Roma hoping to recover Kone and Hermoso vs Cremonese
During the 2-2 draw against Napoli, Wesley suffered a left ankle injury following a rough tackle by Amir Rrahmani.
The former Flamengo player was forced to limp off the pitch, while the Giallorossi medical staff promptly applied an ice pack to the affected area.
In the next few hours, Il Tempo reports, the player will undergo tests to assess the extent of the injury.
This new sideline represents another significant loss for Roma, which is already dealing with several absences at a crucial point in the season.
The team is indeed awaiting the crucial match against Juventus, scheduled for two weeks at the Olimpico, a crucial match for the Giallorossi’s seasonal objectives.
If Wesley’s injury proves serious, it would be another blow for Gian Piero Gasperini’s team.
Meanwhile, the Roman side are hoping to have Hermoso and Koné back for next Sunday’s match against Cremonese.
The Spaniard and the Frenchman should return to training with the group this week and earn a call-up to the match against Nicola’s men.
Blazers’ Deni Avdija ends unlikely journey with ‘long weekend’ at historic All-Star game
INGLEWOOD, Calif. — It had been an emotional and busy weekend filled with basketball, media obligations and fan events, but after finishing his All-Star debut with a pair of narrow defeats, Deni Avdija had one last responsibility.
A postgame interview session.
There was just one problem. San Antonio Spurs center Victor Wembanyama was sitting at the dais in front of a microphone, delaying Avdija’s session.
So the Portland Trail Blazers forward plopped down on the floor near the doorway of the interview room, still draped in his white No. 8 World Team uniform, and took a break.
“It’s been a long weekend,” Avdija said, smiling.
Long and memorable.
Avdija’s breakout season reached its highest peak yet Sunday when he participated in his first All-Star game. The 6-foot-8 forward started two matchups in the new round-robin format, which featured three teams, condensed 12-minute games and a mini tournament at Intuit Dome. And while it was hardly his most jaw-dropping performance — Avdija finished with a modest five points, four assists and one rebound in 15 minutes — it stamped his arrival as one of the game’s best and brightest young players.
His ascension has been both improbable and precipitous, coming after an unremarkable stint with the Washington Wizards, a rough launch in Portland and years of growing pains. But much like his nickname, “Turbo” has blasted his way inside the NBA’s elite with a dynamic and dominant sixth season, during which he’s averaged 25.2 points, 7.2 rebounds and 6.6 assists and recorded three triple-doubles. Only two other players — two-time MVP Nikola Jokic and six-time All-Star Luka Doncic — are averaging at least 25.0 points, 7.0 assists and 6.0 rebounds this season.
Along the way, Avdija has established himself as a pillar of the Blazers’ multiyear roster rebuild, giving the burgeoning roster a bona fide star. He is the 17th All-Star in franchise history and the first not named Damian Lillard since 2015. He’s also the first-ever Israeli-born All-Star in the 75-year history of the event, a fitting footnote in a year the game featured a team comprised exclusively of international players for the first time.
So as he stepped into history this weekend, Avdija not only represented a sleepy basketball-crazed city in the Northwest, but also a small country across the globe.
“I have definitely worked hard, sacrificed a lot of my time to get to the best stage in the world,” he said. “And I feel like this is a dream come true for every kid that actually wants to play basketball. Having a whole country behind me, it’s just a blessing to represent it on the biggest stage in the world.”
Basketball wasn’t a given
Avdija grew up in Herzliya, a town situated about 20 minutes north of Tel Aviv known for its white sandy beaches and trendy restaurants.
His mother, Sharon Artzi, is an Israeli who excelled in track and field. His father, Zufer Avdija, grew up in former Yugoslavia before carving out a distinguished professional basketball career in Europe.
But Avdija did not immediately follow in his father’s footsteps.
He wasn’t particularly tall as a kid and, he says, “I was a little chubby.” Eventually, at his parent’s urging, Avdija gave basketball a shot and he was a natural, using his “good instincts and good feet” to emerge as a prodigy on the Israeli youth basketball scene. At age 15, Avdija finally hit a growth spurt. And a year later, he signed a professional contract with prestigious Israeli club team Maccabi Tel Aviv, becoming the second-youngest player to do so.
