Manu20
06-16-2005, 04:44 PM
Finals Head Games by Eric Neel
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=neel/050616
empathy (n): Identification with and understanding of another's situation, feelings and motives
Brent
If I don't get out of my head, I've got no shot. Literally. I've got to let it be a feeling now, a groove. Not a goal, a script or a number.
If Brent doesn't show up soon, he might be packing his bags ... again.
I can't force it; the moment's got to come to me. I know that's the only way, but still, it's a hell of a thing, trying to strike the balance between the wanting and the waiting.
There's so much of the wanting. I've wanted it since Dad first told us stories about the series in '75, since the Clippers and the dunk contest, since I thought it was impossible, first in Chicago and then in Seattle. I've never not wanted it. Even when it's a million miles away it's all I think about. Every hot streak I ever go on, every big 3 I ever hit, every night when the bucket looks big … it's all just dress rehearsal for a scene I wonder whether I'll ever get to play, for a scene in some Game 4 of the Finals, when we're on the road, say, up 2-1, and coming off a stinging loss.
And it's not just the longtime wanting, either. It's that I don't just want to be the guy I've been: The standout on a bad club or the odd fit on a good one. I want to be someone else. I want three or four shots, or maybe two or three dishes, that put a new and permanent stamp on me. I want to be integral now, deep in the fabric of Pop's culture, crucial to what Timmy and the guys are trying to bring about. I want to be the guy they signed, the guy they thought they were getting, the guy who's eye for the pass and the shot can make the difference between winning and losing for this club. I want this to be home from here on out. I don't want any more trade rumors. I want to earn the right to stay. That's why I'm in the gym, early and late, taking extra shots, working on the defensive footwork. That's why I've been busting it all season, even when it's been a struggle for minutes and looks, and even when it's been a mighty struggle for the feeling I want so much to feel tonight.
I can't be thinking all this. Defend, move your feet, move the ball, move to space. Catch, square, release – nothing more or less. Trust that it's in you. Remember that flurry in the fourth against the Suns in the conference finals. Remember, in your muscles and bones, shots falling with dad on the driveway hoop. Let it go and let it go.
Don't for another second think that tonight, in some Game 4 of the Finals, when we're on the road, say, up 2-1, and coming off a stinging loss, It's on you.
Tayshaun
It was easier last year. Expectations were lower. We were sneaking up on you even as we were right in front of your eyes, right? It wasn't until about Game 4 last year that you knew what we were up to. It wasn't until then that you realized we were actually doing what we were doing.
After last year, Prince's anonymity is more than over.
I was sneaking up on you, too, and I loved the surprise of it all. I loved being quiet on press days, knowing my arms and legs were making noise. I loved letting Kobe do the talking … "Kobe, what is Tayshaun doing to slow you down and how can you counteract it?"
But it's different this year. No underdog in it now. No surprises. You expect me to shut Ginobili down. It's what I do. It's who I am. If I'm not doing that, what am I doing out here?
You got to ask that, right? And that's cool. I do, too.
He comes at weird angles, like a drunken sailor crossing a rolling deck. It's tough to read his ankles and wrists. And his waist, the part of the body that's not supposed to lie, hasn't told the truth even one time.
Stay low. Ignore his eyes. Forget the shoulders. Remember he favors the left. Remember he's got more lift than you think. And more burst, too. Balls of the feet. Bend in the knees. Keep the wings wide. Anticipate, but not too much or too soon. Keep him in front of you. Steer him toward Chauncey. Set up the double. Funnel him toward the middle. Let Ben step up. Team defense, like LB says.
We're turning it. Game 3 was better and there's more where that came from.
But it's not just defense this time. I've been good for 14-plus a night all season long. And now, through three games, it's been just over eight? I shot .487 from the floor this year and it's been .310 so far in this series? What's that about?
That's not going to fly. Points are too precious against this team. Maybe the meek shall inherit the Earth, but they ain't going to beat the Spurs.
I can feel the edge now, can feel the turn, from flavor of the month last June to maybe a goat this time around. Stephen A's all over me. And maybe you're doubting me, too, thinking maybe I've been exposed, thinking they've taken me out of my rhythm and I've got no answer for it.
We'll see. I've got angles and ankles, too, remember.
Be aggressive. Take spots, don't float to them. Go down on the block. Go hard to the rim. If they're taking away the perimeter, up the free throw numbers. Let defense feed offense. Get in the lanes, work the transitions. Come on now. Push it. Fire into gaps. Don't slide back. Don't be the inexplicable draft pick again. Don't be the 'tweener. Get mean. Get territorial.
You know what? I don't want to talk about this any more. I've got nothing more to say. And the truth is, I haven't been worth talking about yet.
Tonight's my night. The whole game or no game at all. Tonight, you've got to put it on me.
