An amalgamation of a “shot through the heart,” a Dennis Green searing press conference, the enthusiasm and excitement of Richard Simmons amongst morbidly obese middle-aged women, an inspirational Kenny Loggins with the knack for impromptu musical spiritual healing, and a morose trio of African American baritone and tenors from Philly. I’ve now watched arguably the greatest show in NBA history for a third time in full, and that’s my best attempt at describing the emotionality of last night’s near unconscionable unfolding of events. Heart broken, infuriated, enthralled, hopeful, determined to vicariously prevail yet realistic: the end of the road for what would have definitively solidified a 37 year-old age-less savant’s disinterested quest for the Greatest Player of His Generation and the highly doubtful naming of the most improbable Finals MVP in 67 years is upon us…worst…loss…ever.
Comparable to 1988′s Hardwood, Game 6, LA Laker classic pillaging of Detroit’s heart despite a god-like 25 point third quarter from the Wounded Warrior, Isiah Thomas (43 in total; Big Game James then led a LA to grind it out of a Game 7 victory to the tune of 36, 16 and 10). A sour experience of Deja Vu in regards to knowing what it feels like to have your soul murdered over breathtaking big shots and questionable no calls (i.e. sitting in bar on Causeway St., buckled, all while Metta World Peace knocks down that worthy of projectile vomit jab step, pull back right wing 23 footer to go up six with 1:01 left in Game 7 and Pau Gasol yanks Rajon Rondo to the ground for a clinching offensive rebound…GIVE ME FIVE YEARS OF MY LIFE BACK, IT WAS FIXED!). America vs. The Heat, folks. Those Cuban, plastic, blonde hair, big titty, Pitbull/Music Festival loving, $300,000 bar mitzvah’d motherfuckers slapped Pat Riley in the grill, left the game early and emerged to see yet another day of greatness undeserved to them. And unfortunately, in considering the last road team to win a Game 7 of the Finals was Wes Unseld’s 1978 Bullets, I, you, AMERICA, is wavering on Thursday’s outcome. I’m experiencing what life felt like after Game 6 in Boston; Recovery is bordering incomprehensible. NBA Finals Shop Talk Time. #HitEm
1.) As You All Know, This Happened.
I wish both Alonzo Mourning and his enormous wife could clap back on each and every Miami Heat unfaithful. Which equates to sitting on 500,000 plus folk
(2.) HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? I’m having hot flashes like a pregnant bitch in Hanoi…THAT happened? The Spurs CRUMBLING happened (as unlikely as Venus transiting across the face of the sun before 2117)? Questionable substitutions from a coach oh so close to joining the Mount Rushmore of basketball minds unfolded in the most unimaginable way possible happened? Do you remember that third quarter? How debilitated, smug, outworked, and befuddled Miami looked? How resilient, locked in, triumphant (Duncan double fist pumps), and unnerved San Antonio looked? Tony Parker’s floating, two footed AND 1 runner knocking the life out of a nearly immaculate, hyper aggressive Miami defensive possession saved by a Boris Diaw extra effort. Kawhi Leonard’s brilliant anticipation of the passing lanes en route to a Lebron James turnover, a full-fledged mushing of Ray Allen and an AND 1 transition lay up. A third consecutive AND1 put back from Tim Duncan. All of which was capped off by two INSANE instances of Lebron James and Dwyane Wade tantrumming in the backcourt after far from debatable no calls resulting in costly cross matches, a Gary Neal-Chris Bosh blow by for a lay up and a ten point lead entering the 4th. Patty Mills is waving the fuck out of his Aboriginal towel, Tiago Splitter’s pouring in two of the more hysterical, seemingly eyes closed jump hooks in the history of jump hooks during a questionable spell for Tim Duncan. I literally tasted blood. Lebron James then HAPPENS (can you believe James had 12 points on 3-10 shooting with five minutes remaining in the third?) until he pulls one of these, dribbles himself into a hesitation, evades a simple 12 foot pull up over the smaller Tony Parker, and loses the rock as Duncan smothers his progress to the right side of the cup down four with 38 seconds left in regulation…What’s Next? Well, missed free threes, a Lebron James three, more missed free throws, AND…
(3.) BOOM….Ray Allen….Man, Am I Miserable
I’m not salty, I’m not envious, I’m not resentful (somewhat) and I’m not a sorry loser. I’m miserable and as heart broken as San Antonio Fans were in 2006 after Derek Fisher’s unfathomable, slingshot, turn around jumper with 0.4 seconds on the clock (I want Doc back in broadcasting). Business is Business, professional sports are professional sports and loyalty is a myth. Ray Allen rightfully made power moves, prematurely abandoned ship a year prior to full-fledged implosion and got his. If Paul Pierce has to go because Danny Ainge back loaded his contract and forced us into a position where remaining competitive through rebuilding essentially comes down to reeling in assets for Pierce while on the right, moveable end of 35, then Ray Allen has every right to leave. Turning down $12 million in favor of $9M over three years sucks, yet it is what it is. But when I see Flo in a star studded Heat Jersey a midst the like of jabrones screaming “Seven Nations Army” I shed a tear. Miserable. Enjoying Ray Ray’s heroics is one thing. Enjoying Flo, my boo, is another. (4.) Tweet of the Night:
Nigga From The Cook-Out Is Ballin Outta Control — Carpe DM’Him (@MrGivan) June 19, 2013
Quran Pender aka Todd Anderson aka the imaginary first overall pick of the 2004 draft from America’s 15th favorite African American comedy, The Cookout, and Kawhi Leonard: Best…Lookalike…Ever. I’m confident Quran Pender has not been searched for on Google in over 2,367 days.
