Douze de faits
2026 NBA Western Conference Finals, Game 7
Kick In the Door - Wavin’ the .44. All you heard was, “Wemby, don’t hit me no more.” Ladies, gentlemen, sisters, brothers, and siblings, it is now official. Like a chestburster shedding it’s skin and replacing it’s cells with polarized silicon in order to become a fully grown xenomorph, Victor Wembanyama has shed the “ascending” and is now simply the greatest basketball player in the world full stop. League MVP Shai Gilgeous-Alexander didn’t relinquish his perch at the top of the NBA pecking order without a fight. Let the historians record and the bards cantillate the sensational spectacle that was the breathtakingly epic clash between the San Antonio Spurs and the defending champion Oklahoma City Thunder in the 2026 NBA Western Conference Finals. It was a war of attrition fought over seven grueling battles and it was closely contested all the way until the bitter end. Even though SGA fought admirably to extend his reign as greatest player in the world in Game 7, scoring 35 points and dishing out nine assists, ultimately after Caron Wallace missed a three down six with 12 seconds left in the seventh and decisive battle and Julian Champagnie soared to snag the rebound before quickly hitting De’Aaron Fox with the outlet who then kicked it ahead to Devin Vassell for the break away dunk and eight point lead with four seconds left that sealed the series victory for the Spurs, there was no question that the changing of the guard of the greatest player in the world was earned by Wemby and it was earned through mutual respect and through trial by fire. The Alien wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
When the dust settled and the Spurs were the last team standing having just closed out the champs, defeating them 111-103 in Game 7 of the WCF on their home court at Paycom Center in downtown Oklahoma City on Saturday, May 30th in the year of our basketball gods 2026 to extend our season into June, a series that started on the very same court 13 days earlier with the star player of one team winning a most valuable player trophy ended with the star player of the other team winning a different most valuable player trophy that puts an eternal asterisk on the first award that was given before the war was fought. To be fair, Shai Gilgeous-Alexander was a deserving recipient of his MVP award based on regular season performance but when the NBA MVP loses in the playoffs to another MVP finalist, that fact will always be remembered and legitimate questions on whether the voters got it right that year will come attached to that part of that MVP winner’s legacy forever. I suspect, though, while those questions are indeed now permanent for SGA, assuming Wemby keeps on his current trajectory, they will become more muted over time for the same reason those questions have become more muted for Charles Barkley (1993) and Karl Malone (1997). People hold it against you less when you suffer that type of embarrassment in your MVP season at the hands of the greatest player of all time. That was the case for Barkley and Malone losing to Michael Jordan (who still remains the goat to this day—the only acceptable name you could put forward to have a reasonable debate on the matter is Bill Russell—you can miss me with that LeBron is the goat nonsense—LeBron has had the best NBA career of any player in any era based on production and longevity but greatness is measured in winning at the highest level and LeBron is 4-6 lifetime in the NBA Finals). If Victor Wembanyama continues on his current trajectory, in 15 years (or so) the asterisk on Shai’s 2025-26 NBA MVP award will have been reduced to a tiny one as it will have born out by then that the embarrassment was suffered at the hands of what will be at that point in the future the new undisputed greatest basketball player of all time 🐐
Back to the here and now for a sec, the debate is officially over on who is the current greatest player in the world. Victor took that title away from SGA because the Spurs defeated the Thunder to win the West and Wembanyama (not the two-time defending regular season MVP) was named MVP of the 2026 Western Conference Finals. He has arrived, indeed. If Vic continues on his current trajectory, the debate over the current greatest basketball player in the world is going to be shut down for the next decade or more. Instead (to the point I was making above about how SGA’s humiliation will age gracefully), we will have a new debate to fixate on if Victor continues on his current trajectory. The new debate will be over how long before Victor Wembanyama earns his place on the NBA pantheon for greatest players of all time with Bill Russell, Kareem Abdul Jabber, San Antonio’s very own Tim Duncan, LeBron James, Wilt Chamberlain, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, Shaquille O’Neal, Kobe Bryant, Stephen Curry + how long will it take him to surpass Michael Jordan as the greatest basketball player to ever walk on this planet? This paradigm shift has also arrived and the first notch in Wemby’s “goat belt” can be punched within the next two and a half weeks. If you want start walking down Michael Jordan (and Bill Russell) in the goat conversation, it not only means you need to make it to the NBA Finals a bunch of times but it also means (as Tim Duncan came so painfully close to being the third player to post this type of resume) you need to win it every single time you make it. Based on his Game 7 postgame comments, Victor already gets this and he will be ready to seize the opportunity now in front of him in the 2026 NBA Finals. Case in point, speaking to the press after winning the Oscar Robertson Trophy with his team and the Magic Johnson Trophy individually, Vic observed., “This is the best basketball on the planet that’s being played right now. And the crazy thing is, maybe I’m crazy for that but I want to do that fifteen or twenty more times. Let’s hope it doesn’t become an addiction. Maybe it is already.”
