If you were waiting for Patrick Dumont to say the words “Luka Doncic,” keep waiting. The Mavericks’ governor finally addressed the Nico Harrison firing with an open letter to fans… and then sidestepped the very thing fans believe started the avalanche. Cue the collective eye-roll across Mavs Nation.

Here’s the clean, sharp breakdown of what Dumont said, what he didn’t, and why the backlash now has a brand-new battery.

In his note to “Mavs Family,” Dumont thanked fans, acknowledged the ugly start (3–8), and framed Harrison’s ouster as a necessary step to restore a “winning culture.” He promised transparency, investment, and patience. He even tossed in the rally cry: Go Mavs!

What never appears? Luka Luka Doncic. Not a word about the February blockbuster that shipped a franchise icon to the Lakers for Anthony Davis (plus spare parts), touched off months of “Fire Nico!” chants, and cratered organizational morale. If this was the mea culpa moment, it whiffed on the most obvious sentence: We messed up the Luka trade.

Because the timeline isn’t subtle. Dallas traded Luka; the season imploded; the fanbase revolted; the team fired the GM. Everyone sees that dotted line become a straight, neon arrow. When your corrective action is clearly tied to the Luka trade backlash, refusing to even name the catalyst reads as corporate choreography, not accountability.

Worse, the night before the firing, a courtside fan in a Lakers Luka jersey shared that Dumont privately admitted the mistake. Private contrition + public silence? That gap is exactly what’s fueling the “Luka-disrespect” label.

Dallas sent Doncic to Los Angeles; AD arrived banged up; Kyrie Irving later tore his ACL; the offense turned into a paint-drying tutorial; the 2025 playoffs came and went without the Mavs; and this fall opened with a 3–8 thud. Meanwhile in L.A., Luka soared and inked a fresh extension.

Fans didn’t just dislike the return; they despised the vision. And they let the team hear it inside the arena, outside the arena, and pretty much anywhere a mic existed.

The Optics Gap: “Step 1 Is Done… But Where’s Step 2?”

Dumont’s letter completes Step 1 (firing Harrison) but dodges Step 2: owning the Luka decision in public. Even a single line, “We misjudged the trade and learned from it” would’ve poured a little water on the wildfires. Instead, fans got a vibes-forward note about results and culture.

Call it what it is: a nothing-burger to the very people begging for one explicit sentence. The basketball ops handoff goes to Michael Finley and Matt Riccardi on an interim basis. That’s a solid stabilizer. Finley brings credibility, history, and calm, the kind of voice that plays in the locker room and in the lower bowl. Riccardi is the communicator Harrison never was, clear, candid, and already the public-facing explainer of Dallas’ plan.

If the Mavericks want fans to feel heard again, letting this duo run clean, public processes is Step 1A. Teams often tiptoe around other teams’ stars to avoid tampering optics, but there’s no law against acknowledging the franchise’s own trade history. This omission looks like a choice, not a constraint, and fans are grading it that way.

Dumont framed the move around the 3–8 start. Fans see something else: the off-court decision that detonated trust. This is bigger than rotations and shot charts. It’s about admitting the misread that swapped a generational heliocentric engine for an injury variable and a thinner asset base.

If you want buy-in for the rebuild, you can’t pretend the crater came from a random cold spell. First, retire the “Kyrie/AD healthy fairytale.” The new GM can’t sell hope as a health plan. Second, pick a lane around Anthony Davis, pillar, or premium trade chip? Waffling helps no one. Third, build a functional runway for your present-and-future centerpiece core (yes, that includes giving your young star a spacing-first ecosystem and a veteran guard who can organize without soaking touches). Fourth, get loudly transparent. Pressers with real answers. Cap philosophy in plain English. Fewer mystery boxes, more roadmaps.

And above all: say the quiet part out loud at least once. It’s not weakness; it’s a reset.

Patrick Dumont removed Nico Harrison. Good. But the letter that followed ducked the noun everyone waited for: Luka. If the organization wants to truly turn the page, it needs one public sentence of accountability, a GM who sells a real plan (not a rehab brochure), and an interim period that treats transparency as a daily habit, not a headline.

Dallas can fix this. But you can’t rebuild trust with euphemisms. Say the thing. Then do the work.