One Half Was More Than Enough

Everyone likes a vacation, but after a short time one realizes that most vacations resemble back-up quarterbacks. Sure, fans clamor for them, they look so pretty sitting there on the sideline while the starter struggles through a bad game, and if the backup ever comes in for the starter, he usually starts off well.
After a while, however, you realize that there is a reason this guy is a backup. The novelty factor keeps him afloat but he can’t play for sixteen games like your starter can. Home is a starting quarterback. Sometimes you need a break, but you always go back, with good reason.

May the Third, 2007 was not exactly a day I had been counting down to. It was the last day of work before a three day weekend and there was a game I wanted to see at night, but there are other three day weekends and sporting events.

I woke up tired, because you always wake up tired. Cereal, car, five hours of work. Work was an unpleasant experience, for reasons no one is interested in. Something everyone will understand though: after working fifteen minutes late on Monday so that I could finish fifteen minutes earlier on glorious Thursday, I was looking forward to an early exit. I screwed up a rendezvous, however, and was forced to simply wait for ten minutes in the rain, losing whatever advantage I had gained. May not seem like much at first, but after a crappy set of hours, everyone knows how frustrating that can be.

So I threw some things and hit some things and got over it. I had a friend come by the house for a few hours. For the most part, she informed me of the intrigue and recent drama occurring at her school. Always interesting, if somewhat depressing. After her departure I watched some sports news and intermittently checked on the Yankee game. Ultimate Frisbee was cancelled for the day thanks to an unpleasant string of precipitation.

I hate rain. It really sucks.

After dinner, an amalgam of The Office, throwback video games, novel-writing, Yankee winning and nephew adoration brought happier times and easier moods. The day was finishing better than it had started.

The whole day, I had been planning on watching the Golden State/Dallas game. Not only had I become interested in the series because it was history waiting to happen, but I had grown to love Golden State’s insane style of basketball. Ten days ago I had no idea someone could have that many tattoos, and now all I could think was “Man, that Matt Barnes guy hustles”. So I was looking forward to this capstone for Thursday.
Yet due to a TV territory war, I didn’t get to turn the game on until the second half was starting.

Didn’t matter.

Didn’t matter at all.

From the time I changed the channel to TNT to the time I had to calm a racing heart as I got into bed, there was nothing but pure, unadulterated, unexplainable basketball bliss.

Basketball paradise.

Basketball ecstasy.

In the most unbelievable combination of insane, crazy, “what the heck are they running?” basketball with “this is exactly how you are supposed to play”—running down every loose ball, penetrating at every turn, slamming it in people’s faces than kicking it out when they collapse, running them ragged around pick and rolls, swarming clumsy Germans and forcing turnovers and bad shots—I have never, ever watched a game that I cared more about and which was less in doubt from beginning to end.

And I haven’t even gotten to the crowd yet.

Before the game, I had read Bill Simmon’s vehement arguments that Golden State was one of only two remaining home court advantages in the NBA. He believed Dallas simply could not win in that environment, and was he ever proved correct. Dallas could have shown up with MJ in his prime and they would have lost (well, alright, that is pushing it). But regardless, this crowd is unbelievable. They understand everything. They know exactly when to cheer, how loud to cheer, why they are cheering and how to get the absolute most of their team while completely demoralizing their opponents. The Mavericks looked beaten and weary midway through the third quarter. And if you tell me this wasn’t due to that unbelievable Golden State crowd, you are nuts. They made me a Golden State fan for as long as anyone on this team is alive. I wanted to be in that building. If God had deigned it appropriate for me to die young, He would have let me attend that game and die in utter joy right afterwards.

This wasn’t one of those games where the big bad top seed looks like it is losing the game on purpose and will turn it around at any moment but just happens to wait too long. This game was utter domination by a team that was simply more athletic, hungrier for victory and less worried about defeat. They simply did not care what the score was; already up twenty, they pushed the ball to get a 2 for 1 at the end of the Third Quarter! And the crowd absolutely understood what they were doing, and applauded them like mad for it.
Every time the ball bounced for a long rebound, a Warrior got it. Every time someone drove to the basket, three Warriors swatted it. Every time a shot went up, a Warrior challenged it. They were everywhere. I have never seen five guys look like twenty as they did on this night of unexpected, inexplicable basketball perfection. I didn’t even know what city Golden State was in a few months ago. Now I know half of their lineup.

Baron Davis
Steven Jackson
Matt Barnes
Jason Richardson
Al Harrington
Andris Biedrins
Monta Ellis

They are all fast, they are all strong, they are all good at seemingly everything. And their coach, Don Nelson, just pulled off one of the great coaching feats in the history of anything. His team made the Dallas Mavericks appear confused, frustrated, and simply untalented at times.

And the home crowd understood it, too. They understood it all. Every time someone set up at the three point line and Baron Davis drove to the basket, they saw the collapse, kick, score coming. When Jason Richardson put the exclamation point slam on the game, they had seen it coming ten seconds earlier off of that terrific pass. I was sitting at home, watching on TV, and I was standing and cheering at points! I was always on the edge of my seat. The game was a bloody blowout, and I could not have been more interested in the next possession.

I went to bed last night having witnessed one of the great home crowd experiences of all time, and I wasn’t even there. They willed their team to near perfection, and I felt privileged just to watch. A 111-86 blowout later, I went to bed, not tired at all. You are never tired when you go to bed.