DeMarcus Cousins was the unquestioned best player on the court for the third straight game Wednesday night, running through the Wolves with a 22-12-5-4 line and the game-winning hook shot with less than three seconds on the clock. Three games in three nights? 18.3 points, 11.3 rebounds, 3 assists, 2 steals and a block per game. (And, yes, three wins too.)
He also barked at Timberwolves assistant coach (and StR's favorite coach of all-time) Reggie Theus, chiding Minnesota for trying to have the incredible Greg Stiemsma get Boogie off his game by pushing and elbowing. (The ploy didn't work. Cousins' post-game evisceration of Theus might as well be a crotch chop followed by a middle finger.)
His swagger is phenomenal. His game is refreshingly developed. He cares. He's fearless. He's funny. He's 19 years old.
This is getting uncomfortably perfect.
Only a Kings fan would be sitting here watch Boogie dropstep and spin-move Patrick O'Bryant into Bolivia and be waiting for the other shoe to drop, right? It's the same exact thing many of us did throughout Tyreke Evans' almost mythic 20-5-5 rookie season. We, or at least I, keep the potential Achilles' heels in the back of our (or my) mind. Was anyone else a bit nervous as Cousins and Stiemsma jawed and bumped, when Boogie was barking at the ref? I can admit my palms got a touch sweaty. I'm still learning how to read Boogie. We figured out when Brad Miller was truly pissed. We know when Jason Thompson is taking himself out of the game by focusing on the whistles. No, we could never read Ron Artest. But, you know, Ron Artest can't read Ron Artest. Saint Peter can't read Ron Artest.
We'll be able to read Cousins, I'm convinced, and the type of unknowing anxiety I suffered in watching the Wolves game will dissipate.
I worry, in watching Cousins, that he's so confident that at some point he won't know when to stop himself. But then he makes a deadly no-look to a cutter, or drops a turnaround on his defender, or soars for a rebound no Kings since Yogi Stewart would grab, and that dissipates. Will Boogie and Reke butt heads? Maybe, maybe not. Will Donte Greene and Omri Casspi bristle at the lack of touches when Cousins is shooting for 20 every night? Maybe, maybe not. Fit does matter in the NBA, and we honestly don't know if Cousins will fit poorly, well or perfectly with the other Kings.
But these fears are so, so minor in comparison to the fear you have a scrub, a bust. That fear may live in Newark, Philadelphia, Minneapolis, Oakland, Detroit, Los Angeles, Salt Lake City, Indianapolis, Oklahoma City, Memphis, Toronto and Houston, at different levels. But Wizards fan know their lottery pick isn't a bust. And I think we can all safely agree that DeMarcus Cousins is not a scrub, is not a bust.
When you realize that this early, all other fears -- about his temper, about the fit, about his eventual fitness -- seem so, so minor. That's where I am with Boogie: giddy. Ta' hell with measured optimism. The Kings have a second cornerstone, and his name is DeMarcus Cousins. Welcome to Sacramento, kid.