CraneLake
06-05-2013, 05:23 PM
Spurs Play the Waiting Game
We’re finally here! The Finals begin tomorrow for my age-defying, long-suffering Spurs, and I couldn’t be more excited. (As a side note, it’s my/we/us in the good times, they/them/#$&* in the bad.)
I’m an impatient person who never fully understood the concept of delayed gratification—probably because my dad took too long explaining it—and yet waiting is all I’ve been able to do—for the past week and half since finishing off the Grizzlies in the Western Conference Finals; for the past year since Oklahoma City turned a 20-0 juggernaut oozing experience into a 20-4 has-been oozing Bengay; for the past 6 years since the proliferation of the super team model for winning championships.
Waiting. If only Manu wasn’t hurt.
Waiting. If only Pop played Tim and Tiago together more.
More waiting. If only Matt Bonner shot every shot in the playoffs as if a Subway sandwich was on the line.
Each year of not winning it all forced me to consider Charles Barkley may have actually been right: Father Time is undefeated. And he’s slowly and painfully taking out my Spurs. Like when a child is first told there is no Santa but doesn’t fully believe it—Mom and Dad must be crazy, of course there’s a Santa, duh—I didn’t buy the old age argument; it sank in a little more each championship-less season.
After beating the Lebronaliers in ‘07 for ring #4, with a firm citywide belief it should’ve been #6—I’m looking at you Ginobili in ’06, AT&T Center timekeepers and evil basketball gods (and Derek Fisher) in ’04—life as a Spurs fan was full of Miami-Heat-pep-rally-sized expectations: not 5, not 6, not 7. We were at the top, and there was no reason in my mind why we shouldn’t end our run with 8+ titles.
But as it turns out championships are hard. They of course require a mastery of the game and chemistry among players, but they also don’t come without a great deal of luck and good timing. Injuries to your key players and other teams’ key players (Spurs-Heat 2013 brought to you by Patrick Beverley) seem to have an impact on every postseason. Every year veterans get more veteranly while young talent gets closer to their prime. From his own mouth, Lebron this year is “20 times, maybe 40 times” the player he was in ’07. And he’s probably right.
I admit it. I thought the good times would last forever. I was naïve enough to think I’d be partying on the Riverwalk for the parade every June. But like reality about Santa finally did set in, I’ve begrudgingly come to realize this Spurs dynasty—yes, it is a dynasty—is near its end. That makes this year so sweet. Tony Parker’s admission that winning 3 championships so young made him think they’d win every year and that now, after such a long hiatus, he has a true appreciation for how hard it really is is a microcosm of my fandom.
The Spurs haven’t quite won #5 yet, and Vegas says they probably won’t, but as an optimistically pessimistic fan (or just ‘fan’), I wasn’t sure they’d ever get back to the finals. So thank you Spurs, thank you David Stern, thank you Joey Crawford, and thank you Patty Mills’ towel. Win or lose, this year has been such a fun ride.
It’s ridiculously hard to get to this point, and I’m so thankful we’re here again. Finally.
We’re finally here! The Finals begin tomorrow for my age-defying, long-suffering Spurs, and I couldn’t be more excited. (As a side note, it’s my/we/us in the good times, they/them/#$&* in the bad.)
I’m an impatient person who never fully understood the concept of delayed gratification—probably because my dad took too long explaining it—and yet waiting is all I’ve been able to do—for the past week and half since finishing off the Grizzlies in the Western Conference Finals; for the past year since Oklahoma City turned a 20-0 juggernaut oozing experience into a 20-4 has-been oozing Bengay; for the past 6 years since the proliferation of the super team model for winning championships.
Waiting. If only Manu wasn’t hurt.
Waiting. If only Pop played Tim and Tiago together more.
More waiting. If only Matt Bonner shot every shot in the playoffs as if a Subway sandwich was on the line.
Each year of not winning it all forced me to consider Charles Barkley may have actually been right: Father Time is undefeated. And he’s slowly and painfully taking out my Spurs. Like when a child is first told there is no Santa but doesn’t fully believe it—Mom and Dad must be crazy, of course there’s a Santa, duh—I didn’t buy the old age argument; it sank in a little more each championship-less season.
After beating the Lebronaliers in ‘07 for ring #4, with a firm citywide belief it should’ve been #6—I’m looking at you Ginobili in ’06, AT&T Center timekeepers and evil basketball gods (and Derek Fisher) in ’04—life as a Spurs fan was full of Miami-Heat-pep-rally-sized expectations: not 5, not 6, not 7. We were at the top, and there was no reason in my mind why we shouldn’t end our run with 8+ titles.
But as it turns out championships are hard. They of course require a mastery of the game and chemistry among players, but they also don’t come without a great deal of luck and good timing. Injuries to your key players and other teams’ key players (Spurs-Heat 2013 brought to you by Patrick Beverley) seem to have an impact on every postseason. Every year veterans get more veteranly while young talent gets closer to their prime. From his own mouth, Lebron this year is “20 times, maybe 40 times” the player he was in ’07. And he’s probably right.
I admit it. I thought the good times would last forever. I was naïve enough to think I’d be partying on the Riverwalk for the parade every June. But like reality about Santa finally did set in, I’ve begrudgingly come to realize this Spurs dynasty—yes, it is a dynasty—is near its end. That makes this year so sweet. Tony Parker’s admission that winning 3 championships so young made him think they’d win every year and that now, after such a long hiatus, he has a true appreciation for how hard it really is is a microcosm of my fandom.
The Spurs haven’t quite won #5 yet, and Vegas says they probably won’t, but as an optimistically pessimistic fan (or just ‘fan’), I wasn’t sure they’d ever get back to the finals. So thank you Spurs, thank you David Stern, thank you Joey Crawford, and thank you Patty Mills’ towel. Win or lose, this year has been such a fun ride.
It’s ridiculously hard to get to this point, and I’m so thankful we’re here again. Finally.