If there's anything Arvydas might be wrong about, it's this. Domantas says he hears about his father almost every night, and has for years. He understands, too, that there's an aura about Arvydas, an unanswerable what-if that hangs over the history of an entire sport.
Aryvdas knows that his name and legacy dominate his son's life. But in Arvydas' own life, it's the opposite.
"Here in Europe, I'm traveling around and everyone is asking me about him," Aryvdas says.
A 10-hour time difference separates California and Lithuania, and a 7 p.m. tipoff in Sacramento requires Arvydas to watch his son's games at 5 a.m. local time. He watches live, but it's difficult, he says. When he does watch, he is quiet. He studies. He loves the progress Domantas has made. Two years ago, Domantas began dribbling the ball up the court. Last year, he improved his passing. This year, his 3-point shooting. "Each year, something new," Arvydas says.
Sometimes, Arvydas will ask his son why he didn't see a certain opportunity to score. Or why he didn't see a specific teammate who was open.
"You were also 7-3, Dad," Domantas will say. "You could just shoot over the top or see over the top. I'm smaller. I've got to work a little harder."
Domantas knows that his father possessed almost supernatural court vision. And even if he tried to make some of his father's no-look passes, which Domantas readily describes as "insane," he's not sure his teammates would even be ready.
"His teammates expected it every time," Domantas says. "If I threw one of those right now, it would hit the back of my teammate's head."
Hearing this, Arvydas offers a solution.
"You need to pass to their face two times," Arvydas says with a hearty laugh. "On the third time, they'll catch it."
There is room to grow, and Domantas knows it. "I watch Jokic as much as I can," he says, "just to see how he's doing things, how their guys are moving." He wants to be more aggressive offensively, and Christie wants him to look at the basket more and be a threat to drive to the rim.
Christie also feels a deeper responsibility. Two summers ago, he traveled to Lithuania, smoked cigars and drank wine with Arvydas, his old adversary. He watched the father and son together, the dynamic. The gravity of their lineage resonated, and when Christie returned home, he did so with a greater purpose. This past summer, they worked more on Domantas' right hand, on his jump shots. "We're starting to see it," Christie says.
When Christie started working with Domantas, one of the first things he told him was that Domantas didn't even know how good he was -- and how good he could be. Christie believes Domantas will tap into abilities that he doesn't even know he possesses. Arvydas believes this, too.
"He has time," Arvydas says of his son's NBA career, mentioning the greatest thing lacking from his own.
If there is one constant in his feedback, one point that Arvydas preaches more than any other, it is physical health, which greatly undercut his own career.
"After each game, you need to go and do recuperation," Arvydas tells his son. "It doesn't matter if it's two hours, three hours. It's all for you. For your health."
And Domantas heeds the advice. "I'm always in the treatment room," Domantas says. "Either ice bath, massages. We have all these types of machines nowadays to help you recover."
Those machines didn't exist for Arvydas, nor did other advances in modern medicine.
"I don't feel nothing about this," Arvydas says. "It's impossible to know. What happened is what happened. I'm too happy to come [over to the NBA]. Okay, I'm coming and I'm 30 years old, but I know what is there and that's it. What happened if I come if I'm 18 years old or 20 years old? Who knows?"
That question will live forever, but in Domantas there is another Sabonis, a young and healthy one, playing at a dominant level in the NBA.
"I just feel bad because I'm nothing like him," Domantas says of his father. "He's at a whole different level, so it's not the same."
Sitting at his kitchen table, Domantas says he isn't sure he'll ever measure up to his dad.
"You know how some legends never die?" Domantas asks. "Well, it's hard. I'm just another basketball player. He's a legend."
It doesn't matter that he has posted one of most dominant seasons in NBA history, one that drew statistical comparisons to Wilt Chamberlain. The statistics don't matter, he says. It's much bigger than that. It was his father's impact on his country, too.
"I still have time, but I don't know," Domantas says. His father was historic. And his skill level? "I feel like there's a big difference there."
Relay all this to Arvydas, and he is dismayed. "I feel uncomfortable to hear this," Arvydas says. "He has his way. He's playing his way. He's Domantas Sabonis. He's lefty and a different story. We see what happens when it's final, when he's finished this job. It's not over."