Cooper Flagg has been called the NBA’s future for so long, it’s easy to forget he’s still just 18. Projected as the No. 1 overall pick, almost certainly heading to Dallas, the 6’9” forward from Maine has drawn national attention since his early teens—scouted, celebrated, and scrutinized as the next big thing. But if you ask Flagg, or anyone who’s watched him quietly climb from driveway duels to dominating the USA Select Team at 16, this moment isn’t a finish line. It’s just the next possession.
Flagg moves through this high-stakes moment with an ease that belies his age. Part of that is his nature—he’s inherently grounded, insisting he’s still just a kid and lighting up at the mention of Fortnite. “I’m 18—I take pride in being a kid still. I’m not trying to act like I’m 30,” he said. “In my free time, I do kid things. I play video games.” But another part is the people around him. His family, his teammates—his village. It’s no coincidence that AT&T, one of his early brand partners, built The Flaggship Experience in NYC this week not just around his achievements, but the people and places that shaped them.
The Flaggship Experience feels less like a corporate activation and more like a scrapbook come to life. Inside the space, created in partnership with AT&T, fans walk through Cooper’s timeline, including uniforms and photos from his family’s personal collection and a mural of him through the years.
“AT&T has done a great job of laying it all out so you can see his progression,” says his father, Ralph Flagg. “To us, it’s not just a career—it’s a life story.”
Cooper’s story starts like a lot of great ones do: in the driveway. He and his twin brother, Ace, a forward committed to play for the University of Maine, waged war daily outside their home in Newport, Maine, games that were equal parts competition and chaos. “Fistfights, tears, crying to Mom,” Ace laughs. “That’s how we both learned to play hard.” Even now, with Cooper’s name floating next to phrases like “generational talent,” Ace swears he can still lock him up one-on-one. “He can’t score on me,” he says, straight-faced.
But it wasn’t just natural talent that set Cooper apart. It was how he saw the game—how he processed it. Former NBA veteran Brian Scalabrine remembers watching Cooper train as a teenager and feeling outpaced by someone a decade younger. “His mind is on the level of NBA elites,” Scalabrine says. “I went up to Maine to work him out…By the third day, I told him, ‘I can’t help you anymore. I think you need to reach out to LeBron or Kevin Durant or Chris Paul, some of the bright minds of the NBA, because that's what's going to help you get better.”
That rare combination of physical ability and cognitive processing has become Flagg’s calling card. Yes, he can block shots above the square. Yes, he can throw down with both hands in traffic. But what coaches and scouts have honed in on is his mental game—his ability to incorporate feedback and anticipate before anyone else even realizes what’s unfolding.
“He’s not going to be overwhelmed mentally,” Scalabrine says. “Everyone, usually, coming into the NBA is a little bit overwhelmed, except for LeBron his first year. I think Cooper kind of trends that same direction.”
Flagg has had that maturity for a long time. At three years old, he watched his older brother try to ride a bike and said simply, “I can do that, Mama.” Then he did—just hopped on and rode down the street. No fuss, no fear. Just quiet confidence.
That same energy follows him today. He’s not loud. He’s not brash. But he’s competitive in ways that don’t always show up in a highlight reel. “He doesn’t talk trash,” Ace says. “But he’ll say something under his breath, just enough for the guy he’s guarding to hear it. That’s Cooper.”
Of course, not everyone is convinced Flagg is a guaranteed franchise savior. Some scouting reports say his jump shot can be inconsistent and that he’s still developing as a shot creator. And then there’s the discourse around his race—most recently sparked by Stephen A. Smith’s comment that Dallas should draft him because “he’s white.” It’s the kind of soundbite that turns a prospect into a proxy for something bigger, and Flagg’s aware of it—and of comments like the one made by Austin Reaves in April. “Obviously, I think that's always a thing,” he said. “People are going to go at white guys and try and attack them… make them prove themselves as a defender or stuff like that.” He doesn’t flinch at the scrutiny. “I’ve been getting attacked for a long time… people don’t think I can guard or whatever it is. So I'm ready for whatever people want to say… I just play my game.”
In the middle of all that noise—scouting chatter, social commentary, media takes—one of the moments that has defined Flagg in the public eye has been the most personal. This spring, he starred in an AT&T March Madness commercial alongside his grandmother, “Mammie”—a warm, funny spot that showed a different side of him, one rooted in family rather than fandom.
And if there’s one person who’s gotten almost as much attention as Cooper in the lead-up to the draft, it’s Mammie. She became an unexpected fan favorite, and back home in Newport, she can’t go anywhere without being recognized. “After we did the commercial, she called my mom and said she couldn’t even go to the grocery store without getting stopped by people,” Cooper recalled. “So it’s just funny… she kind of gets to see a little bit what it’s like.”
“Everyone wants to talk to Mammie,” Ace says, laughing. His parents joke that she was once salty about being left out of TV coverage at Duke games, but now? “Oh boy,” Kelly grins. “This was a big deal for her. She might need an agent.”
That mix of wry humor and humility runs deep in the family, and it’s a big part of who Cooper is. For all the hype, for all the cameras now tracking his every move, he’s still the kid who looks out for the people around him. “People don’t realize he has such a big heart,” Kelly says. “He really cares about others. He doesn’t see himself as better than anyone.”
There are stories—little ones, easy to miss—that echo that. Like just recently, when Cooper pulled a valuable trading card at Fanatics Fest, worth a good chunk of change, then turned around and handed it to a friend without hesitation. None of it is calculated. None of it is PR. It’s just who he is.
If the draft goes as expected and Cooper lands with the Dallas Mavericks, the city will be getting the hometown hero they’ve been missing since Luka Dončić’s departure. Jason Kidd, known for maximizing big, versatile players like Giannis in Milwaukee, may already have plans to experiment with Flagg at the point. And AT&T, with roots in Dallas, will be right there to help tell the story of this next chapter.
“[Being the first pick] means everything,” Flagg said. “It shows all the hard work you’ve put in is paying off. It’s something you dream about as a little kid—hearing your name called first.” The moment is surreal, but not surprising. For those who’ve watched him grind for years, it’s the natural next step.
“We feel blessed,” Kelly says. “Truly. That’s the word. Blessed.”
Draft night will be emotional. Cooper’s family admits they’re not entirely sure how they’ll react. “I’m a known crier,” Kelly says. “But sometimes I’m just in shock and then cry uncontrollably later.” Ralph grins, shrugs. “I’ll probably tear up. Not gonna lie.”
The draft stage will be loud. His name will be the first they call. And while the cameras flash and the lights burn hot, somewhere in that moment, Flagg will take a deep breath—not overwhelmed, not surprised—and walk toward the next step.
Quietly confident.
Totally ready.