(5.) Can Tim Duncan Be FAMOUS Tim Duncan Again?
I was leaning on either Lebron to eviscerate the Spurs in resemblant Game 6 Garden fashion or Duncan to dig deep into the archive of sneakily transcendent Tim Duncan closeout games. I correctly leaned on the FAMOUS Tim Duncan performance seven minutes before tip. He delivered…for 30 minutes, and then he somewhat wilted, in far from condescending fashion. Right hooks, left hooks, cross over step through finishes, middle of the paint leaners. Both an on the block onslaught of Chris Bosh and an emphatic demonstration of an arsenal that has “bored” us for 16 years until Lebron put on the most impressive, ubiquitous nine minutes these eyes have ever seen (*footnote: am I right in saying that Duncan has yet to have his so called “iconic” NBA Finals moment? No real legacy definer that we can without hesitation lean on at any given time? Hence, sneakily transcendent. Last night would’ve served as that moment. Slipped through our Cruciaannn Legend loving fingers. Shucks!).
Manu Ginobili had the Superbowl of his GINOBILI’S in Game 5, Danny Green may get loose through surveying the baseline and second chance kick backs/long rebounds but he’s more or less strapped, Gary Neal will have his window of opportunity to morph himself into a Vinny “The Microwave” Johnson but I ain’t banking on it, Boris Diaw is 400 pounds and is stil exhausted at 3pm on Wednesday afternoon and Tiago Splitter is Tiago Splinter. Thus, Thursday ultimately comes down to Tony Parker and Tim Duncan pulling vintage Tony Parker and Tim Duncan’s. Can they? No one has a clue, basketball analysis is entirely irrelevant, it all comes down to sheer power of will. I’d prefer Duncan, my muse (pause). So here are Duncan’s closeout game numbers just a reminder of how sneakily transcendent the man is capable of being. God’s Speed:
1999: Game 5 at New York (31 and 9) … 2003: Game 6 at Los Angeles in Western Conference Finals (37-16-4 with two blocks) and Game 6 against New Jersey (the famous near-quadruple-double: 21-20-10-8) … 2005: Game 6 at Phoenix in Western Conference Finals (31 and 15) and Game 7 against Detroit (25 and 11 on a sprained ankles) … 2007: Game 4 at Cleveland (12 and 15).
(6.) My Stream of Conversation With My Nasally, Jewish Mother During The Last Four Minutes of Game 6
Mom: (Storming in from her bedroom) Did you just see Tony Parker??
Me: Yea, holy shit.
Mom: UnFUCKINGbelievable. He’s so handsome. What happened to Eva??
Me: Brent Barry’s Wife
Mom: This is so exciting! Laaahbrahhn’s gonna do it! Can Gregg Popahhvich do it? Where’s Splittahh? Oy, I’m nervous. Did someone just put the ball in the basket? I can’t look…
Me: Please…Go in the other room
Mom: Daddy’s rooting for The Heat!
Me: Henry’s pulling for Nazi Germany full of Cubans
Mom: You are a real nasty mothahfuckah, you know that?
Me: Love you, Mom
Mom: I love you too, do you want a Roast Beef Sandwich and some spinach quiche for lunch tomorrow? Its from Barry’s!
(7.) Hedge, Recover, Contest, Block, BOSH, Kiss Rashard Lewis!
Has any African American, yet alone Caucasian, athlete rallied to the tune of “gird up our loins, and get back on the horse“? I think not. Both unintentionally homoerotic and golden? Of course. Its hard to imagine being Miami’s most important player, the NBA’s best pick and roll defender, and capable of operating in guard-to-big cross matches better than anyone at your position (evident in his work against Tony Parker) all while emphatically flipping the script of a finals narrative entirely through playing like a god damn warrior…only to be remembered for kissing Rashard Lewis.
P.S. This is and forever will be the best video on the Internet