With those preliminaries out of the way, let’s party like it’s 1999 because the San Antonio Spurs are going to our seventh NBA Finals!! And awaiting us is the New York Knicks, the team we beat to win our first NBA Finals in the last year of the last millennium. With this next generation of dynastic talent on the Spurs roster, playing the Knicks and getting to play NBA Finals games in Madison Square Garden (basketball’s Mecca) again is such a full circle moment. It’s also so wild to me to be feeling this aberrantly euphoric sense of anticipation (which is unique to a Spurs’ finals run) for the first time in twelve years. I’m not surprised that we’re here (more just awestruck in appreciation to be once again experiencing such a fleeting revelry in the afterglow of arriving), I am an eternal optimist in my Spurs fandom, after all. Writing Un de fait after being on hiatus from this project for seven years felt like embarking into the unknown much like it felt when I wrote One Down in 2013 but on both occasions I envisioned the blog series taking us on a journey that would stretch into June because in both cases, I had an instinctive supposition this was a year the Spurs could make a run to The Finals. I won’t lie, though, unlike 2013 (when I had the confidence of rooting for a core group of players who done it many times before), considering our youth, it feels surreal that we actually pulled it off on Wemby & company’s first attempt. The 2025-26 San Antonio Spurs are the youngest team to make it to the NBA Finals since the 1976-77 Portland Trail Blazers. In other words, this is a once every 50 year outlier and since I’m forty-seven that also means that the 25-26 Spurs are the youngest team to make it to the NBA Finals in my lifetime and in all probability will remain the youngest team to make the NBA Finals for the rest of my lifetime which is mind-blowing. Perhaps a more apt comparison than 2013 (when I first started writing about every Spurs playoff run) to how surreal this moment feels is in fact the aforementioned 1999 run to the NBA Finals. (Also, before we continue (just to name it out loud), another reason to limit the comparison between now and 2013 strictly to the similarity of embarking into the unknown with writing the Black & Silver blog series for the first time—or first time in a long time—is 2013 proved to be the necessary exposition in a two-part story with the 2014 redemption title being the resolution. This journey we are on 2026 is undoubtedly a standalone origin story.)
Now back to the year where I pulled an all-nighter the night before seeing a first run screening of The Matrix in a movie theatre and as consequence, fell asleep 45 minutes in and missed everything else the first time I ever watched the dopest movie made during my formative years (no joke). In other words, back to 1999. It’s so poetic that it’s once again the New York Knicks. It’s so poetic that it’s once again a new crop of Spurs playing their first NBA Finals in the Garden. It feel so incredibly fresh. And it’s that newness of it being the first time we are experiencing it (or in this case the first time with this new generation of players) that creates its own “pinch me, this can’t be real” temporary plain of existence that is simply phantasmagoric. Perhaps the hint of imposter syndrome that comes with doing something for the first time adds an extra ingredient to elevate the provocation of the moment. As similar as this euphoric dream state I’m momentarily floating through feels to ‘99, the imposter syndrome ingredient is even more pronounced this time around because this team is way younger and way newer than the first squad that ever put Larry O’Brien in a boat parade on the San Antonio River. Tim Duncan, our 22-year old superstar and best player was young and new at the same time that Bill Clinton was establishing Pride Month by presidential proclamation, but the rest of the 1999 title team was a veteran ball club. (Happy Pride, San Antonio 🌈) Did I mention that the ‘26 Spurs are the youngest team in 49 years to make the NBA Finals? Yeah. I think it’s safe to say I’m floating on cloud nine in an incomparable way. I can’ t wait to get this thing started. But before we can, we still have some more house keeping to do on that immortal team performance in Game 7 of the 2026 WCF.
