Un de fait

Apr 21

Until the Sun Explodes - It was finally here. Considering that I had blocked the time on my work calendar weeks in advance and had been dreaming about this moment for well over a year, it seemed a bit surreal but the moment was indeed finally here. It was only a 14 percent chance that this inimitable moment would summon a version of the future that I desperately wanted to experience but for some reason, as I stepped away from my work tasks at my desk in my home office and walked into the living room to turn on the television, it felt more likely than not that it would. Call it a premonition, call it blind optimism, or just call it a confidence in my ability to will this thing into existence; whatever you want to call it, I had this calming sense that it was simply just meant to be. As I settled into the comfort of my couch, the blare of the broadcast melted into the background. It was overshadowed by the rhythm of my breathing and the melodic harmony of my actualization mindfulness mantra. Inhale. Exhale. Row, row, row your boat.

Nevertheless, as the countdown began, I was nervous. Of course I was nervous. How could you not be with so much at stake? The difference between finishing first and finishing anything less than first in this contest that was about to unfold on my television screen was on the magnitude of the difference between hitting the jackpot and winning $400,000,000 in the Powerball lottery and almost hitting the jackpot and winning $80,000 in the Powerball lottery. Sure, finishing anything less than first would deliver a perfectly adequate consolation prize. But finishing first? That would deliver a jackpot so rare, it would change everything for the splendidly magnificent better, forever.

The contest started out as expected: New Orleans, Toronto, Dallas, Orlando. Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Any surprises this early in the contest could foreshadow catastrophe so the proceedings going chalk so far as was one small relief after another playing out as sweet music to my ears. Oklahoma City, Utah, Indiana, Washington. Deep breaths. Inhale. Chalk. Exhale. Chalk. Inhale. Chalk. Exhale. Chalk. Order in the universe. Everything in its natural place. Rhythm and harmony. Inhale. Exhale. Gently down the stream.

Orlando, Detroit…hold up, WHAT? That’s not chalk. That’s not order in the universe. That’s not everything in its natural place. That’s neither rhythmic nor harmonious. That is a seismic disruption of epic proportion. But thankfully, not one resulting in calamity for me. In fact, processing the information in my head as quickly as an M2 Ultra chip, I instantly realized that the Motor City being announced at this point in the sequence was actually spectacularly good news for me. It was confirmation that the probability of my desired result had just increased from a 14 percent chance to a 25 percent chance.

The broadcast on my television cut to a commercial break. In my excitement I felt a burst of kinetic energy compelling me to want to jump up off of the couch and start pacing around my living room. I felt like bouncing off the walls to pass the time until the broadcast resumed but fortunately, I had the prudence to realize that this burst of energy was being generated by the verisimilitude of bliss, not bliss itself. This thing was far from actualized. Being keenly aware now of the uncertainly that still loomed, I resisted the temptation to leap up and instead turned inward, remaining mindful and focused on my rhythmic breathing and my melodic mantra. Inhale. Commercial. Exhale. Commercial. Inhale. Commercial. Exhale. Commercial. Inhale. Exhale. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily.

My breathing and comportment fully regulated coming out of the commercial break, I braced myself for the next announcement in the proceedings. Houston. Inhale. Space City may have a problem but I certainly don’t. 33 percent chance. Exhale. Is this really going to happen? I’m not going to lie. At this point, doubt started to claw its way into my thoughts. Could it actually be that I will get this close to seeing this dream come to fruition just to have the rug pulled out at the last moment? I could feel anxiety and nerves starting to overpower mindfulness and confidence. Inhale-exhale-inhale-exhale-inhale-exhale. Portland. Inhale-exhale-inhale-exhale-inhale-exhale. 50 percent chance. In-ex-in-ex-in-ex. Feeling on the verge of a full blown panic attack as I braced myself for the next announcement in the proceedings, I somehow fortuitously garnered the self-awareness to dig deep internally and summon back my mantra so I could reconnect to my melodic harmony and take one more deep breath. INHALE.

