My mind is currently operating in a feverish, euphoric state that’s basically thinking about the Spurs one way or another every five minutes. We’re in there gaming out playoff scenarios and matchups. We’re pondering outrageous historical context. We’re building groundbreaking and innovative new ways to discredit the success of our enemies. The great Playoff Rapture is almost upon us! Rejoice, tremble, and atone accordingly, my friends.

And yet, as we continue to scrape and claw our way towards this inevitable reckoning, we find ourselves confronted with the strangest of sights. Real, actual basketball. A game. Right there in front of us. To watch with our eyes. How odd. How curious. To see the objects of our fascination engaged not in some fantastical battle with the gods on high but, instead, down here amongst the lowly mortals. On a Monday night. On Peacock.

Look, I’m not going to belabor the point: that game was about as close to a non-event as I can imagine. The stakes were low. The competition was not fierce. Top to bottom, start to finish, this one really did almost nothing for me. Sorry.

It’s no one’s fault. Okay, it’s a little bit the Bulls’ fault, but they don’t need me in here kicking them while they’re down. This was just a good team outclassing a bad one.

I’m obviously projecting my own feelings here, but it felt like the Spurs were similarly distracted. Not in a bad way. I don’t mean to imply that they were unfocused in any professional capacity. I believe they prepared and took this game seriously, as evidenced by the final score.

No, what I mean is more that they seemed hyper. A little frantic. Have you ever seen a well-behaved kid get a little ice cream in their system and all of a sudden they don’t start behaving badly, but you can see their entire being start rattling at the seams? They can’t sit still. They’re talking about dinosaurs from their book but have you heard about KPop Demon Hunters, they really like Golden, they’re going to ride their bike, also look at this picture they drew at school, their friend liked it but they drew it and it’s blue.

That’s how the Spurs looked to me in the first half. Not bad, but just…all over the place. Everyone was barreling into the lane and rocketing the ball up against the glass. They were flinging the ball up the court and pushing the pace. They were aggressive on defense, but almost too aggressive. Certainly way more aggressive than the listless Bulls offense warranted. They clobbered Chicago on the boards simply because they couldn’t not go grab every little thing they could. It was wild. It wasn’t, you know, good. But it was good enough. And it was fun. I had fun watching them go a little nuts out there.

This is a team destined for greatness that’s currently saddled with the mundane. The proper and mature thing to do would be to, I don’t know, take measured breaths, I guess. Take a beat and enjoy the scenery. We’ve all waited a long time to get back to this point, why rush it? Peace be the journey or whatever. This is what the wise sage delicately sitting upon the mountaintop would preach.

I think the ship has maybe sailed on that one. I think we’re ready to rock.

This game may have been of little consequence to anyone or anything, but our guy Victor still went out there and dropped a 40 piece on their heads while recording the fastest double-double in NBA history. He was still vigorously swatting errant shots into the backboard with a look of disgust on his face that almost made me want to apologize. He’s hitting step-back threes. He’s catching one-foot alley-oops. He’s tipping in his own shots. He’s used this game like a personal dojo to continue leveling up before his final assault on the Final Boss, whoever that may be.

It’s almost here, you guys. We can feel it. The excitement’s building and it’s getting harder and harder to keep everything in perspective. To keep it under control. Everything we’ve dreamed about for 10 years is looming, right there, just around the corner.

Do you remember that feeling of a playoff game day? Staring at the walls of your class or your job, pretending to listen because you can’t stop checking what time it is? Orienting your whole day, week, and life around tip-off?

Do you remember feeling sick to your stomach for two days straight after a loss? Do you remember walking on air after a win? Do you remember getting coffee at a Valero? It’s all happening. We’re back. It sometimes felt like we might never be back, but hey, look at us. Who would’ve thought?

We’re close. So close. The music’s bumping. The grill’s fired up. The drinks are cold. I can’t believe they’re making us do seven more of these stupid things.

But hey, these are good kids. They might be bouncing off the walls a little bit here and there, but they’re gonna get the room picked up in no time.

After all, they’ve got a party to get to.

I’m a little wary of how seriously Victor seems to be taking this MVP thing. Look, I’m on board. I think he’s the MVP. Have I watched all of his games this year? Yes. Have I watched a combined total of maybe 10 Luka/Shai/Jokic games? I mean, sure. But have I listened to enough podcasts about it to confidently call myself an expert? A resounding yes. So, with all the authority that grants me, I’m prepared to declare the race over. Vic, you are the MVP of my heart. Congratulations.Now, maybe settle down just a bit? It’s really not that big a deal. Frankly, it’s better for my personal narrative purposes if you don’t win it, so we can spend the entire playoffs on a massive revenge tour instead of stressing about the embarrassment of you getting handed a trophy during a TV segment while we’re at home watching the conference finals or something. The horror! That being said, my guy does seem to be thriving on the extra motivation so maybe I’ll just be quiet!I know it’s like, almost a cliche at this point, but I will never get tired of the coach calling a timeout like one minute into the game. Hits every time. I always nod along like, “That’s right, Mitchell. Tell them to get their heads right.” Makes me feel like I’m a part of things.I’m fascinated and beguiled by Keldon Johnson’s jump shot mechanics at every turn. I simply cannot wrap my head around what’s going on with it. It’s not bad or good or anything. To my extremely untrained eye, it just looks…funky. It’s like he takes the ball way further back over his head than is necessary and then launches it like a trebuchet off towards the hoop. Every time the ball swings to him for an open three my stomach sort of leaps up into my chest like I stepped out over a ledge or something. Then, more often than not, the dang thing goes in. He’s shooting something like 38% from three. Not on a huge volume, but enough to where he’s getting those shots and has to take them. And he’s hitting them! It just looks weird! Beguiled. I am beguiled.

WWL Post Game Press Conference

Are you already planning out how to approach playoff games on here?

I’m planning it out in the sense that I try to start thinking about writing something about a playoff game and my brain gets so overwhelmed that I have to stop.

That feels like something you might want to fix before the playoffs get here.

Well, yeah. Sure. I’ll just go fix it. Good call.

Sorry, just trying to be helpful.

I think the playoffs are going to be fun and I think part of the fun is the thing where we all get to be overly dramatic about it. It’s life or death. Heaven and Hell. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon! Coming to you live on Amazon Prime! Like, it’s the silliest thing in the world to be taking seriously and yet, we must persist.

The word “must” is doing a lot of work there.

It’s a load bearing verb, for sure.