It’s become a modern-day rite of passage in basketball to draw comparisons between the next promising high school or college player and the legends who paved the way before them. The stories almost write themselves: “The next LeBron,” “the new KD,” “a young Kobe in the making.” But for former NBA coach and player Sam Mitchell, that kind of narrative is not only lazy—it’s counterproductive. Especially when it comes to someone like Cooper Flagg, the highly-touted prospect who’s been projected as a potential generational talent. Mitchell, never one to mince words or hide behind a hot take, has emerged as a voice of reason, suggesting that the attention surrounding Flagg should be focused on evolution, not replacement.
Sam Mitchell isn’t just another talking head. He’s someone who’s been in the trenches. As a former NBA player with over a decade of experience and a Coach of the Year winner in 2007 with the Toronto Raptors, his perspectives are shaped by direct experience, both on the hardwood and from the sidelines. That unique dual-lens gives weight to his comments, especially in a basketball culture that often gets caught up in hype cycles and unrealistic expectations. When Mitchell says Cooper Flagg doesn’t need to be the next LeBron James or Kevin Durant, but rather the first Cooper Flagg, it resonates deeply for those who understand what it truly takes to thrive in the league.
Mitchell’s point of emphasis is rooted in player development and the long-term psychological wellbeing of young athletes. It’s easy to forget just how damaging comparisons can be, especially when they’re made early and often. For a player like Flagg—who has already become a household name before even stepping foot on a college court—the burden of becoming “the next great one” is both immense and often unrealistic. Mitchell understands that kind of pressure. He saw it with players he coached, and he experienced the ups and downs as a player himself.
To truly appreciate what Mitchell is advocating, one must first understand the difference between evolution and replacement in sports discourse. Replacement implies a direct succession—that Player A will eventually become the new Player B. It’s linear, restrictive, and ultimately robs young athletes of their individual identity. Evolution, on the other hand, acknowledges the influence of predecessors while allowing space for innovation. It’s the idea that a young player like Flagg can build upon the foundation laid by those before him, creating something uniquely his own in the process. That, in Mitchell’s eyes, is what basketball should be celebrating.
This philosophical stance is not about downplaying Flagg’s immense talent. On the contrary, Mitchell has been one of Flagg’s most consistent supporters, admiring the 6’9” forward’s versatility, instincts, and basketball IQ. He sees in Flagg the raw tools that can make him not just a star, but a transformative figure in the sport. However, Mitchell is also cautious of what happens when the conversation turns from celebration to coronation. The pedestal is high, and the fall from it, when based on unrealistic expectations, can be devastating.
What separates Mitchell from other analysts is that he’s not talking in abstracts. He’s not just speculating from a distance. During his coaching days, Mitchell worked closely with players who came into the league with similar pressure. Take, for example, his time with Chris Bosh in Toronto. Bosh, a lanky forward out of Georgia Tech, was constantly compared to Kevin Garnett due to their similar build and playing style. Mitchell had to help Bosh carve out his own identity while navigating those comparisons, something that took patience, nuance, and a strong mental framework.
And that’s precisely where Mitchell believes the current hype machine around Flagg is getting it wrong. Flagg isn’t a carbon copy of anyone. His game has shades of multiple greats—KD’s length, Luka’s court vision, Draymond’s defensive instincts—but he is not simply an amalgamation of those players. He represents a new archetype, one that hasn’t fully taken form yet. To rush that development by pinning labels on him is to misunderstand what makes evolution in sports so powerful. It’s not about duplicating past success; it’s about expanding the boundaries of what’s possible.
Mitchell’s comments also tap into a broader conversation about youth development in basketball. The AAU circuit, social media highlight reels, and recruiting coverage have all intensified in recent years, creating an environment where teenagers are treated like professionals before they’ve finished high school. While this increased exposure can open doors, it can also distort priorities. Players begin to focus more on image than substance, more on brand than craft. Mitchell warns that without proper mentorship and guidance, even the most gifted athletes can get swept up in the tide.
