I won't make the laundry list of complaints and foibles and excuses, mishaps, abuses, and general blah that now faces most excursions out into the world, with the media, watching a contest, and what used to be called rigamarole.
Last night the NBA basketball team the San Antonio Spurs, all in black and about as gentle of a giant one can see today on any athletic field — no players bunched up with muscles and tats, or playing incessantly with their mouth guard — came into Miami, where Caucasian Floridians all wear that color in unison they consider a color: white — and with the dreaded ten or so days off waiting in the wings for Miami to take care of the Indiana Pacers, and NOT using it as an excuse why they played Game One rusty and off-kilter, but instead came in and played Game One from the first second to the last second with an uncanny ability to fool everyone — pro-tv announcers, seasoned know-it-alls, betters, gamers, and thousands and thousands flocking into the stadium — with terrific James Naismith basketball. It's been a long time since any of us have seen this done. I would bet it made Mr. Bill Russell proud.
Now, granted it may not last. Tim Duncan is playing at an elder age, already defying every sorry ass prediction, and playing ten years younger in Game One. Having Tony Parker anywhere nearby as your point guard would help anyone. It helps me! and I'm just observing. . .terrific eye and hand coordination hustle with gear ratio greased teamwork. A beauty to behold.
At the end of the game Duncan and Parker walked off the court and Miami fans were waiting for them in the stands, booing at the two right in their ears as they went by.
These fans don't know basketball.
