He had waited five years between NBA Finals appearances, and with second remaining on the clock Dirk Nowitzki could wait no longer. Before the Dallas Mavericks could officially be crowned champions, before a teammate could even congratulate him, Nowitzki was gone, retreating to the locker room to have his moment alone.

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The newly minted NBA Finals MVP can be forgiven if he did not want to wait a second longer. After all, the 2010-2011 Dallas Mavericks are a testament to enduring juxtaposed against the impatient Miami Heat and their get-rich-quick scheme concocted by Dwyane Wade and LeBron James.

For much of the NBA Finals the ascension of Nowitzki was muted by the walking narrative that is LeBron James. But if the self-proclaimed “Chosen One” can look past the tattered remains of a legacy he crafted long before actually accomplishing anything, he can learn a valuable lesson from Dirk Nowitzki.

It was only a year ago that Nowitzki, slouched back in chair, mic in hand—as is his post game press conference custom—was the one facing questions about his future. Bounce by the seventh-seeded San Antonio Spurs, one of a consecutive string of early playoff exits, it would have been easy to leave Dallas a free agent, or demand Mavericks owner make drastic changes.

The summer of LeBron and The Decision was certainly the perfect timing for such a thing.

Instead Nowitzki stayed the course, trusting his organization and his game. That sentence is not a condemnation of LeBron James for leaving Cleveland, but a reminder in the face of failure that few things worth valuing come easily. An NBA Championship isn’t as simple as signing on with a slew of superstars and hosting a victory celebration before the season even started.

Nowitzki spent years honing a game that had been picked apart as much as any of his contemporaries. Too many jumpers, too soft, not enough defense or leadership. Still, Nowitzki stayed the course, stayed patients, spending thousands of hours perfecting 100 different variations of the same beautiful jump shot.

Then, Sunday night came and Dirk struggled through a horrendous first half that would have buried him only a few years ago. Flanked by a number of teammates who have withstood similar tribulations, however, the Mavericks kept coming in a wave of shared experience. Buying time before their MVP could come alive, undettered by the events of the evening because the confidence in the years of work put in leading up to it.

There was Jason Kidd, a future Hall of Famer in his own right, an aging point guard on his last legs who redefined his game with intelligence and a newly discovered shooting stroke to steady the team. Or Shawn Marion, the versatile forward who had become increasingly one-dimensional in recent years, guarding multiple positions. And, of course, Jason Terry, the petulant, diminutive combination guard whose ego is just crazy enough to inflate what should be an overrated skill set to surprising heights.

The Dallas Mavericks are not a team for the ages, they are simply a team that defied their ages. A reminder that just as legacies should not be written before they’ve had a chance to begin, so too must they not be solidified before they have a chance to end.

So it was in the waning moments, after scoring his last two points of the NBA Finals—a twisting, off balance layup that epitomizes his awkward grace—that Dirk Nowtizki finally let a smile cross his face. A few seconds later he would leave the court before the rest of his teammates to celebrate. Dirk Nowitzki and the Dallas Mavericks would have to wait no longer.