The Cavs moved Embiid to the mid-range. His jumper was fluid and smooth. He finished the workout by stepping out behind the three-point line. He splashed his first shot from behind the arc. “How could you not draft me No. 1?” he shouted at Griffin. He swished another. “Look how good I am!” Another ripped through the net. “You need me, Griff!” A fourth make. “Come on, Griff, you gotta draft me!” A fifth. “I’m so good!” A sixth. “I gotta be No. 1!” A seventh. “How can you not take me?”