Hold Hands and Bow Your Heads

Not the story of the night. But still...

Since Straight Bangin' took up residence on its own internet, it's been an unapologetic admirer of the San Antonio Spurs. That the Spurs are so popular in this precinct of the interwebs is almost poetic, as the team, at once nothing and everything that there is to love about basketball, captures an ambivalence that runs through much of the SB curriculum. Hate that ignorant rap music, love that Cam'ron; hate those stereotypes, love those comedic generalizations; hate that Prodigy, love his blog.

The Spurs are horrible for basketball in some ways. There are entire halves during which the team plods along, eschewing motion and defiantly lobbing the ball into Tim Duncan even when everyone knows it's coming, as if to say, "Fuck you, stop us." They complain like no other team. They flop too much. They rely on limited players to execute their roles with a precision and expertise that is devoid of flair and at times imperceptible. San Antonio is content to choke you out, 85-78, and not just blow you out by getting up into the 120's. Even when winning, their passion is muted, and joy is almost a projection of the audience. The Spurs just aren't much fun sometimes.

The Spurs also are wonderful for basketball, though. They have reigned over the league by dispensing with the pretense of celebrity that can misleadingly suggest a certain basketball substance--just ask the Nuggets--and instead focusing on true teamwork. The Spurs are a kit of parts that, when assembled, form a whole much greater than its individual components. Lug nuts like Michael Finley and pistons like Tony Parker and seat belts like Robert Horry ultimately compose much more than a simple car. Bowen only plays defense and hits those side jumpers, Manu is the bailout man far less the part than a McGrady or Wade, Bones moves the ball around the perimeter and spots up--it doesn't seem like a championship nucleus, but it has regularly worked because they each take pride in doing what they do. Further, San Antonio has consistently demonstrated that beauty remains in the fundamentals, no matter how methodical. Watching the team consistently lay waste to flashier outfits--those often driven by emphasis on a more "modern" approach--by picking-and-rolling, funneling penetrators to Duncan, closing out and then boxing out has been a joy for those who appreciate that a complicated orchestration comprises so many simple, elegant movements.

(I am, of course, neglecting the all-time greatness of Tim Duncan, but that is a subject for further reflection a different day.)

On the Bangin', both truths are acknowledged, but the latter has always been more persuasive than the former when appealing to emotion. San Antonio has been a team to root for, to cherish, even. If nothing else, it has been a singular outfit whose effect was never to be so easily dismissed amidst gripes about aesthetics. That always seemed like an argument that lost the forest from the trees.

Regardless, San Antonio has been a singular outfit whose time appears to have come. Last night's game will likely be overshadowed by the controversy of the last play, but that is crime against history. What was most evident in San Antonio on the evening of May 27th, 2008 was that a champion that had always relied on its unparalleled versatility and mechanical efficiency finally needed repairs.

Duncan doesn't get off the floor as he used to, and it was apparent all season. A growing number of his shots are awkward and labor-intensive. Manu appeared worn down, and his shot-making and energy were in short supply. Too many guys are suddenly impotent in their roles, from Finley and Barry's inability to penetrate, to Oberto's limited repertoire, to Horry's inability to, well, be Horry. To paraphrase my father and Shoals, respectively: you know you're in trouble if you need points from Bruce Bowen or a season-high night from Barry. If the regular season hinted at some infirmity and the Hornets exposed a weakness, then the Lakers have shown resoundingly that if all of the parts begin to wear down, the sum is diminished in a way for which there is no compensation.

This all leaves SB in a mild state of mourning. Kobe's return to the Finals, and to triumph, will be satisfying and perhaps offer our era new definition. Seeing a good team lose to a better team resonates in these quarters. There is much to celebrate, still. But acknowledging and embracing the good need not obfuscate the bad. A beautiful game has grown uglier, to every basketball fan's detriment.

And for the record: I'm sure Joey Crawford didn't see planes flying into the World Trade Center, either.