It was a difficult transition for the teenager. Avdija not only missed six months with a back injury, which he says stemmed from growing pains related to that growth spurt, but also found himself surrounded by new teammates who were grown men in their 20s and 30s. He technically continued to attend high school, but in reality he spent very little time there over his final two years. Basketball practices took place during the day and he was hyper-focused on the sport.
Along the way, Avdija didn’t just miss classes, he also missed out on the high school experience, including dances and prom. He left without earning a diploma.
“Obviously you want to be a kid and grow up and enjoy the journey,” Avdija said. “But you have to make some sacrifices to be great.”
He found ways to adapt. For example, he learned English by watching Nickelodeon sitcoms, which aired in Israel with subtitles.
“I watched all the classics,” Avdija said. “Like Drake and Josh. iCarly. Victorious. You name it.”
In the end, his otherworldly talent was enough to smooth out the bumpy transition. He led Israel to back-to-back gold medals at the FIBA U20 European Championships, earning an MVP award on the way to the second title, and flourished in EuroLeague tournaments, elevating Israel’s national team and generating NBA draft buzz. The Washington Wizards selected him with the No. 9 overall pick of the 2020 NBA draft.
Nine years after watching those Nickelodeon sitcoms, Avdija had Israeli eyeballs glued to television screens for a different broadcast: NBA All-Star Weekend.
As Avdija’s star has risen, he has become a must-see attraction in his home country.
Israel is small, boasting a population of roughly 10 million, but it has a passionate sports culture. Yair Kattan, deputy sports editor at the Yedioth Ahronoth newspaper in Tel Aviv, said news of Avdija’s All-Star selection flooded home pages of web sites and front pages of newspapers, and landed at the top of local television broadcasts, a rare feat in a country flooded with daily news about politics and military conflict.
“It’s unprecedented,” Kattan said. “We are mad about sports, but not very good at it. Avdija is a wild fantasy come true, a top player in a top league. He’s way beyond just popular.”
Hungry Israeli sports fans gobble up every nugget of information they can get their hands on, Kattan said, devouring Avdija’s highlights, statistics and interviews on social media. When the Blazers acquired Avdija in a trade from Washington, it was a welcomed development across the globe because it meant that Israeli fans could rise early before work to watch his games, which now typically tip off at 5 a.m. — instead of 2 a.m. — in Israel.
“Everything (about) Avdija catches fire,” Kattan said. “People also strive to travel to the States to watch him live and there was high demand for tourist packages for the All-Star game.”
The fervor has sparked an intriguing debate among Israeli sports fans, who can’t help but wonder whether Avdija’s ascension has cemented him as the best athlete in the country’s history.
The candidates, according to Kattan, include basketball legend Miki Berkovich, who was named one of FIBA’s 50 Greatest Players in 1991, and a pair of decorated Olympic athletes — Gal Friedman, a windsurfer who won the country’s first Olympic gold medal, and Artem Dolgopyat, a gymnast who owns an Olympic silver medal in the floor exercise.
“I’m a bit torn,” Kattan said. “I think he will be the greatest, just not yet. He’s definitely a phenomenon. We’ve had some wonderful athletes, but they either reached the top in (less popular) sports or at the national level. Deni is a megastar in a world renowned league, and we’ve never had that. He also serves as a source of pride in hard times.”
That he is even a part of the conversation is mind-blowing for Avdija.
“It’s a really small country, very controversial, and every time that I play and I can represent it is an honor,” he said. “It made me who I am. … I think I still have a long way to go. I’ve reached some good, respectable milestones, but I feel like there’s a whole (other) level that I can reach. I have never stopped chasing that. Obviously, I want to be the top of the top. I want to be the best. But I’m still humble, I still have a lot of things I need to accomplish, so at the end of my career we can start to talk about that.”
Indeed, Avdija is only getting started in Portland.
Portland becoming a second home
It’s harder to get farther away from the white sandy beaches of Herzliya — both in distance and atmosphere — than Portland. But Avdija has grown to adore his home away from home.