Charlotte. EXHALE. “And that means that the number one pick in the 2023 NBA draft goes to the San Antonio Spurs.” I was stunned. Victor Wembanyama, the greatest basketball prospect in the history of the planet, was going to be drafted by my favorite team in 37 days. Call it a premonition, call it blind optimism, or just call it a confidence in my ability to will this thing into existence; whatever you want to call it, call it reality. Also, maybe just call it luck? While attempting to process a moment actualized, I just sat there on the couch looking down and for whatever reason, the next thought that entered my mind was to notice what shirt I was wearing. It happened to be a maroon t-shirt of the bluegrass hip-hip fusion band, Gangstagrass that I had purchased at a live show they performed in Denver, CO in April of the year prior. I decided right there on the spot that this was now and forevermore my lucky t-shirt. Funny the things we remember from those rarest of rare most special moments. Inhale. Exhale. Life is but a dream.

* * *

On Sunday, April 19th, 19,372 teal, pink, and orange-robed blessed souls congregated at the Frost Bank Center in San Antonio, TX to bare direct witness to the playoff birth of a savior and also the first contact event in an alien invasion that could possibly conclude this June with the abduction of a former United States Postmaster General named Larry O’Brien. On the same day that he was announced as a finalist for the NBA Most Valuable Player and Defensive Player of the Year awards, 22-year-old basketball prodigy Victor Wembanyama had 35 points, five rebounds, two blocks, and one assist in his playoff debut. The player of the game shot 13-21 from the field (a cold-blooded 5-6 from deep) and 4-5 from the free throw line in 33 minutes of action leading the San Antonio Spurs to a 111-98 victory over the Portland Trail Blazers in Game 1 of our NBA Western Conference First Round match up. Oh, and that aforementioned Defensive Player of the Year award? A mere 24 hours after Wemby was announced as a finalist, the NBA turned around and made the least suspenseful result on the NBA Awards ballot official. Yesterday, Victor was officially named the 2025-26 Kia NBA Defensive Player of the Year, becoming the youngest and first unanimous winner of the award.

It seems mind boggling when laid out in these terms, but this was the first playoff win for the San Antonio Spurs in 2,551 days. And man, was the city of San Antonio turnt up for it. ¡Viva la fiesta! Not just the city, but an entire wing of the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame, as well. It was so heartwarming to see Spurs legends David Robinson and Tim Duncan sitting together supporting the next generation of dynastic-level talent as they stepped into the breach. Not just the San Antonio’s two number one (overall) draft picks to precede Wembanyama in carrying the franchise on their backs but to also see Manu Ginobili, maybe the most beloved Spur of them all, and Gregg Popovich, the winningest coach in NBA history, back in an arena where they routinely hung banners to root on the raising of the next one. (Side note: not only had it been 2,551 days on Sunday since the #BlackAndSilver had last one a playoff game, but it’s now consequently also been 1,796 days since I last wrote a blog post in this series. We have so much to catch up on and over the next several weeks, I intend to do exactly that including reflecting on Coach Pop’s abrupt retirement.)

It’s a completely oversaturated cliché in sports to call a team a “family” but if ever there were a professional sports franchise to use the term and not have it feel cliché, the San Antonio Spurs are that franchise. Case in point, one of the coolest things about Sunday night (besides the enormity of seeing the legends who were in the building to bare witness to the alien invasion) was the team building activity arranged by backup power forward, Kelly Olynyk. Kelly generously gifted the entire 18-man roster matching custom suits to wear pre-game as they entered the building for their first playoff run together. One of the things that makes this 62-win Spurs squad so special is their chemistry; how much they enjoy being around one another and celebrating one another’s success. I can’t wait to see that on full display once again tonight in Titletown, TX where, in describing the brand of basketball the next generation of one of basketball’s most storied franchises is playing right now, #SpursFamily isn’t cliché, it’s apt.