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The only time I ever was inclined to watch Darko Milicic very closely was during a series of workouts in the barnlike building the Pistons call their practice facility behind the Palace.
This was in spring 2004, after the team's regular practice had ended, and assistant coach John Kuester was throwing entry passes into the post at varying speeds and trajectories. Darko's task was to catch, pivot, jam.
He was only 18, but he already was 7-0, 245. And the ease and speed with which he would grab a bullet at his ankles, uncoil in a millisecond and make the basket shake with a thunderous throwdown over another assistant coach made you go, "Whoa."
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