Seven players scored in double figure for San Antonio in Game 7 of the Western Conference Finals and all seven of them scored in the fourth quarter (we call that the seven and seven) as OKC was tightening the screws hoping to make us crack. This was a complete team effort to hold the champs at bay. As predicted in Onze de faits, Wemby played with determination and force setting the tone from the jump. His first bucket of his first-career NBA playoff Game 7 was an homage to his pantheon mentor Tim Duncan—an 11-foot bank shot to settle down the thunderous crowd. The Alien went on to hit step back threes, volleyball spike a layup attempt by the MVP into the first row, cram right on Chet Holmgren’s lifeless face (to name a few highlights), and played a steady, effective up-for-the-moment game finishing with a team-high 22 points, seven rebounds, two assists, and one endearingly emotional response to winning his first conference title and MVP trophy. The second leading scorer was Julian Chanpagnie with 20. Jules stayed in rhythm dropping the Thunder off for a back-breaking six triples on 6-10 from deep. Hitting six threes to help end a title defense in a Game 7 in the title holder’s own building takes such a NY street ball mentality. Now, the kid from Brooklyn gets to take that cutthroat fearlessness and give his hometown ball club a little something with it in the Garden. Also predicted in the last post, all three of our star guards stepped into the moment of opportunity provided by a Game 7 and seized it with contributions that totaled 43 points, 14 assists and 13 rebounds. I think it’s safe to say Wemby got the help he needed from his buffet menu of sidekick mega-talented all-world guards. The iconoclast Stephon Castle had 16 points, six rebounds and six assists while once again making SGA have to work hard for everything on the other end. De’Aaron Fox (our Iceman 2.0) had been struggling with his shooting after returning to the series in Game 3 from the high ankle sprain he suffered in the second round against the Minnesota Timberwolves but thankfully his cold-blooded sniping returned just in time for Game 7. He hit timely buckets to thwart OKC’s momentum in multiple key stretches in the decisive contest on Saturday night. De’Aaron’s calming veteran presence was absolutely critical to our Game 7 success. Overall, the two-time all-star scored 15 points (on 6-12 from the field and 3-7 from deep) and five assists. Last but not least among our three-headed guard trio, the prodigy Dylan Harper also made some of the clutch-est plays a 20-year-old rookie has ever made this deep into the playoffs in NBA history. Dylan had 12 points (on 5-8 shooting including two massive three pointers), three assists, and seven huge rebounds including two of the most important offensive rebounds of the second half where we went on to score critical points off those rebounds. I said we needed big performances from all three of our star guards in Game 7 to have any shot at knocking out the champs and predicted we would get them so it was really satisfying to see it come to fruition. The Slash Brothers and “Unc” were spectacular on Saturday night.
