In which certain Spurs vanish.
Spurs 101, Pheonix 107
Richard Jefferson hated mirrors. He really did not like being reminded of his small ears. But it was worse now.
He saw nothing at all. He seemed to vanish before himself.
Staring at the lockerroom mirror now, he saw a basketball hurtle right at his head from the center of it.
DeJuan Blair bust it laughing and punched Ian Mahinni's shoulder to shake Ian's guilty grin. George Hill turned away like there was nothing to see here but then bust up too, after even the stately McDyess let loose a deep rumbling chortle.
RJ heard the ball hit his head, but he still did not feel it, even as he walked the parking lot of the SBC Center. The humid air felt like rare steak.
"RJ!" Tim shouted, running toward him oddly focused, as if the game is still being played.
Tim caught RJ by his shoulders. RJ did feel faint. Gently Tim led RJ toward the open backdoors of a black ambulance, Spurs trainer Will Severing waited there with a fleece blanket and worried look. Will draped RJ's forehead with a warm wet cloth and hooked his arm to an IV.
RJ noticed Matt Bonner completely passed out in the gurney next to his. Tim calmly stood fast by both, even sitting on the low first aid box, his neck still bent near the ceiling. Tim placed his steady hand on RJ's shoulder.
"It's okay. This is not about us anymore, RJ."
"It never was!" Assistant Coach Hank Egan shouted from the passenger's seat.