Jun 19, 2006

postcard of a painting

you could see it coming. after 36 minutes of pounding the ball inside, the first play of the fourth quarter was a flattened isolation for dwayne wade to go one-on-one with devin harris. never mind that he was shooting somewhere in the range of thirty percent from the field at that point. he drove, stopped on a dime, went straight up and camly stroked a 16 foot jumper.

nothing but net.

everyone in the building knew it. dallas knew it. hubie brown knew it, and everyone watching at home knew it. most importantly, dwayne wade knew it -- it was his time, and he wasn't going to pass the rock.

watching wade blossom in these playoffs just makes you excited to be a basketball fan. this is the stuff legends are made of. as wade continues to blaze his own trail into the annals of NBA greatness, we see glimpses of those that came before him.

slicing through the defense like earl the pearl, making it look effortless and graceful.

a shoulder fake and turn around fadeaway from the elbow that is positively jordanesque.

drawing fouls and pump faking his way through a bad shooting night like reggie at a spike lee roast.

the only thing more fun -- more amazing and humbling -- than knowing that we are witnessing the long awaited renaissance of the L, is that #3 is not alone.

#41 on the other team was less impressed by wade's clutch performance. he knew better. struggling through his own shooting woes, dirk came up big when his team needed him, draining clutch jimmy after another in the final minutes just to keep the game close.

to those who questioned his heart -- who thought he might be soft -- he replied by sinking an off balance rainbow over a double team in the corner. immediately afterwards, he ripped out his mouth guard and gave the crowd a (now patented) angry-dirk sneer, daring the haters to keep doubting him.

even better than that, as the cameras followed dirk into the locker room after another heartbreaking loss, he was clearly not dissapointed. he was pissed. he was kicking everything he saw, punting the ball into the stands, trashing a stationary bike, pushing over a table. one can only imagine what must have been going through his head -- the last minute timeout mistake by Jho, or his missed free throw towards the end of regulation -- either way, dirk was angry. dirk smash.

i loved it.

and the great thing is, it doesn't stop with these finals.

you don't think lebron is watching these games, growing even hungrier with every off-season jumper he shoots? every windsprint he runs?

that stat isn't watching, rehabbing, more anxious than ever to get back to where he was and help his team back to the cusp of the finals?

that the pistons aren't doing some serious soul searching? determined to come back with a chip on their shoulder?

and thats just the start of it. the league has more young talent right now, more guys with the tools to be legit champions, than it has had since the bird, magic, mj, zeke era.

we're not just watching the climax to an amazing spring playoffs -- we're watching the start of something special.

No comments: