Quatre de moins
2026 NBA Western Conference Finals, Game 2
The Road Goes On Forever - The Bone Crusher stood at the center of the ring looking out over his conquest utterly chuffed with what he had accomplished. He had done a number on the number one contender and as a result, he knew there would be another bout and now that it was officially on the card, he anticipated it was going to do record-breaking numbers. ”The Promoter is going to be so pleased with me when we meet for lunch tomorrow at Ramsay’s Kitchen” he thought as he wiped the sweat from his brow and watched the Oklahoma City crowd jovially disperse from the arena and into the buzz of a celebrating city. “I wonder if I can expect silver to be on top of my agreed upon compensation package for ensuring the desired result? The promoter best remember I told him BC been tryin to diversify my portfolio.” Shaking his head with visions of how to spend his pay off dancing in his head, he nodded to Josh Tiven and Karl Lane in his corner and then vacated the ring. He strolled intently back towards the locker room ready to get changed and get back to the hotel so he could start making calls. He had campaign donors to woo for his Norfolk, VA mayoral bid, after all.
Back at the hotel later that night, The Bone Crusher was just sitting down in a booth in the lobby bar to order a double crown and coke and start calling potential donors when he noticed his phone was buzzing. He looked at the caller ID only to discover it was The Promoter. He wondered suspiciously, “The hell he want that can’t wait until we meet tomorrow?” He let it go to voicemail because first things first, he needed to order his drink and then waited for the beverage to arrive to see if The Promoter was going to leave a message. Annoyed when, drink in hand, no text or voice message popped up, he begrudgingly dialed The Promoter back.
The Promoter: Hello, this is Adam.
The Bone Crusher: Yeah, it’s Tony, I’m just calling you back.
The Promoter: Oh yeah, I just called to let you know I moved our Ramsay’s reservation to one. I have a deal to close tomorrow morning on that third-rate product we’re creating for those suckers in Europe.
The Bone Crusher: Okay, whatever. I got nothing on my schedule tomorrow afternoon other than counting my money.
The Promoter: Don’t worry, I got your message about diversifying your portfolio. You will be well compensated. See you at one.
The Bone Crusher: That all you got to say to me?
The Promoter: Yeah. What am I forgetting?
The Bone Crusher: How about “Good job, well done, thank you for the ratings bonanza you just ensured for me?”
The Promoter: You did the job that I paid you to do and last time I checked, you asked to be paid in currency not in thank you’s. Go hire a prostitute with the money I’m paying you if you want your ego stoked.
The Bone Crusher: Screw you, Adam.
The Promoter: You too, Tony. [Click]
The Bone Crushed took a sip of his cocktail and looked at his watch. “Ugh” he muttered. Frustrated that he hadn’t even called one donor yet and it was already 2am in Norfolk, he thought, “Screw it, I’ll make these calls tomorrow. Even the club owners and bookies back home are gonna be annoyed if I try to call them this late there.” He looked up at the TV above the bar where they were showing a replay from the contest earlier. The part where he bobbed and weaved while Isaiah Hartenstein pulling Stephon Castle’s hair went uncalled and as a result, the home crowd got to cheer a momentum-shifting triple that never should have been allowed. He chuckled to himself, “If I wasn’t on the take, I would’ve thrown his ass out for that one. Probably should be suspended too but The Promoter ain’t never gonna allow for that.” Noticing he was dry he signaled to get the attention of the bartender.
The Bartender: Another double?
The Bone Cruncher: Yeah. And what time does the kitchen close?
The Bartender: You got it. The kitchen closes in 20 minutes.
The Bone Cruncher: Let me get the ribeye rare, mashed potatoes. And can I substitute cheese grits instead of the side salad?
The Bartender: No problem. Say, aren’t you Tony Brothers? Great job tonight letting us maul that alien the entire game. We weren’t going to be able to stop him without your help. Your meal is on the house.
The Bone Crusher: I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why are you all up in my business, anyway? I don’t know you from Adam. Damn straight that food better be free.
The Bartender: My apologies, sir. Here’s your drink. I’ll leave you to it.
Turning back to his phone, The Bone Crusher tried to put the obnoxious bartender out of mind but before he could he thought, “That fool is right about one thing. I could’ve called 86 fouls on them tonight, 37 on Hartenstein alone. This city that stole the Sonics is lucky they got one last year. They have no chance in a straight up game of basketball against them young San Antonio kids.” Gulping down a healthy first sip on the second double, he opened his phone’s browser to the page for the blood red Mercedes-Maybach S680 he’d been eyeing. He thought, “Maybe it’s time to pull the trigger after I stop by the bank tomorrow?” As he was clicking to refresh the page to see if the price might’ve changed, his phone started buzzing again. “What now?” he grumbled. He looked at the caller ID but the numbs was listed as “Unknown.” He hesitated while deciding whether or not to answer but then his curiosity got the better of him. After all, “It could be a high-dollar donor” he thought.
The Bone Crusher: Who this is?
