determine if he can translate individual brilliance into a championship legacy.
The class, however, is defined by its depth, by the players who carved out essential roles. Shai Gilgeous-Alexander, the 11th pick, was seen as a raw, lengthy project. His journey from the Clippers to the Thunder is a testament to relentless work and, I believe, a strong personal support system that kept him grounded during early career uncertainties. Now, he’s a certified superstar, an MVP finalist leading a young Oklahoma City team with a poised, unstoppable scoring arsenal. Jaren Jackson Jr., the fourth pick, has transformed from a talented but foul-prone big into the Defensive Player of the Year, the anchor of the Memphis Grizzlies’ identity. His improvement speaks to a fantastic organizational structure and player development program, but also to a personal resilience. You don’t overhaul your defensive discipline without a deep internal drive and likely, a trusted circle of coaches, mentors, or veteran players offering steady guidance during frustrating moments.
Mikal Bridges, acquired by Phoenix on draft night, became the quintessential 3-and-D wing, the “connector” every contender craves. His story is one of perfect fit and gradual, consistent expansion of his game. But think about his reputation as the “NBA’s ironman”—his consecutive games streak wasn’t just physical durability; it was a mental commitment, a promise to his team to show up, every single night. That’s a different kind of presence, a profound professional reliability. On the other end of the spectrum is Michael Porter Jr., the 14th pick whose career has been a battle against a troubling back injury. His talent is undeniable, a smooth 6’10” scorer, but his availability has been the question. His journey highlights how fragile a career can be, and how crucial support—from medical staff, family, and the Nuggets’ patience—is in navigating such challenges. His championship contribution in Denver is a victory for perseverance and a well-managed ecosystem around a player.
And we can’t forget the later picks and undrafted gems who’ve become pillars. Jalen Brunson, the 33rd pick, whose patient, old-school game in New York has made him an All-Star and a folk hero. His rise is a scouting triumph, but also a story of belief—first from his family, then from Rick Carlisle in Dallas, and finally from Tom Thibodeau in New York. It’s a career built on being given opportunities and then, through sheer force of will and preparation, making himself indispensable. Gary Trent Jr., a second-round pick, has forged a lucrative career as a microwave scorer. These are the players who embody the grind, whose success is often fueled by a chip on the shoulder and a tight-knit group that believed in them when few others did.
So, what does the class of 2018 teach us? It’s more than a list of All-Stars and award winners. It’s a case study in development arcs. We see the meteoric rises, the slow burns, the injury comebacks, and the role-player transformations. But weaving through all these narratives is that thread of connection. The Dončić-Brunson synergy, the maturation of Trae’s leadership, the ecosystem around SGA and MPJ—it all points to a modern truth about NBA success. The physical gifts get you in the door, but the career is built in the weight room, the film room, and in the quality of the relationships you maintain. The text messages of encouragement, the offseason workouts together, the simple act of being there for a teammate navigating pressure or a slump… these are the compounding investments that, over time, separate good teams from great ones, and good players from lasting legends. The class of 2018 isn’t just standout because of its talent; it’s standout because so many of its members have understood, either intuitively or through experience, that the journey is a collective one. And that, to me, is the most compelling chapter of their story still being written.
