Manchild in the Promised Land
At last, after having to listen to Bill Walton blather on for a week about the "special magic" of the San Antonio Spurs, the Suns I know and love have returned. If anyone tries to tell me they got lucky with the calls, they are wrong. As is typical in the NBA this year, both teams got burned by bad officiating. That stuff evens itself out. For once in the series, the Suns actually made the real clutch plays, in totally original style. Robert Horry could hit a clutch three while being gnawed at by starving rats. But could he block Tim Duncan with the game on the line? Could he make a desperate pass while falling out of bounds six inches from the ground? Could he out-hustle Manu Ginobili for a loose ball with six seconds left on the clock?
OK, that last one he could do. But it was nice to see the team I love, even for one game, be the team that pulls it out with incredible plays. I will remember that game as long as I live, which, considering the level of my blood pressure the last week, might only be another five years.