I’ve been a Spurs fan since I was a kid, but it was only until after I moved away from San Antonio that I began to really appreciate them. Living in Alaska (military child), you don’t have the luxury of watching every Spurs game on Fox Sports Southwest or KENS5. One day, as I was perusing through some uninteresting NBA game (not involving the Spurs), I came to this realization: I missed the San Antonio Spurs. It was in that moment that I became obsessed with the Silver and Black: the Big 3, Pop, the dynasty, the Big Fundamental, etc. You would think that once I returned to San Antonio, which I did in 2012, this obsession would subside as I was bound to become oversaturated with the relentless parade of Silver and Black fans and fanatics forever screaming "GO SPURS GO!"
However, the opposite happened. I became even more dedicated! I learned the game schedule, the entire roster, the record, Pop’s coaching tree. I even learned the full names of the players, and with the exception of Tim Duncan and Kawhi Leonard, I came up with nicknames for my favorite players. ("The Big Fundamental" is so apropos that there is no sense in coming up with a new nickname; it’s so…Tim. Meanwhile, Kawhi is so awesomely boring that all I could muster up for him was an emphatic "Them hands, though!" every time he has some spectacular steal during the game. Seriously, how big are his hands?)
As you can imagine, Game 6 and 7 of the 2013 NBA Finals were heartbreaking. Game 7 hurt more, mostly because it was one of the few times I have seen Tim break down and show his heartbreak when he slapped the floor. Game 6 hurt almost as badly, but not because of the miraculous-lucky-ridiculous-baby-bron-bron-saving-desperation three that Ray Allen launched. (Sorry to make you guys relive that!) It hurt because…I predicted it. When the Spurs went up by 5 with 28 seconds to go, my little brother, also a Spurs fan, was ecstatic; my mother was ready to drive downtown and stay out all night to celebrate. I, on the other hand, didn’t allow myself to get too excited because I knew how quickly leads can evaporate in the NBA. But, I also uttered 7 words that I regret to this day. As my brother danced around our game room unable to control his excitement, I scolded him saying "A lot can happen in 28 seconds." And…well, you know the story.
The next morning I woke up feeling hung over from the adrenaline rush that I was so mercilessly snatched down to earth from. (I’m sure my fellow pounders can sympathize.) That hangover really hasn’t subsided, not even through the 62-win season the Spurs have had. Not even through the beat down we put on Miami back in March. (Seriously, Lebron, the arm sleeves?) It probably won’t ever subside unless I see someone from the Silver and Black hoisting the Larry O’Brien Trophy at the end of this postseason. We have unfinished business to take care of this postseason.
Someone on here mentioned that we were like The Bride from Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill series. I couldn’t have come up with a better analogy. We have unfinished business with the Miami Heat, our Bill who performed a coup-de-grace on us (Game 6) and stole our child (the trophy, Game 7). Ideally, on the way, we could take out:
"Vernita Green": Dallas Mavericks; a level of respect there but still got to get rid of them quickly because you never know when they’re gonna strike
"Oren Ishii": Either the Rockets or Blazers; they’re gonna come at you from all sides and get in a few cuts, but in the end…
My dad has a saying about the Spurs: "They’ll layup you to death!" Maybe that’s our version of the five-point-palm-exploding-heart-technique. If we could get back to the NBA Finals (ideally against Miami), I think the Spurs would five-point-palm-exploding-heart technique "Bill" to death. Look out NBA. "The Bride" is coming, and she is pissed.