That’s why he advocates for a support system that values long-term growth over short-term attention. In his view, coaches, parents, and media should all play a role in helping players like Flagg stay grounded. Mitchell himself benefitted from such mentors during his journey, and he sees it as a responsibility to pay that forward. In interviews, he often recalls his time as a player in the late 80s and 90s when the spotlight wasn’t as bright but the expectations were still heavy. He learned early that the only way to endure was to focus on what he could control: his work ethic, his attitude, and his willingness to learn.
Flagg, to his credit, appears to embody many of those values already. Scouts and coaches rave about his coachability, his humility, and his basketball IQ. He’s not someone who chases the spotlight—it has simply found him because of how special he is on the court. That kind of internal compass will serve him well in the coming years, especially as the noise grows louder. But even the most mentally tough athletes need reinforcement, and Mitchell’s message is one of constructive caution: let the kid grow.
There’s also a deeper, perhaps even philosophical layer to Mitchell’s stance. He believes that our obsession with replacing legends undermines the fluid nature of greatness. No one truly replaces Michael Jordan, just as no one replaced Bill Russell or Magic Johnson. Each generation brings its own style, tempo, and set of challenges. Greatness is not a baton to be passed—it’s a spectrum to be expanded. The game changes, and with it, the metrics of success. Flagg may not score like Jordan or dominate like Shaq, but he might redefine how we think about positional versatility or defensive impact. That, in and of itself, would be legacy-building.
Mitchell also stresses the importance of environment in nurturing that evolution. It’s not just about talent—it’s about fit, culture, and opportunity. A young player, no matter how gifted, can only thrive if the ecosystem around him supports his growth. That’s why Mitchell has always been vocal about organizations needing to invest in player development, not just in terms of skills but also in life skills. He has often pointed to teams like the San Antonio Spurs and Miami Heat as models of holistic development—franchises that understand the person behind the player.
In today’s NBA, the margins between success and failure are razor-thin. For every LeBron James who lives up to the hype, there are countless others whose trajectories were derailed by injuries, bad fits, or simply the weight of expectation. Mitchell doesn’t want to see Flagg become another cautionary tale. He wants to see him become something we haven’t seen before—a new blueprint rather than a replica.
This viewpoint also serves as a critique of the current media and fan ecosystem. Mitchell challenges the way narratives are constructed, particularly around young athletes. When a 17-year-old is being compared to Hall of Famers, it’s not a harmless compliment—it’s a loaded declaration that can skew perceptions and set unrealistic benchmarks. And when those benchmarks aren’t met immediately, the backlash can be brutal. We’ve seen it before, and we’ll see it again unless the culture changes.
What Mitchell proposes isn’t just a shift in language—it’s a shift in mindset. He urges fans, media, and stakeholders to appreciate players for what they are becoming, not for what they remind us of. That means embracing uncertainty, being patient with development, and resisting the urge to categorize prematurely. In a league that thrives on “what’s next,” sometimes the best thing we can do is slow down and watch.
There’s something inherently human about Mitchell’s message. It’s a call to let young people, especially those in the public eye, find their own way. It’s about offering space for individuality and growth, rather than constantly measuring against outdated standards. And perhaps most importantly, it’s about respect—respect for the game, for the process, and for the journey each player must take.
Cooper Flagg may very well become one of the defining players of his generation. He may win MVPs, titles, and etch his name into the annals of basketball history. But he will do so not by mimicking someone else’s path, but by carving his own. That’s the evolution Sam Mitchell is talking about. Not a torch being passed, but a flame being lit anew.
In a basketball culture that often prioritizes the sensational over the substantial, Mitchell’s words serve as a necessary grounding force. They remind us that greatness is not inherited or imitated—it’s discovered through patience, discipline, and an unrelenting belief in one’s own potential. If we allow Cooper Flagg that space, if we let him evolve rather than expecting him to replace, we just might witness something truly extraordinary. Not the second coming of anyone, but the first coming of a player the sport has never quite seen before. And that, according to Sam Mitchell, is the kind of story worth telling.