Unknown: Hey Tony, it’s Popo. I know what you did.
The Bone Crusher: Popo? How’d you get this number? Uh, uh…never mind that, how the hell are you? It’s been too long. I was really sad to hear about your ugh medical thing. We were all keeping you in our thoughts and prayers.
Unknown: I don’t remember receiving your sympathy card.
The Bone Crusher: Yeah, well…uh, why are you calling?
Unknown: I already told you. I called to tell you I know what you did.
The Bone Crusher: Popo? How’d you get this number? Uh, uh…never mind that, how the hell are you? It’s been too long. I was really sad to hear about your uh medical thing. We were all keeping you in our thoughts and prayers.
Unknown: I don’t remember receiving your sympathy card.
The Bone Crusher: Yeah, well…uh, why are you calling?
Unknown: I already told you. I called to tell you I know what you did.
The Bone Crusher: Hey, uh, look Popo, first, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Second, if you think you know something about something, what are you talking to me for? Don’t shoot the errand boy. If you’ve got a score to settle, take it up with The Promoter. The only thing that matters to Adam is maximizing ratings. You know that.
Unknown: From the intel I’m receiving, you’re being compensated quite handsomely for an errand boy. Also, you can rest assured that I also have also already delivered a message to The Promoter.
The Bone Crusher: Okay, so you know what I did. So what? You want to threaten me now? You going to send your CIA operatives to start harassing me back home?
Unknown: Possibly. My associates may or may not be interested in some of your recent and impending bank transactions as well as investigating some possible campaign finance ethics allegations that have surfaced recently in Norfolk. But that’s neither here nor there.
The Bone Crusher: So what, in God’s name, do you want?
Unknown: Just to give you the same friendly message I already gave to Adam.
The Bone Crusher: Which is what exactly?
Unknown: That it’s not going to work. Make sure to tune in on Friday and Sunday because it’s going to be a show. We’re used to playing eight on five and despite all of that, I’m going to personally ensure that we kick so much ass this weekend, Tuesday’s ratings will tank because no one tunes in for a foregone conclusion. You made your bed. I’m going to enjoy making you lie in it. [Click]
* * *
Well, I guess Tony Brothers just can’t help but make himself a part of the story. We all have eyes. We all can see that what the Oklahoma City Thunder are being allowed to get away with in order to provide the NBA with any chance of the ratings bonanza they are hoping to generate from an extended Western Conference Finals coming to fruition. On Wednesday night, the defending champs literally UFC’d their way to evening the best-of-seven Western Conference Finals at one game apiece at the Paycom Center in Oklahoma City. The Thunder (with the assistance of Tony Brothers, Josh Tiven, and Karl Lane turning a blind eye to actual hair pulling among other dirty tricks that completely make a mockery of the spirit of the competition and are the byproduct of the opponent’s recognition that they are simply not talented enough to compete with us in playing the game of skill we call basketball) defeated the San Antonio Spurs 122-113 in Game 2. I could go on and on about the Thunder’s dirty tactics, the refereeing, the league office, being forced to play eight on five but it’s all par for the course at this point. We knew that winning a championship wasn’t going to be easy and it’s going to require us to be able to continue to impose our will against all of the forces which are converging to not allow us to be the biggest outlier in NBA history by stamping our greatness with a title this young and this fast. We embrace the challenge and we will be ready to face it head on back home in San Antonio tonight.
Despite another nine turnovers, the player of the game on Wednesday night was Stephon Castle. Considering De’Aaron Fox sat his second consecutive game with a high ankle sprain and after losing Dylan Harper to a leg injury with 4:50 remaining in the third quarter, our second-year warrior gave a herculean effort carrying most of the ball handling and playmaking load while demonstrating once again that he is one of the fiercest competitors in the league. I simply cannot get enough of watching Steph Castle compete on a basketball court. On the night, Steph racked up an impressive 25 points, eight assists, five rebounds and a steal. His 25-5-5 stat line made him the youngest player to reach that milestone in the conference finals in NBA history. It is already clear only two games into this series that if we take care of the basketball and limit OKC’s ability to get easy transition buckets from live ball turnovers, they are not talented enough or a good enough team to match our level of execution and hang in this series. Tonight we are returning to the friendly confines of the Frost Bank Center in lovely San Antonio, TX for the first time in ten days. Hopefully we get a healthy De’Aaron and a healthy Dylan to help Steph with the ball handling duties but (in spite of a perfect storm of the current of forces we are swimming upstream agains) the comfort of finally playing back home in front of the most-electric fans in the NBA in and of itself will play a role in helping us limit turnovers and prevent us from contributing to the only way OKC can keep this series close, through generating enough fast break opportunities. One thing I know is the #BlackAndSilver led by our fearless 21-year-old floor general will be ready to meet the challenge head on tonight. I fully expect us to come out scorching and make this iconoclastic dunk a foreshadowing of how the defending champs, regardless of all the help they’re getting from the refs and the league, better prepare to sleep now in the fire.