“Baby Jokic” No More: How Alperen Şengün Became the NBA’s Next Great Problem
For years, the nickname followed him everywhere.
“Baby Jokic.”
It was meant as a compliment, but also a limitation—a shortcut scouts and fans used to explain something they didn’t fully understand. Alperen Şengün looked like Nikola Jokic in flashes: the footwork, the passing angles, the touch around the rim. But he wasn’t Jokic. And now, at 23 years old, he doesn’t want to be anyone’s “baby” anything.
He wants the league to deal with him on his own terms.
And judging by what’s happening in Houston, the NBA is already running out of answers.
From “Undraftable” to Unavoidable
Not long ago, Alperen Şengün was considered too slow, too soft, and too unathletic to survive at the highest level of basketball. Some scouts quietly questioned whether he belonged in the NBA at all.
Today, he’s signed to a $185 million contract, anchoring one of the league’s most explosive offenses, and sharing the floor with Kevin Durant. He has already outplayed a three-time MVP on the international stage. And he’s doing it all while redefining what a modern center can be.
This isn’t just about numbers—though the numbers are terrifying.
It’s about what Şengün is becoming.
A 6-foot-11 center who moves like a guard.
A post scorer with elite footwork and feathery touch.
A playmaker who sees the floor like a point guard.
And most importantly, a player who refuses to play by the rules scouts once wrote for him.
Where the Story Really Began
To understand why Alperen Şengün is such a problem for the NBA, you have to go back to a place where making the league wasn’t just unlikely—it was almost impossible.
Giresun, Turkey.
Population: roughly 125,000.
Known for hazelnuts, not basketball.
In Turkey, soccer dominates everything. Basketball exists, but it lives in the shadow of the world’s most popular sport. When Şengün was born in 2002, only a handful of Turkish players had ever been drafted into the NBA—and none came from towns like his.
At eight years old, Şengün discovered basketball. There were no elite camps, no exposure circuits, no scouts tracking his development. His parents weren’t athletes. His father never played the game. There was no blueprint.
Just a tall kid who fell in love with basketball.
By age ten, he made his decision. Basketball would be everything.
For two years, he played for Giresun University’s youth team with zero attention. No highlights. No social media buzz. No American scouts. Just quiet development in a country that barely noticed.
Then, in 2014, everything changed.
At a youth sports festival, professional coach Amit Gürgan noticed something unusual—not speed, not strength, not athleticism, but feel. The way Şengün moved suggested he understood the game at a deeper level.
Three months later, at just 12 years old, Şengün joined a professional club’s youth academy.
He moved 300 kilometers from home.
Lived alone.
Earned roughly $200 a month.
At an age when most kids worried about homework and video games, Şengün and his family sacrificed everything for a dream that made no sense on paper.
Silence Before the Storm
For four years, Şengün trained in near anonymity.
No Instagram hype.
No ESPN features.
No NBA buzz.
The doubts grew louder: too slow, too soft, not athletic enough to survive real competition.
Then came 2018.
At just 16 years old, Şengün signed his first professional contract—not a development league deal, but real professional basketball against grown men.
His debut stat line didn’t jump off the page: 13 minutes, two points, five rebounds, three assists. But context mattered. A teenager from nowhere was holding his own against veterans.
By March 2019, he dropped 22 points and 16 rebounds in a single game. Still 16 years old.
Europe began to notice.
In the 2019–20 season, Şengün moved up to Turkey’s top league and the Basketball Champions League. At 17, he recorded 25 points and 13 rebounds against Nürnberg in the playoffs.
A teenager dominating grown professionals on one of Europe’s biggest stages.
Then disaster struck.
The club that discovered him went bankrupt. Gone overnight. At 18 years old, Şengün was suddenly without a team, without stability, his family’s years of sacrifice hanging in the balance.
Critics thought it was over.
They were wrong.
MVP at 18
In August 2020, Beşiktaş—one of Turkey’s most prestigious sports clubs—offered Şengün a three-year deal and made him the centerpiece of their rebuild.
The results were immediate.
17 points in his debut.
21 points against Fenerbahçe.
27 points against Galatasaray.
In January 2021, he recorded eight blocks in a single game, obliterating the narrative that he lacked athleticism.
By season’s end, Alperen Şengün became the youngest MVP in Turkish basketball history—18 years and 265 days old.
That’s when America finally woke up.
Scouts pulled tape and didn’t know what they were seeing. A center who passed like a guard, read defenses instantly, and scored from impossible angles.
Still, the doubts remained.
Would it translate?
The NBA Learning Curve
Şengün entered the 2021 NBA Draft and was selected 16th overall, immediately traded to Houston. Rockets GM Rafael Stone saw a familiar pattern—only two players had dominated top-tier European leagues at that age: Nikola Jokic and Luka Dončić.
His rookie year wasn’t easy. The NBA’s speed. The language barrier. The grind of an 82-game season.
Yet even then, flashes appeared: no-look passes, impossible footwork, commanding offenses without speaking English.
He didn’t speak the language.
But he spoke basketball.
The Udoka Effect
Everything changed in 2023 when Ime Udoka arrived in Houston.
No coddling. No shortcuts.
Udoka challenged Şengün relentlessly—benching him late in games, tearing apart film, demanding accountability. Şengün embraced it.
“I love tough coaches,” he said. “When they get mad, it wakes me up.”
Then came the physical transformation.
Measured at 6-foot-11, Şengün added strength, reinforced his legs defensively, and unlocked a rare weapon: elite flexibility. At P3, a sports science facility in California, staff discovered he could do full splits—something almost unheard of for NBA big men.
That flexibility, combined with balance and footwork, made him unstoppable one-on-one.
By Year Four, everything clicked.
First All-Star appearance.
Defensive trust in crunch time.
Houston won 52 games and finished second in the West.
Şengün wasn’t just scoring anymore. He was controlling games.
Beating the Best
At EuroBasket 2025, Şengün led Turkey to a perfect group stage and outplayed Nikola Jokic head-to-head: 28 points, 13 rebounds, eight assists.
At 23 years old, he outdueled a three-time MVP.
Then Houston made the move that changed everything.
Enter Kevin Durant
In June 2025, the Rockets acquired Kevin Durant in a blockbuster trade.
Durant had played with MVPs before. But this was different.
“I’ve never played with a big who dominates the post like this,” Durant said.
Early returns were explosive. Houston surged to the league’s top offense, averaging 122.9 points per game.
Defenses faced an impossible choice: double Şengün and leave Durant open, or guard Durant and let Şengün cook one-on-one.
There is no right answer.
No More “Baby Jokic”
Şengün has moved past the comparisons.
“I have my own thing,” he said. “I’m writing my own story.”
At 23, he’s already an All-Star, an MVP candidate, and the engine of a contender.
And the scariest part?
He’s still getting better.
From Giresun to Houston, from undraftable to unstoppable, Alperen Şengün isn’t just a breakout star.
He’s a warning.
The NBA has an Alperen Şengün problem—and it’s only getting worse.