The last two remaining Spurs players of the seven who scored in double figures in Game 7 were our two longest-tenured players, Keldon Johnson and Devin Vassell who both put up eleven points. KJ was able to shake off his up and down postseason so far to come up with a sixth-man-of-the-year-level performance in the fourth quarter with the game in the balance scoring eight of his 11 points on two massive fourth quarter threes in a row (to bookend a Cason Wallace three on the other end) and then scoring a transition bucket later in the frame. Deven played a steady all-around game with stingy defense to help Steph with the MVP (creating two steals) and his series-ending emphatic dunk to seal our seventh trip to the NBA Finals is a play I will never forget. Ironically, the player of the game was not any of the “seven and seven” Spurs. The player of the game was Luke Kornet. Congratulations, Luke. I don’t even have to go back and do the research to know that you have set the record for the least amount of minutes played in earning a Black & Silver player of the game honor. The most underrated free agent signing of the 2025 NBA offseason logged a whopping six minutes of game action in his award-snatching performance and put up the jaw-dropping stat line of two points on 0-3 shooting and four rebounds. Unless you just came out of a coma, you already know why Luke earned player of the game honors. (And if you did just come out of a coma, thanks for immediately turning to theLeftAhead as your trusted news source for catching up on what’s been happening in the world.) Luke may have very well saved our season with his divine intervention of a Isaiah Hartenstein fast break dunk attempt. I can’t emphasize enough how massive that play was in swinging what could have been a four or three point OKC deficit to an eight point Spurs advantage with six minutes to play (after Steph his a midrange jumper on the other end after the block). Luke’s block was the highlight of our entire season so far and it may prove to be the biggest NBA playoff block since LeBron James’ chase down block of Andre Iguodala in Game 7 of the 2016 NBA Finals. One thing is for sure, it will be forever memorialized in Spurs playoff lore. Watching it never gets old so I’m just going to leave this right here below for you to enjoy on repeat as many times as your heart desires.
We wouldn’t be providing a comprehensive retrospective on the best playoff series of the decade so far without saying goodbye to some of the OKC villains who (because every chapter in the blog series is organic and each post is written under varying degrees of “time crunch” pressure depending on length of time between games and other outside demands on my attention) didn’t get the Black & Silver coverage over these past seven posts that they deserved. Let’s start by saying goodbye, Alex Caruso. You will not be missed. Your performance was at times chaotic at times brilliant and at times borderline dirty but it was also almost outcome-altering. So good riddance, Caruso. I’m glad we don’t have to see your pale face again until next season (lol). When the Thunder were up 3-2 in the series through five games, one could make a reasonable argument to have Caruso as the front runner for MVP of the 2026 Western Conference Finals. Many pundits were also prematurely trying to give the two-time champion a place amongst the greatest role players of all-time. (Settle down, NBA punditry. Alex Caruso has a long way to go to get in the same conversation as Robert Horry.) Thankfully, Caruso’s out-of-nowhere 31 point (including eight three pointer) off the bench Game 1 performance came in a loss and when the lights got brightest, The Bald Mamba couldn’t rise to the occasion going only 1-6 from deep (and 3-14 overall) in Game 7. We also need to say goodbye to you, Isaiah Hartenstein. Peace out, you ogre. Watching you play football by committing 55 fouls a game on Wemby (knowing the refs will only call four or five of them) because you can’t stop him playing actual basketball was a camp performance in a flop of a movie series that I’m thankful we don’t have to view again. Last but not least, goodbye, Jared McCain. It would have been extremely frustrating if the reason the defending champion Oklahoma City Thunder advanced back to the 2026 NBA Finals because of Daryl Morey’s idiocracy. Your inclusion in this good natured ribbing is purely circumstantial, by the way. I think you’re a great shooter and I love watching you play. It just would have been extremely frustrating if you had swung this series simply because the Philadelphia 76ers were too cheap to keep you around and too dumb to realize your value. Thankfully, you didn’t. Well folks, that’s all the goodbyes we need to make to OKC villains from this epic series. Not to pile on but we don’t need to say goodbye to you, Chet Holmgren. Thanks to the Vulcan death grip that Victory Wembanyama has on your soul, you never bothered to show up for the 2026 Western Conference Finals in the first place. And on that note, it’s onward to getting ready to watch the San Antonio Spurs play Game 1 of our seventh NBA Finals tonight back home in the comfy confines of the Frost Bank Center. I am overcome with joy and excitement and can’t wait to get this thing rolling. The #BlackAndSilver have the opportunity to crush a lot of dreams and guarantee it becomes at least 54 seasons that New York Knickerbocker fans have been waiting to celebrate a title. The 1999 nostalgia is going to be fierce with this match up. Just like 1999, we are still the better team and we are still the team with a 22-year old superstar who is the best player in the series. In the intervening 27 years since this Finals match up last occurred, we have won five world championships and established ourselves as one of the greatest franchises in all of pro sports while the Knicks have mostly been in the wilderness. I’m happy the Knicks are finally back to relevance but the more things change, the more they stay the same. We are still the franchise that has been hanging banners in the rafters ever since 1999. We are still D.R.E.