He spends sunny offseason days lounging on his boat along Oswego Lake, fishing and relaxing. He spends off days visiting local wineries. And he spends nights out savoring Portland’s “diverse” food scene.
He said he finds peace living among the “nature” of the Pacific Northwest, which he describes as “amazing.”
As the Blazers continue to rise and his game continues to grow, Avdija can’t help but imagine a long future here.
“I definitely want to amplify a good culture into the organization,” he said. “I hope I’m going to stay in Portland. I love the city, the fans, and I think we’re in a good spot. I’m glad to be part of this rebuilding (effort) and I’m really seeing a bright future.”
This bright future is largely tied to Avdija, of course. He has emerged as the most important piece of the Blazers’ rebuild and the archetype for how they like to play: fast, physical, free and aggressive. He was largely constrained in Washington, where the Wizards primarily used him as an off-the-dribble shooter and long-range threat. But after a rocky start to his Portland tenure last season, Avdija flourished over the final two months of the season, averaging 24.9 points as the Blazers went 23-18.
He has only built upon the success this season, taking advantage of Portland’s myriad injuries and an expanded role to change his perception around the NBA.
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The Blazers have been so besieged by injuries that they were forced to play two months without a natural point guard. It left acting coach Tiago Splitter no choice but to lean on “Turbo,” using Avdija in a point-forward role as the team’s primary playmaker and facilitator. The results have been transformative.
Avdija ranks among the top 16 players in the NBA in scoring (25.2 points per game) and assists (6.6), an increase of 8.3 points and 2.7 assists per game from his averages last season. In January, he became the 14th player in franchise history to be named Western Conference Player of the Week, and he’s the frontrunner for the NBA’s Most Improved Player award.
All the while, an intrigued injured teammate has admired from the bench, imagining the possibilities of playing alongside him one day.
“It’s been fun to watch, just to see Deni grow and evolve into the player that he’s become to this point,” Lillard, a nine-time All-Star who won Saturday’s 3-Point Contest, said. “This is the first time in my career … I’m able to see practice every day without participating, I’m able to watch games every day and I’m not emotionally tied to the game. I’ve spent a lot of time seeing how the dynamic, if I’m on the floor with him, can go. He’s been special.”
And it was a special week in Southern California.
When Wembanyama finally stepped away from the dais, Avdija picked himself up off the floor and walked toward that microphone.
He talked about representing Israel. He talked about his first All-Star game experience. He talked about the new format and the renewed competitiveness.
Across the globe, a country watched for the first time as one of their own spoke for Israel on the NBA’s biggest stage.
“It was hectic, but it was fun,” Avdija said. “I was really enjoying the experience. Especially when it’s your first time, you embrace everything a little better. But I hope I can be here for many years to come.
“It wasn’t so bad.”
Read the original article on oregonlive.com.
Oregon lets one slip away at No. 25 Washington
The Oregon Ducks overcame an early 14-point deficit to position themselves to defeat No. 25 Washington, but faltered down the stretch in a women’s basketball game Sunday night.
The Ducks trailed by two with 3:47 remaining but went scoreless the rest of the way and lost 51-43 at Alaska Airlines Arena in Seattle.
Turnovers and poor shooting doomed the Ducks in the final minutes after the Huskies cranked up their defensive pressure.
Washington held Oregon to fewer than 10 points in three of the four quarters.
The night began ominously for the Ducks, who fell behind 17-3 in the first quarter. But they dominated the second quarter, 19-5, to lead 28-27 at halftime.
Oregon made 9 of 14 shots (64.3%) in the second quarter while holding the Huskies to 2-of-13 shooting (15.4%).
But the poor shooting that hurt the Ducks in the first quarter returned in the entire second half.
The Ducks were outscored 10-6 in the third quarter and 14-9 in the fourth.
All told, the Ducks shot 30.9% from the field, went 1 of 10 from beyond the arc and committed 18 turnovers.
Oregon stars Katie Fiso and Mia Jacobs combined to shoot 3 of 24 from the field for nine points.
WHAT IT MEANS
Oregon (18-9, 6-8) fell to 1-6 against teams currently ranked in the top 25. The Ducks will get another shot at Washington (19-7, 9-6) at home on Mar. 1.
