The Spurs are done, their championship window is closed. This is it, right? Finished. Done. I know that must be the truth, because it seems to have permeated everything I read about the Spurs lately. It's on the Spurs blogs. It's on ESPN. It's whispered in hushed, if not particularly dulcet tones in internet comment sections. It's even on the lips of a certain Frenchman near and dear to all of Spursdom. The good folks over at 48 Minutes of Hell (big fan, by the way) have largely gone silent, making Andrew A. McNiel the only sporadic survivor of this apparent PTSD haze that everybody seems to be stuck in.
So I have to ask: when exactly did we all become such a simpering band of milquetoast ingrates, sitting laconically whilst staring bleary-eyed at a dimly lit computer monitor, rousing ourselves from this stupor long enough only to feebly type out the literary equivalent of a white flag?
We lost; get over it. The Spurs are a championship team, and will continue to be so in the future. Does this mean that they will win every championship? Hardly. But it does mean that they will approach each season with the mindset of a champion. They will scheme; they will plan and prepare, encourage team members to return with a new jump shot, to return with 15 extra pounds of muscle, to steel themselves against the ennui of the regular season. They will return with that extra edge, that extra little shred of effort, determined to bring the opponent to their knees in the next encounter. They are already grinding their statisticians to nubs to find the absolute perfect personnel fit to augment the team, burning up the phone lines to discuss trade possibilities, and evaluating their draft prospects. Practice sessions have been scheduled, and facilities upgrades have been ordered. Life is moving on, and the Spurs will move on with it, being mindful of the present while planning for the future. They absolutely, positively will not sit around feeling sorry for themselves, letting life stream by around them, lamenting the days when they "were" competitive, telling themselves - hey guys, it was really great while it lasted, but let's resign ourselves to mediocrity, shall we?
Please. If Pop wandered off anywhere in the smoking aftermath of the Memphis series, he wandered off to find a bigger sledge hammer with which to pound that rock.