P.S. Congratulations to our old friend Jeremy Sohan for winning his 2025-26 NBA Championship ring.
Featured Image Source: Medium
Headline Image Source: Sole Retriever on Threads
Deux de moins
2026 NBA Western Conference Semifinals, Game 1
Dog Days Are Over - There I was. At a hotel restaurant bar in Park City, Utah. Nearly surrounded by Minnesotans. Minnesotans to my left. Minnesotans hovering behind the couch I was sitting on. Thankfully no Minnesotans to my immediate right but definitely a few periodically wandering by on my right being sure to make me aware of their disruptive presence. What kind of Coen Brothers dark comedy situation have I managed to get myself into this time? Normally I find Minnesotans perfectly lovely. I enjoy the Twin Cities and their people every time I visit and considering that I have tremendous admiration for the way they taught our nation how to effectively fight back against fascist ice occupation, authoritarianism and oligarchy with their January 23rd “No Work, No School, No Shopping” general strike, I welcome their company in almost any situation. This, however, was the rare exception. This was not normal. This was Game One of the NBA Western Conference Semifinals between my San Antonio Spurs and their Timber Wolves.
The conference I was in Park City to attend was my labor union’s district meeting so it just so happened to also have a large delegation of attendees from The Land of 10,000 Lakes because of course it would when that is where the Spurs’ opponents for the playoff matchup taking place during my trip also reside. When a Minneapolis-based friend proposed that we watch Monday’s game together when we first saw each other at the conference on Saturday, I reluctantly agreed. As regular readers of this blog series know by now, I’m superstitious about the environment in which I watch Spurs playoff games. Since I can’t attend the games in person often (living in Denver), I prefer the quiet comfort of watching the game at home in a controlled environment to the social interaction of watching the game out in public but since that wasn’t an option for this particular game during this particular road trip, I didn’t want to be that antisocial lame-o who declines the rare opportunity to hang socially with some cool peeps (even if they happen to be Wolves fans) and watches the game alone in his hotel room.
We were able to reserve the couches and entire seating area in front of the biggest TV screen in our conference hotel’s restaurant and (other than the Peacock stream getting occasionally blurry or hung up) it proved to be an excellent social environment to watch the game in mixed company. (The “One Dollar Wings” special they were serving for the evening didn’t hurt either.) From the opening tip, the smack talk was bouncing back and forth from the opposing camps like a ping pong ball. Luckily, there were a few other Spurs fans in our party but we were significantly outnumbered by Wolves fans. Add on top of that that I am widely known throughout the my labor union’s district as the biggest San Antonio Spurs fan in the entire organization, most of the incoming fire was directed at me personally. That incoming fire wasn’t immediate, though. The Wolves fans didn’t have a lot to say while watching Victor Wembanyama block two shots in the first minute of the game and a third less than two and a half minutes in. It wasn’t until Minnesota pulled out the first real lead of the game going up 14-8 halfway through the first that the Minnesota cackles also started getting the upper hand in the chatter. It didn’t take long for the Spurs to bounce right back and for me to start asking my Wolves-supporting friends, “Can you remind me which is better: zero championship rings or five championship rings? I’m having a hard time remembering.” At the end of the first quarter, Minnesota had a one point lead but I was most definitely holding the slight edge in the smack talk.