TOP PERFORMERS
Sarah Rambus led Oregon with 12 points off the bench, making 5 of 7 shots. Ari Long added seven points on 3-of-4 shooting.
Ehis Etute had seven points and 11 rebounds, but shot just 2 of 9.
Sayvia Sellers led the Huskies with 17 points. Avery Howell scored nine points and added nine rebounds.
NEXT UP
The Ducks host Nebraska (16-9, 5-9) at 6 p.m. Thursday.
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Read the original article on oregonlive.com.
How Kawhi Leonard tamed an All-Star circus
INGLEWOOD, Calif. — The lights of the Intuit Dome found him, as they always do.
Not the strobes. Not the pyrotechnics. Not the manufactured glare of Red Panda, mascots and sponsored distractions.
The real lights. The ones that matter. The ones that follow greatness like paparazzi follow scandal.
Kawhi Leonard stood at midcourt, and the Intuit Dome held its breath.
It had been a weekend of experiments, of round-robin rubrics and compressed clocks, of three teams where two once stood.
The NBA, in its infinite tinkering, had fractured its showcase into fragments—12-minute bursts, a tournament where mathematics mattered as much as magic.
NBA fans asked for competition. What they initially received was contention.
Then came Victor Wembanyama. Then came De'Aaron Fox. And then, in the third game, when the afternoon had begun to sag under the weight of its own novelty, came Kawhi Leonard.
He made it must-watch. Leonard made the All-Star game matter, even as it has become a serious point of contention among those who watch.
The tone arrived early. It arrived tall.
Wembanyama set the tone in the first game of the round-robin tournament, and he set it with the casual ferocity of a man who has never learned to pretend.
The San Antonio Spurs' dexterous 7-foot-4ish center—elastic, impossible, a Gumby-esque monument to modern basketball evolution—walked onto the court, and immediately made it clear he hadn't come for the photo ops.
Wemby looked to be taking the All-Star Game seriously.
He's played defense in an All-Star Game.
In the first round of a made-for-TV tournament that most players treat as a glorified shootaround. He starts off blocking shots and dunking on people. He came to play.
"I'm matched up on you," Wembanyama told Anthony Edwards in the tunnel before they took the court, according to Edwards.
The Frenchman finished with 14 points, six rebounds and three blocks in that opening tilt, numbers that tell nothing of the story.
Wembanyama contested everything. He erased shots that shooters believed were open. He moved like a guard in a center's body, like a thought in physical form, and his teammates—international stars accustomed to the All-Star's polite indifference—followed his lead.
"It's a game we love, it's a game I personally cherish," Wembanyama said. "Being competitive is the least I can do."
The World team pushed Team Stars to overtime. Edwards scored 13 points, including a game-tying 3 to force the extra session.
Scottie Barnes eventually buried a game-winning triple—the first team to five points, because everything about this format required explanation—and Wembanyama stormed to the bench in disgust.
The same fury he wears in San Antonio when rotations break down, when possessions are wasted, when excellence is betrayed by inattention. He had lost. But he had established the standard.
"[Wembanyama] set the tone, and it was definitely competitive with all three teams," Edwards said. "He set the tone, man. And it woke me up, for sure. I'm not gonna lie. He came out playing hard, so it's hard not to match that. So, [expletive], that's what happened. Sorry for my language; that's what happened, though."
Wembanyama's wake-up call reverberated into Game 2, where Team Stripes faced Team Stars with a different energy—veteran American talent against young American talent, experience versus exuberance, the past reaching for the future's throat.
Jaylen Brown poured in 11 points for Stripes. Edwards matched him. Cade Cunningham added 11 for Stars. The score tightened, twisted, refused to break.
And then Fox happened.
The San Antonio guard—Wembanyama's teammate, though they played on opposite sides in this strange format—took possession with seconds remaining and found himself staring at Cade Cunningham.
What happened next defied easy description, but let's try:
Fox put Cunningham in the popcorn machine.
Crossed him, cooked him, left him standing in a different zip code. The buzzer sounded. The ball floated through the air. The net snapped.
Stripes 42, Stars 40. Game over. Fox's dagger was still quivering in the hardwood.
That's what the fans wanted to see.
