It was February of 2003. Kevin Garnett walked into the All-Star Game as the Timberwolves’ lone representative, our one-man franchise, and walked out with the MVP trophy after leading the Western Conference to a win. I remember sitting in my college apartment obsessively tracking every KG rebound and elbow jumper like it was Game 7 of the Finals. My roommates looked at me like I had lost my mind. “It’s the All-Star Game,” they said.
But they didn’t get it.
Back then, the Wolves were the NBA’s awkward cousin. Six straight first-round playoff exits. No playoff series wins. No lottery luck. No national respect. Kevin Garnett was all we had. So when KG was announced as All-Star MVP, it felt like Minnesota had finally been acknowledged. Not pitied. Not ignored. Acknowledged.
Fast forward 23 years.
Anthony Edwards is now the second Timberwolf to win All-Star Game MVP. On the surface, it doesn’t hit the same way. The All-Star Game has spent the last decade drifting into irrelevance, with think pieces every February asking whether we should just cancel it altogether. The Timberwolves, meanwhile, aren’t the NBA’s afterthought anymore. They’ve been to back-to-back Western Conference Finals. They’re in the contender conversation. They don’t need validation in the same desperate way they did in 2003.
And yet, what we saw this weekend from Edwards may end up being even more significant than what Garnett did that night.
Because this wasn’t just about an exhibition trophy.
It was about the face of the league.
For the better part of three years now, I’ve been beating the same drum: Anthony Edwards should be the face of the modern NBA. Not just one of its stars. The guy. The centerpiece. The billboard. The post-LeBron answer.
The modern NBA features a buffet of talent. Luka Doncic slicing defenses. Nikola Jokic doing robot savant things. Shai Gilgeous-Alexander, the reigning MVP and champion, playing with surgical precision. Victor Wembanyama looking like a basketball cheat code from a lab experiment.
But here’s the thing: there’s only one player on that stage who has the charisma, the relatability, and the sheer gravitational pull to capture both the American fan base and the global audience in the way Michael Jordan did in the ’90s, Kobe did in the 2000s, and LeBron did for the last two decades.
It’s Edwards.
Luka and Jokic are generational talents, but they don’t connect culturally with U.S. fans the way a homegrown, charismatic star does. Shai is brilliant, but he doesn’t command a room the way Ant does. Wembanyama is fascinating, but he’s a unicorn. Kids can’t replicate that body, that reach, that alien geometry. They can’t go into the driveway and pretend to be 7-foot-4 with an eight-foot wingspan.
They can pretend to be Anthony Edwards.
They can practice the step-back three. The downhill drive. The swagger. The grin. The playful trash talk. The confidence.
From the opening tip of the All-Star Game, Edwards stole the show. He went at Wembanyama with a wink and a challenge. He embraced the moment instead of sleepwalking through it. And when the final buzzer sounded and the cameras swarmed, he didn’t retreat into cliché answers or exhausted platitudes.
He leaned in.
The postgame press conference was almost more impressive than the on-court performance. After a long All-Star Weekend, it would have been easy to mail it in. Instead, he flashed that smile, cracked jokes, engaged with reporters, and turned a room full of microphones into his own late-night talk show set. He looked comfortable. Confident. Born for it.
This is exactly the kind of personality the league needs right now. The NBA is navigating a strange era. The talent level is absurdly high. The global footprint is enormous. But culturally? It feels fragmented. Polarized. Searching for its next unifying figure. After MJ came Kobe. After Kobe came LeBron. After LeBron… the answer has felt murkier.
The answer should be Anthony Edwards.
Now, here’s where it gets interesting for Wolves fans. For years, Minnesota has lived on the wrong side of the NBA’s gravitational pull. The superstar whistle? Rarely ours. The free-agent magnetism? Not exactly strong. The benefit-of-the-doubt calls in crunch time? Let’s just say we’ve seen them go elsewhere.
Edwards has yet to consistently get the “superstar whistle.” You can debate whether that whistle should exist at all, but anyone who watches the league knows it does. Ant drives to the rim, absorbs contact, throws his arms up with that signature “hey!” yell, and too often jogs back without a call. Some of that is self-inflicted, officials don’t love demonstrative reactions, but some of it is about status.
Status changes everything. As Edwards’ star continues its supernova trajectory, maybe the memo gets passed. Maybe some of those borderline no-calls start turning into trips to the free-throw line. Not because he’s flopping or hunting whistles, but because the league subconsciously understands: this is one of our tentpole guys now.
And if that happens, it doesn’t just elevate Edwards.
It elevates Minnesota.
For 36 years, the Wolves have fought uphill battles: officiating, market size, free agency perception, you name it. But if Edwards becomes the gravitational center of the league, that pull starts working in Minnesota’s favor. Suddenly, the Wolves aren’t just the scrappy small-market contender. They’re the home of the face of the NBA.
That matters.
It matters for calls. It matters for national TV slots. It matters for free agents who want to play with a megastar in his prime. It matters for legacy.
Because while Garnett’s 2003 All-Star MVP felt like validation for a franchise that had never won anything, Edwards’ 2026 All-Star MVP feels like confirmation of something bigger: confirmation that Minnesota might be housing the next global icon.
The NBA is full of brilliance right now. But there’s only one guy who feels like he was made for the camera, built for the moment, and wired to embrace the spotlight without flinching.
After MJ came Kobe. After Kobe came LeBron.
After LeBron?
It should be Anthony Edwards.
And if that’s true, Wolves fans may look back at this All-Star Weekend not as a fun midseason footnote, but as the night the rest of the basketball world finally caught up to what we’ve known for five seasons.
The Ant era isn’t coming.
It’s here.
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