My mother had never seen me like this before. She never in person had seen what Russell Westbrook does to me at the end of a basketball game. My father, my wife, and my son….yes, but never my mother. I had intentionally shielded her from this part of me.
I came so close to getting thru this game versus the Sixers in Philly to not losing my mind regardless of what Russell Westbrook did on the floor. It was as if that Big Basketball Dipper in the sky was testing me to see if I was ready to go to the next level of Westbrook Zen.
Fifteen seconds. I was within fifteen seconds of zen-like inner peace. It was surreal. I was there. It was like in Jonathon Livingston Seagull when the state of perfection in flight was at my finger tips. It was flight and it was beautiful.
Voices were beckoning me from above.
And then with fifteen seconds left and the Thunder leading the Sixers by three… Russell Livingston Gull for some reason fouled Joel Embiid shooting a three point shot and fouled out of the game as well. I was stunned…wanting to curse as if I were Todd Monken running an O State practice. But then the voice said, “Michael, he fouled out. You might actually have a chance to win with Russell on the bench.”
‘Yes,’ I thought to myself…’with Russell banished to the bench the Thunder might actually win this game’.
Donovan called a timeout after the first two made free throws by Imbiid in what one is to assume was an effort to freeze the mighty big man. But, of course, he made the third as well. Those who follow basketball then assumed Donovan would call his last timeout to move the ball up court and run a play for the last play of the game with the ball in Paul George’s hands.
But no….the college coach from Florida instead opted to allow a play on situation and Dennis Schroder turned the ball over and Jimmy Butler turned the idiotic play which never should have even taken place to be turned into the go ahead basket for Philly with six seconds left.
The college coach then called time out ten seconds late.
I was ashen. My blood was boiling simultaneously livid at both Westbrook and Donovan for blowing the game which the rest of the team had worked so hard to win. Somewhere in all of this… Terrance Ferguson hit a clutch three which could have been the storyline albeit the normal dysfunction of the Thunder at the end of games.
I snapped. I ran out into the soggy backyard and screamed, “Fuck me running!!!”
Harold next door asked from behind the fence, “Mike, are you okay?”
I answered, ” Yeah, I’ll be okay. We’re a first round exit again this year, but I’ll be okay. It’s just a game. Jalen Hurts is coming at least.”
Then the Big Dipper whispered softly in my ear, “He’ll make it.”
So I go back in and pretend my mother didn’t hear me and sit in my chair waiting to see if the Thunder can run a play and make a shot.
Just before the ball was inbounded–the voice again whispered in my ear, “He’ll make it.”
Paul George caught the ball, squared himself from just beyond the top of the key, elevated…and swish. He made it.
The voice said, “You must believe, Michael. You must believe. There are things which we cannot control.”
I might never be the same again. My inner conflicts with Westbrook will seem petty compared to what I just experienced. This was a spiritual experience of sorts. I wonder if others in Oklahoma were beckoned by the voice or if it was just me. It’s a good thing not many people read this blog or they might think I’ve lost my mind. But I had to write this down somewhere just in case I don’t wake up tomorrow morning.
The Thunder at the NY Knicks on Martin Luther King Day.
This might be relevant for the MLK game since Muddiay plays for the NY Knicks.
Are you okay? I’m concerned about you. Please be ok!