My wings arrived at the beginning of the second quarter. Normally, I don’t like eating during any Spurs game much less during a Spurs playoff game (remember, I’m superstitious) but between arriving in Park City on Friday, going to the gym & attending a staff meeting & participating in a “Game Show Experience” team building event & dropping a May Day labor track playlist on Saturday, attending sessions & going to the gym & a banquet & DJing karaoke at the conference on Sunday, attending workshops, coordinating a campaign’s recognition fight, finishing Quatre de faits, and going to the gym on Monday, I hadn’t had time to eat at all that day and much at all since arriving in Utah so because of the fact I was starving plus I couldn’t resist the bargain of the restaurant’s “One Dollar Wings” special, I decided to throw caution to the wind by ordering food to eat during the game. If you weren’t already aware, let me be the first to inform you that it’s harder to maintain the upper hand in a verbal sparring match while constantly having a mouthful of food. On top of that, after Minnesota had extended their lead back up to a six point 29-23 advantage a little more than a minute into the frame, I was seriously second-guessing my decision to eat during the game and irrationally tying it to having a negative impact on the Spurs’ performance on the court. Luckily, the block party was reconvened at that point and persisted throughout second quarter (with Wemby recording four more along with Harrison Barnes and Devin Vassell each getting one) allowing us to claw our way back to a 45-45 tie at halftime of this tightly-contested defensive battle. Heading into the break, I was relieved that my meal ultimately hadn’t generated the negative impact I was superstitiously fearing it might but I also knew I was going to need to resume filling my mouth with witty barbs instead of tasty wings during the second half in order to reestablish my advantage over the Wolves fans in my viewing party in the smack talk department.
The trend of a tightly-contested defensive battle held in the third quarter. The natural “feeling each other” out quality that most series openers embody was devolving quickly into a straight up rock fight. Every time San Antonio inched ahead on the scoreboard throughout the period, Minnesota responded to draw back even or occasionally go slightly ahead themselves. Similarly, the back and forth between Wolves fans and Spurs fans in our group was intensifying from lighthearted banter to emotionally-charged reactions to the constant swings in momentum. The refereeing and which team was benefiting more from the calls being made inevitably started becoming a focal point for debate during the third quarter as it was becoming increasingly clear that this game was going down to the wire and every single good or bad, made or missed call could have a real impact on the outcome. From my perspective, Minnesota was getting away with being allowed to be ultra physical on defense while benefiting from ticky tack calls on offense resulting in them being gifted a parade to free throw line during the period. I was of course letting my Twin Cities’ friends know my opinion unequivocally as this was playing at and then roasting them when they weren’t taking advantage to the tune of seven missed free throws in the Third. “Y’all do realize you are allowed to put the ball through the basket when you get to shoot without anyone guarding you, right? That’s why they call it a free throw.” I was in pique form laying down the proverbial shit-talking gauntlet when Dylan Harper snagged a defensive rebound and then went coast-to-coast to score and put us up five with just over a minute left in the frame. Ultimately, I was pleased with the position we were in up three at 72-69 heading into the fourth. During the commercial break I was pretty careful to balance the duel goals of continuing to remind my Minnesota friends what’s what but without going so overboard that I risked inviting bad karma for my cause. I was cautiously optimistic that we were going to keep trending forward by jumping on them early in the fourth to extend the lead and in doing so, put both the game and the opposition’s “howling” to bed for good. Unfortunately, I would quickly realize that was just wishful thinking.
