Jason Williams has all the trappings of someone being forced to relive the same moments, not just over and over again but also at the speed of light. He answers questions like an automatic weapon answers a squeezed trigger, with short, quick bursts. Even in a supposed relaxed state, flopped in front of a locker-room stall, he's fidgety, seemingly ready to move on to the next thing.

What Jason Williams may not realize is that he is the next thing, at least in the NBA. While Paul Pierce of the Celtics and Vince Carter of the Raptors have made a run at Williams, perhaps even overcome him in the Rookie of the Year race, they, like many things in the '90s, are remakes.

Williams, whom the Sacramento Kings tow into town for a game tonight against the Sonics, is an original. At least, what passes for one in this copycat decade. Sure, he conjures fond remembrances of the late, great Pistol Pete Maravich, but no small, white guy has consistently blown the doors off opposing, mythical-level point guards the way this kid has.

Or maybe you blinked the last time the 6-foot-1 Williams bounced our way and froze Gary Payton with a hesitation move. Or you probably snoozed the following week as "SportsCenter" replayed the move ad nauseam.

"I'm just astonished at Jason," teammate Chris Webber says. "The world is his."

And vice versa.

Williams has been profiled by Sports Illustrated, ESPN Magazine, SLAM magazine, The Sporting News, ESPN, TNT, NBC and CNN. HBO's "Real Sports" is planning a story on him in late April. People and Time magazines have pieces in the works. Williams recently reached an agreement with Nike for more than $4 million, so commercials are on the way.

"Sometimes it seems (overwhelming)," says Williams, a native of Belle, W.Va. "It's a lot different. It's like the whole world is seeing me now. When I was in college, it was just the state of Florida.

"It's been exciting and fun. At the same time, my team and my teammates deserve a lot more attention."

No doubt, the Kings are the chilliest crew in the NBA. Webber is the funkiest power forward in the game, Vlade Divac is the smoothest center. On his worst day, frozen-veined Vernon Maxwell is the guy you'd want to take the shot with your life on the line.

Williams is the one who makes them go, go, go. As good a passer as he is, he doesn't rack up the assists because much of the rest of his team is almost as adept. Divac and Webber also average at least four assists a game. With Williams as the catalyst, no team in the NBA plays at a faster tempo.

Still, Williams is living proof that one doesn't need a spectacular finish to put on a spectacular show. The stuff he tries often is more eye-popping than what others are able to pull off. And every time he gets the ball he seems to be looking to pull a rabbit out of his hat.

Williams says it's the only way he knows how to play. He doesn't seem to need a crowd. Teammates say he tries even more things in practice than he does in games.

"Where he's playing or who he's playing against, it doesn't matter to him," Maxwell says. "That's why he's so good."

Good thing Williams has an understanding coach in Rick Adelman, whose patience was tested nightly while coaching Portland.

"I've got to play him 35 to 38 minutes a game and his best game is doing what you've seen him do all season," Adelman says. "If we tried to harness him, he'd hold back, get tentative. So it's easy to let him go.

"His creativity is his special ability. I think our league needs players like him. Our game gets pretty stagnant sometimes. People respond to a little guy out there, showing all those moves. The game is not all dunks. I'm having fun watching him play."

But having fun can be hard work. Williams has averaged 35.4 minutes during his first 33 games, which over an 8 1/2 week period is more than he played in either of his only two seasons in college. He played 28 games at Marshall and 20 at Florida before being thrown off the team for twice testing positive for marijuana.

The most palpable consequence has been Williams' shooting. He has made just 33 of his past 117 attempts (28.2 percent). Though rookie rubber legs is a common occurrence, Williams shrugs off the possibility.

"I don't even look at it that way," he says. "I'm just not making my shots."

Teammates still savor the shot he made after flipping the ball behind his back, to himself, in Washington. In the Great White North, he froze a defender by hopping, mid-dribble, into the air. The same game, he ripped the Grizzlies' rookie point guard, Mike Bibby, and while prone on the floor, flipped the ball blindly over his shoulder to a teammate under the basket.

Where do these strokes of genius come from?

"I don't think he even realizes how he does it," Adelman says. "He'll do a move and I'll ask him later about it. He'll say, `I don't know. I just did it.' It's just his flair. It's what comes natural to him."

It's practice, practice, practice, Williams says. He has one move where he starts to wrap the ball behind his back with his left hand, then pops the ball with his right elbow for a pass. Guys like Nick Anderson, who played pickup games with Williams during the lockout, talk about it all the time.

Williams hasn't made the pass in an NBA game - yet.

"It could happen at any moment," he says. "Just keep watching."

As if anyone can stop at this point.