Eric Neel is a Page 2 columnist
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=neel/050616
empathy (n): Identification with and understanding of another's situation, feelings and motives
Brent
If I don't get out of my head, I've got no shot. Literally. I've got to let it be a feeling now, a groove. Not a goal, a script or a number.
If Brent doesn't show up soon, he might be packing his bags ... again.
I can't force it; the moment's got to come to me. I know that's the only way, but still, it's a hell of a thing, trying to strike the balance between the wanting and the waiting.
There's so much of the wanting. I've wanted it since Dad first told us stories about the series in '75, since the Clippers and the dunk contest, since I thought it was impossible, first in Chicago and then in Seattle. I've never not wanted it. Even when it's a million miles away it's all I think about. Every hot streak I ever go on, every big 3 I ever hit, every night when the bucket looks big … it's all just dress rehearsal for a scene I wonder whether I'll ever get to play, for a scene in some Game 4 of the Finals, when we're on the road, say, up 2-1, and coming off a stinging loss.
And it's not just the longtime wanting, either. It's that I don't just want to be the guy I've been: The standout on a bad club or the odd fit on a good one. I want to be someone else. I want three or four shots, or maybe two or three dishes, that put a new and permanent stamp on me. I want to be integral now, deep in the fabric of Pop's culture, crucial to what Timmy and the guys are trying to bring about. I want to be the guy they signed, the guy they thought they were getting, the guy who's eye for the pass and the shot can make the difference between winning and losing for this club. I want this to be home from here on out. I don't want any more trade rumors. I want to earn the right to stay. That's why I'm in the gym, early and late, taking extra shots, working on the defensive footwork. That's why I've been busting it all season, even when it's been a struggle for minutes and looks, and even when it's been a mighty struggle for the feeling I want so much to feel tonight.
I can't be thinking all this. Defend, move your feet, move the ball, move to space. Catch, square, release – nothing more or less. Trust that it's in you. Remember that flurry in the fourth against the Suns in the conference finals. Remember, in your muscles and bones, shots falling with dad on the driveway hoop. Let it go and let it go.
Don't for another second think that tonight, in some Game 4 of the Finals, when we're on the road, say, up 2-1, and coming off a stinging loss, It's on you.
Tayshaun
It was easier last year. Expectations were lower. We were sneaking up on you even as we were right in front of your eyes, right? It wasn't until about Game 4 last year that you knew what we were up to. It wasn't until then that you realized we were actually doing what we were doing.
After last year, Prince's anonymity is more than over.
I was sneaking up on you, too, and I loved the surprise of it all. I loved being quiet on press days, knowing my arms and legs were making noise. I loved letting Kobe do the talking … "Kobe, what is Tayshaun doing to slow you down and how can you counteract it?"
But it's different this year. No underdog in it now. No surprises. You expect me to shut Ginobili down. It's what I do. It's who I am. If I'm not doing that, what am I doing out here?
You got to ask that, right? And that's cool. I do, too.
He comes at weird angles, like a drunken sailor crossing a rolling deck. It's tough to read his ankles and wrists. And his waist, the part of the body that's not supposed to lie, hasn't told the truth even one time.
Stay low. Ignore his eyes. Forget the shoulders. Remember he favors the left. Remember he's got more lift than you think. And more burst, too. Balls of the feet. Bend in the knees. Keep the wings wide. Anticipate, but not too much or too soon. Keep him in front of you. Steer him toward Chauncey. Set up the double. Funnel him toward the middle. Let Ben step up. Team defense, like LB says.
We're turning it. Game 3 was better and there's more where that came from.
But it's not just defense this time. I've been good for 14-plus a night all season long. And now, through three games, it's been just over eight? I shot .487 from the floor this year and it's been .310 so far in this series? What's that about?
That's not going to fly. Points are too precious against this team. Maybe the meek shall inherit the Earth, but they ain't going to beat the Spurs.
I can feel the edge now, can feel the turn, from flavor of the month last June to maybe a goat this time around. Stephen A's all over me. And maybe you're doubting me, too, thinking maybe I've been exposed, thinking they've taken me out of my rhythm and I've got no answer for it.
We'll see. I've got angles and ankles, too, remember.
Be aggressive. Take spots, don't float to them. Go down on the block. Go hard to the rim. If they're taking away the perimeter, up the free throw numbers. Let defense feed offense. Get in the lanes, work the transitions. Come on now. Push it. Fire into gaps. Don't slide back. Don't be the inexplicable draft pick again. Don't be the 'tweener. Get mean. Get territorial.
You know what? I don't want to talk about this any more. I've got nothing more to say. And the truth is, I haven't been worth talking about yet.
Tonight's my night. The whole game or no game at all. Tonight, you've got to put it on me.
Eric Neel is a Page 2 columnist