The jabbering in my left ear had been incessant all night but it hit a fever pitch when, after continuing to trade punches back and forth for the first six minutes of the fourth quarter, the Timberwolves went on an extended run to achieve the biggest lead of the night, a nine point advantage, when Julius Randle hit a 13-footer to put his side up 97-88 with 3:41 to play. The Minnesota delegation in that Park City, Utah hotel restaurant was brimming with overconfident barbs, most of which were directed at me personally. “Look, I think Ted is going to cry” or “You can see it in his face, he’s throwing in the towel and ready to concede defeat” or “Aren’t the Spurs the supposed to win at home? Are y’all trying to give up home court advantage?” In the moment, I was personally embracing their overconfidence and ridiculous accusations as 1) I was happy to allow them to be the ones to bring on the bad karma for their smack talk veering into overexuberance 2) I knew there was still an eternity left in the game. My intuition was accurate. As we all know by now, the San Antonio Spurs responded with a furious rally down the stretch to put ourselves in position (down two with six seconds left and the ball) to attempt a game-winning three pointer at the buzzer. As you might imagine, the Timberwolves fans got awfully quiet while this was unfolding and were noticeably sheepish while they were realizing they might in fact lose a game that they had prematurely already put in the win column in their own minds.
On a night where we were not sharp offensively (we were clearly rusty from five days off), and where Minnesota benefited from the officiating more than we did on balance (Stephon Castle, one of our three most important players, fouled out with 3:20 to play after falling victim to some questionably soft calls that the referees weren’t calling against the Wolves on the other end of the floor), and where Victor Wembayma (who receives the player of the game honors for setting an NBA playoff record for most blocks in a playoff game with 12 and coupling that with 15 rebounds) couldn’t get anything going on offense (5-17 from the field, only 1-2 from the line and a disastrous 0-8 from downtown), Julian Champagnie, our best three point shooter, had an opportunity to win the game at the buzzer. Given the circumstances, I was more than happy to be in that situation and have that opportunity. When the shot was in the air, I was convinced it was going in. Of course, it rimmed off and the Minnesota Timberwolves fans erupted in an explosion of celebration, bragging, and smack talking that attempted to mask their relief that they were lucky to escape and also one that I’m confident they will come to regret as the series progresses due to the aforementioned bringing of bad karma upon themselves. After it hit me that the game was over and we had lost, I just sat there on the couch staring at the TV processing what had happened and listening to outlandishly overconfident trash-talking over a victory that deep down, my friends from the North Star State know they were lucky to escape with.
Had Julian’s shot gone in, the narrative these past 48 hours would have been how the battle-tested back-to-back Western Conference finalists melted down in the final minutes of Game 1, blowing a nearly insurmountable lead down the stretch to the young, inexperienced team from South Texas. They know how close they were to that reality and they also know how, given the Grand Canyon level depths below our potential the Spurs played on Monday night, Game 1 was more of a must-win for them than it was for us. That win was crucial for them having any chance to win this series. (By the way, for the record, Timberwolves Head Coach Chris Finch can miss me with his sore-winner complaining about some of Victor’s blocked shots being goaltending as if we all didn’t see with our eyes that Minnesota benefited the most from the whistle on Monday.) For us, it was a learning experience that I fully expect us to bounce back from tonight with the fury of a ten thousand suns so that by the time we board a plane tomorrow, those ten thousand lakes up there are completely dried up by the drought that is Victor Wembanyama’s date with destiny and his continued journey towards inevitability. In the end, I’m glad I had the experience of watching Game 1 in mixed company. In all seriousness, I was able to enjoy watching the game with some really cool people and have a memorable experience even though it didn’t break my way in the end. The back and forth smack talk was all in good fun and there is a cool little invention called a cellular telephone through which we can keep the dialogue going over the next two weeks. The Minnesota Timberwolves and their fans haven’t won anything yet and getting the upper hand through opening statements has never once sealed a victory at trial. We have plenty of deliberating still to come. While I’m glad to have watched Game 1 socially, I’m also relieved that I’ll be watching Game 2 tonight in the comfortable controlled environment of on my couch in my living room at home (the Spurs are 4-0 this year in the playoffs when I watch the game at home and 0-2 when I watch it somewhere else). Here’s to getting back to basics tonight and getting back on track. When the verdict is handed down at some point in the next two weeks, I fully expect us to be the one’s making the closing statement and earning the ultimate right to talk that talk.
#GoSpursGo
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