Competition had crashed the party uninvited. And the party was better for it.
By the time Team Stripes faced Team World in the third game of the round robin, the building had found its rhythm.
The experimental format—three teams, 12-minute games, a round-robin tournament and a final championship—had actually worked.
Players competed. Crowds reacted. The millionaires and billionaires in attendance forgot to check their phones.
Then the Leonard showcase happened.
The Clippers' forward, added to the All-Star Game as an injury replacement—inserted by commissioner Adam Silver like a late substitution in a play no one expected to succeed—caught fire in ways that defy statistical comprehension.
In the third game, Leonard nearly outscored Team World in 12 minutes. Kawhi-31, World 45.
The arithmetic reads like poetry. The performance played like prophecy.
Leonard shot 84 percent from the field to lead Team Stripes to a 48-45 thriller, and he did so with the aesthetic minimalism that has defined his career—no wasted motion, no excess, nothing that did not serve the singular purpose of putting the ball through the hoop and preventing the opponent from doing the same.
Eleven for thirteen from the field. Six for seven from three. Three rebounds. Two steals. 84 percent shooting against a Wembanyama—the human eraser, the league's leading shot-blocker, a 7-foot-4 nightmare who tried his best and watched Leonard shoot over him anyway.
He looked like Kawhi Jordan, and for 12 minutes, the comparison felt not hyperbolic but historical.
"We were watching it ... like, 'Damn, this guy is killing,'" Barnes recalled. "We were just like in awe. In shock, too. When a guy has it going like that, it's special. That's what the people want to see."
Edwards, waiting for the final game, approached Leonard with a message delivered through laughter and competitive terror: "I told him when we walked out for the last game, I said, 'Hey, you need to chill out.'"
He did not chill out. He could not. This is not what Kawhi Leonard does.
The Clippers fans—his fans, his city, his house—chanted MVP as the final seconds bled away.
Leonard received four MVP votes despite losing the tournament, a statistical paradox that captures the essence of his art: individual transcendence in collective defeat, beauty in the losing effort, greatness recognized even when greatness is not enough.
The postgame podium found Leonard as it always does—measured, monotone, mysteriously compelling.
The voice, barely rising above a whisper, somehow commands complete attention. The man who eschews social media's circus has mastered the older art of saying everything by saying almost nothing.
"It's been fun," Leonard said. "They always do a great job, even during our games, of just keeping us locked in and giving us energy throughout the whole 48 minutes. Los Angeles has been great."
Forty-eight minutes. Leonard spoke of regular-season endurance in a weekend of abbreviated bursts, revealing the mental framework that separates the professional from the performer.
For him, the All-Star Game was not an exception to be managed but an extension of identity—compete, always; defend, always; remain, always, the version of himself that arrived in Los Angeles as a champion and persists as a standard.
"Happy that Adam let me in," Leonard said, the two-time Finals MVP, requiring permission to participate in a showcase of stars. "That's what the home crowd wanted to see and I'm glad I was able to do something in that game."
Something. Thirty-one points in twelve minutes is not something.
It is everything compressed into urgency, the career-long narrative of efficiency taken to its logical extreme.
A reporter asked about reaching "Flow State" in front of home fans. Leonard demurred with characteristic indirection: "It's great, you know. Happy that Adam let me in."
The deflection is the message. The silence is the statement.
When another journalist noted that scoring 31 in a regular game is crazy—"obviously, Klay had the 37 in one quarter, but for you to do it against World All-Stars, does that mean anything different?"—Leonard responded with the perspective of a man who has seen everything and been impressed by little.
"No, just having fun out there. Making shots. Obviously, these guys aren't competing at a regular-season schedule game, but it's always fun to go out and compete against those guys. Cherish the court with them. They're all legends, and they're playing great basketball."
On the format—this experimental triptych of teams and timers—Leonard offered the wisdom of a man who has seen basketball's evolution from defense-first grind to offense-only spectacle and back again: "I think it was good. Didn't really figure it out till we got here. Even as the game is going on, trying to figure out the records, how you play that out, point spread, or what. But I thought it was good. I still think going back to East-West will be great—I think guys will compete still."
