Howdy y’all,

Ok, so I got a little nostalgic today (I know, a weird feeling for a guy barely under 20 years old, but hear me out), and I started watching videos from the Spurs’ titles in ’99 and ’03.  As I watched my boyhood icons like David Robinson, Sean Elliot, Avery Johnson, and Mario Elie lay the foundations for the Spurs’ dominance in the past decade, I was reminded again why I love this team.

Sometimes, it helps ease the pressure of waiting for big Spurs games by taking a step back and realizing why you even follow the Spurs in the first place.  My earliest memories of the Silver and Black were from the ’93 NBA playoffs, when we were ousted by the suns of a different era.  Even though I was only 4 ½ at the time, I vividly remember the look on the Admiral’s face as his last-second shot attempt was blocked and wondering, “why can’t my team win?”  I remember the frustration of the Dennis Rodman era, of being so close, but lacking the chemistry to win in the postseason.  I remember the pain of ’95; of having the best regular season in franchise history and still coming up short.  That’s the first time I can really remember the playoff passion enveloping San Antonio that these days has become almost routine.  It felt like we as a city were on the verge of something truly special, something that was never realized as the Dream schooled the Admiral in the low post, and villains by the names of Robert Horry and Mario Elie killed any hopes of greatness in the mid 90s, and left me with a feeling of numbness I couldn’t even explain at the time.

I remember the uncertainty of injuries to Robinson and Elliot, the shame of being lumped with the clippers, hawks, and celtics as among the least accomplished in the association.  I remember as a kid my friends all wanting to be “like Mike,” while I filled my room with posters of Gervin, Robinson, Johnson, and Malik Rose.  Then the great mystery to me that was the NBA draft lottery filled my ears with a new name around which to wrap my 10 year old tongue: Tim Duncan.  I’d never heard of him (I never have been a big fan of college roundball), but once I saw his game and quiet, burning intensity, I was hooked.  So while Jordan won his title with the ’98 Bulls, I was, perhaps naively, envisioning number 21 holding the Larry O’Brien trophy in a Spurs uniform.

I remember thinking I’d never see another NBA finals in the 90s.  With the lockout threatening to shoot down an NBA season that had yet to even spread it’s wings, I remember praying my first sports-related prayer:  that God would somehow allow the NBA to continue, so the Spurs would have a chance once again at a title.  That’s all I asked for, a chance for my team.  Even though it was only 50 games, I was so excited when the season finally began that I went out and bought my first Spurs pocket schedule.  I still have that schedule to this day, and carry it around in my wallet to remind me of the childlike attachment I have to this team.

Even though we’d never won a title before, things just “felt right” in ’99.  I remember listening to Spurs games on the radio turned way down low in my bedroom so my parents wouldn’t hear.  Two games in particular from that season stick out in my mind.  One was a Friday night away game against the suns.  We usually had family night on Friday nights, but on this night, the game was so close down the stretch that the final moments were spent crowded around the radio (we didn’t—and still don’t—have cable) in a corner of the hallway at our old house in Universal City.  I remember my heart pounding as Elie threw the inbounds pass to Elliot, the eternity that seemed to pass between the radio announcer’s words “shoots.....SCORES!” and the utter pandemonium in our little hallway, and going to bed happy about the flight of a ball two states away.  The other game I remember was a Sunday afternoon game against the Houston Rockets, where Elie capped off a Spurs comeback with a last-second, game-winning 3.  Little moments like that told me something had to be different these playoffs, just HAD to be.

My mom was selected to donate a kidney to her brother in ’99.  Thing was, her bro lived in Michigan at the time.  So, the entire family (of 7) at the time, packed up our 27-foot travel trailer and took off northward for the Wolverine state.  Since we began traveling at the start of the ’99 playoffs, we caught what games we could at our stops along the way.  I remember the Spurs winning game one against KG’s Twolves, then losing the second game.  To this day, I remember sitting in the hospital looking a the picture in the Detroit newspaper of Mario grabbing his jersey and screaming in frustration.  Then that pang of doubt that maybe, we just weren’t good enough because no Spurs team ever does well, regardless of seed.

Needless to say, both the operation and the rest of the series went well.  We weren’t even back in the Alamo City before the Silver and Black had swept away the lake show (much to my dad’s chagrin, lol).  The first full game I got to watch back in SA was the Memorial Day Miracle game.  I remember even my friends (who’d become Spurs fans seemingly overnight) saying “It’s over,” when we went down by nearly 20 points in the 3rd quarter.  Yet and still, I clung to some shred of hope, that some way the Spurs wouldn’t fold on the colorful Alamodome floor that easily.  I remember Elie’s inbounds pass to Elliot nearly being stolen; remember Elliot seemingly falling out of bounds; remember thinking for a split second that Rasheed Wallace had somehow gotten a piece of the ball—and then I don’t remember anything but screaming, both from the TV and from my family in the living room.

The Finals were a blur for me....it was the only series from that year I don’t remember being worried.  Maybe it was because I was a spoiled Dallas Cowboys fan.  If the Cowboys had never lost a Super Bowl I’d watched live, then why should my Spurs be any different?  Of course they came though, and I’ve never doubted them in the Finals since.

My love for the Silver and Black has only increased over time, as subsequent editions of the Spurs have demonstrated the same qualities that made me like them in the first place: professionalism, intensity, perseverance, and an undying commitment to excellence both on and off the court. 

The memories are endless.  Watching from overseas as the Spurs rolled over the lakers and sent Robinson and Kerr out on top in ’03, the near misses in ’04 and ’06, Timmy overcoming injury, Manu coming into his own, and Horry’s epic performance in ’05, Tony Parker finally maturing into a lethal weapon in last year’s Finals, and Timmy’s “Sunsetter” in SA in the first round of these playoffs.  Indeed, it is good to be a Spurs fan.

I don’t know what’s going to happen Monday night.  Maybe this team from louisiana will put an end to the Spurs’ bid for back-to-back titles.  Maybe we’ll move on to bigger and better things against kobe’s lakers in the conference finals.  We’ll know soon enough.  Regardless of what happens, however, neither the hornets, nor any other NBA team on this earth, can take away from what the San Antonio Spurs have accomplished as a franchise.  They can’t kill the indomitable spirit of longtime Spurs fans.  That spirit will stay with us as surely as the San Antonio River winds through the heart of the city.  No matter how glorified or vilified we are in the media, no matter how loudly opposing crowds boo, no matter how many times our method is slighted by the fickle, fair-weather “fans” of the league, never forget why you love this team.  It’s more than the ball going through the hoop, it’s the exemplary way the Spurs have represented and will continue to represent the city of San Antonio.

Win, lose, or draw, the San Antonio Spurs will always be the Pride of the Great Lone Star State!

Now let’s kick some nawlins tail one more time!