During high school, I considered myself to be a fan of the San Antonio Spurs while they served as the primary competitor to the Los Angeles Lakers in the Western Conference. I cheered heartily in 2003, 2005 and 2007, championship years for the boys in black and silver, and grumbled mightily in 2000 (though I preferred the Blazers), 2001, 2002 (to an extent; I was more of a Kings fan then), and most recently, 2012, when a re-tooled Spurs team lost four straight to the Oklahoma City Thunder in the Western Conference Finals. All of those playoff years featured a similar sight: me, on my feet, alongside anonymous fans on the TV screen in San Antonio, willing the Spurs crisp killing squad to victory. I’d cheer loudly when Tim Duncan nailed another bank-shot from the left side, or Manu carved up another team’s perimeter defense, or Tony Parker slashed to the hole. Even when it was erroneously labeled as “boring”, it was beautiful professional basketball; total mastery of the sport.
The best part about perennial liberated Spurs fanhood was the unapologetic consistency. This brand consistency differed from the consistency in Utah, which seemed preoccupied with a past that was not quite good enough, permanently focused on an endless cycle of pick-and-rolls. It was vastly different than the consistency emanating from the Staples Center in Los Angeles, which relied upon glitz, glamour, and drama in order to stay at the top of the mountain. The Spurs consistency was understated and modest; a silent phalanx of second round gems and international stand-outs, led coolly by the greatest post player to ever play his position and a coach who transcended his job title, a benevolent despot worshiped by all his followers. They were a team that could not be shaken, never routed. Yes, the early exits would start to pile up after 2007 — the Spurs have only been to the conference finals twice since winning it all, in 2008 and 2012 — but they would accept their fate, shake hands, play international basketball, and get back to work come September. It was reliable clockwork in an unreliable world.
Tonight, the Golden State Warriors — the team I could love during the regular season, but had to push aside once they ceased to play meaningful basketball come mid-April — will play the first playoff game against these unapologetically consistent Spurs. The series is not expected to go long. Though their style of play has won liberated fans across the United States, it is widely considered to be unsustainable in this second round series against San Antonio. Wounded all-star forward David Lee is not expected to play a significant role in the series, despite his memorable cameo in game six of the opening round series against the Denver Nuggets. The Warriors saw their back-breaking shooting trail off in the final two games of the series, and their turnovers rose to concerning levels (especially in pivotal moments in the fourth quarter). And, of course, there is always the question of health, as Steph Curry and Andrew Bogut both nurse lingering injuries that, for now, must simply be managed, not rehabbed. Meanwhile, the Spurs are well-rested; eight days removed from their anti-climactic sweep of the Los Angeles Lakers. In that series, the Spurs looked depressingly dominant, dismantling the Lakers by double-digits in each game, and able to repel any offensive volley easily. They looked every part the contender, and the Warriors wore the costume of “overachieving sixth seed”, though of course, with lovable class and candor.
I assert that series predictions — frankly, predictions in general — are largely pointless. Statistics in the NBA offer trends to mull over, as well as patterns to consider. No number presents an absolute, no statistic establishes any sort of given fact. The NBA is staffed by humans who can fall into unexpected calamities, and the sport itself analyzed by humans who can find themselves in similar situations. Very few pundits had the Warriors advancing to the second round; even fewer after David Lee went down with his hip injury. Similarly, few would’ve thought that the Spurs and Lakers would’ve ever faced each other in the first round, and some might’ve hypothesized that the Lakers would’ve enjoyed the higher seed in that unexpected opening series. All of this is to say: in a world where any ligament can tear, any bone can break, and any game or series lead can be erased, we can’t really say with certainty what will happen over the course of four, five, six or even seven games.
For me, the goal of this series will be to see whether, in a strange way, the Warriors resemble a younger version of the Spurs, shimmering fantastically in a mirror that shows our ideal images to an older, weathered version of ourselves. Few teams operate like the Spurs do, where fiscal solvency and smart team-building walk hand-in-hand, unable to exist without the other. Both the Spurs and the Warriors have made ample use of their respective front office’s scouting machinery, with their 10-man rotations filled with homegrown draft picks (in some cases, late first and second rounders, as well as folks who played for a few years overseas) and call-ups from their minor league franchises. Both teams have coaches who inspire their players in unique ways, and who appreciate gamesmanship as much as designing half-court sets. Both teams have prioritized rebounding and ball movement as their golden tickets to sustained playoff success, and both do it well. Though these may be the mad ramblings of an anxious fan, nervously awaiting the solemn arrival of his team at the gallows, I stand firm. There are deep similarities between these two clubs. There are commonalities to observe, and not simply gloss over.
But I know the similarities end quickly and definitively. It is laughable to try and compare the Spurs, a team that hasn’t missed the playoffs in 16 years, and has won four championships, with the Warriors, who missed the playoffs in all but two of those same 16 years. The Spurs are quite a few steps up from the Nuggets. They are an ideal to aspire to, not a mile-high cautionary tale. There are few teams in any sport that can hope to be mentioned in the same sentence as the Spurs.
The simple fact that we get to play them, and should we lose, learn from them, is enough reward; a simple pleasure on the eve of destruction.