The competitors, he suggested, make the competition.
Not the structure. Not the stakes. The will.
When I asked the inevitable—"When you're healthy, are you the best player in the league?"—Leonard responded with the philosophy that has carried him through injury and triumph, through San Antonio's betrayal and Toronto's redemption, through the Clippers' endless promise and perpetual postponement:
"It's for you guys. For me, I think it's rotation—every day, every week, because you get guys coming out scoring 50, having great defensive games, and then the next night somebody's not playing well, somebody else is going to shine. So, for me, I think the ranking is just based on you just keeping the hype around the game."
He paused. The room leaned forward.
"But yeah, I feel like I'm one of the best at when I am playing basketball."
One of the best. The understatement is the point. Humility is the armor.
Another voice emerged from the presser: "Kawhi, in that game, obviously you're representing your home court and you're a local guy. Did you have an extra sense of motivation?"
"Yeah, I grew up coming up here watching, going to the convention center, seeing stars walk around and dreaming of being here," Leonard said. "I wanted to take the opportunity to play great, and I take advantage of it and go out there and ball. I was happy I was able to do that this year in LA."
The final question turned to the locker room mindset, the pregame conversation about competitiveness after years of criticism.
"Nothing," Leonard said. "We didn't really mention not playing hard or let's make this competitive. I didn't hear anything. We just went out there and competed. We wanted to win the game. We got competitors out there, and we got some championship pedigree. It's hard to turn off that switch when you're out there playing."
The championship game—Team Stars versus Team Stripes arrived as anticlimax.
The young Americans won 47-21, a blowout that rendered the tournament's mathematics moot.
Edwards scored eight points on 3-for-5 shooting and collected his trophy, receiving 10 of 14 MVP votes. Leonard managed one point on 0-for-4 shooting, his body perhaps reminding him that even machines require maintenance, that 31 points in 12 minutes extracts its tax.
It didn't matter. The damage was done. The statement was made.
Kevin Durant, who has seen every iteration of All-Star weekend over two decades, delivered the verdict.
"I think it was definitely a step up in the competitive department compared to last season. Kawhi was great. Ant was great. I think we did what we're supposed to do for the fans," Durant said.
What they were supposed to do. The phrase carries weight.
For too many All-Star weekends, the obligation has been entertainment without effort, spectacle without stakes.
Sunday in Inglewood offered something rarer: the genuine article, the unscripted collision of wills, the reminder that even in exhibition, excellence insists upon itself.
Wembanyama began it. Fox complicated it. Leonard, in the third game, when the afternoon had begun to drift toward irrelevance, made it must-watch—made it matter, made it memorable.
Edwards, asked postgame about the format, credited the Frenchman who started everything.
"I think it makes us compete because it's only 12-minute games, and the three different teams separate the guys. I think it was really good," Edwards said.
Leonard, asked whether the new format should stay, offered a diplomat's answer.
"Whatever you guys want. Whatever grabs the attention of the consumer, I'm for it," Leonard said.
But pressed again on returning to tradition, he allowed a small concession.
"I still think going back to East-West will be great. I think guys will compete still," Leonard said.
Maybe they will.
Maybe Wembanyama's example—his refusal to treat All-Star minutes as downtime, his insistence on playing defense in a game designed for offense—will linger.
Perhaps Fox's dagger, Leonard's clinic, and Edwards's Kobe Bryanttrophy will combine into something lasting, something more than a one-year experiment that worked despite everyone's expectations.
Or maybe it was just one afternoon. One 12-minute window where a quiet superstar reminded everyone what he looks like when the switch flips.
The lights found him, as they always do.
Not the strobes. Not the pyrotechnics. Not the manufactured glare of halftime shows and sponsored distractions.
The real lights. The ones that matter. The ones that follow greatness like memory follows meaning.
Kawhi Leonard stood at midcourt, and the Intuit Dome held its breath.
For 12 minutes, he kept it from falling.
Made it forget the compressed clocks, the sordid recent history of All-Star Weekned and the round-robin confusion. Made it remember why we watch, why we care, why a game played by millionaires in February can still feel like the only thing in the world worth seeing.
For the first time in years, the game itself felt like enough.