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The game didn't have arcs or movements. It was an amorphous blob with a sucking hole in the middle, drawing the Blazers and Clippers closer to the maw as they slowly pushed themselves away from the teeth. No one took a commanding lead. They just circled round each other for two and a half hours, keeping in spitting distance of each other. No continuity, no story. Just basketball teams mooshing against each other until the game eventually ended.
First half, the Blazers can't hit a goddamn shot but control the boards. Second half, they begin to hit three pointers but give up territory under the paint to a suddenly-awake DeAndre Jordan. No progress without regression. Game in perfect balance.
For a while, in the fourth quarter, it seemed like the balance was unfixably tipped. With two minutes left, Plumlee missed TWO free throws, but the second was retrieved by Gerald Handerson, passed to Crabbe and C.J. McCollum in close proximity in the corner—in such a way that suggested (from my angle, the baseline) that Crabbe got nervous, appropriated a pass meant for CJ. Crabbe nearly bungled the shot, returned the ball to Damian Lillard, who drove, kicked to CJ, who made a three pointer to take the game to six. Maybe the greatest pay in Blazers history, surely the dagger to end all daggers.
But this horrible misshapen island of trash we all collectively decided to call a "game" wouldn't die. It blew smoke from the depths of it's inky, sinful heart and compelled Crawford and Redick to tie it up again. No catharsis, no early joy. The game was cruel and exacting up until the last moment of Blazers possession, when Mason Plumlee, who had been absolutely wonderful all series but had bricked two free throws not FIVE MINUTES earlier and was giving everyone in the building sweaty butts, just standing there with the ball, staring at the rim. Overwhelming silence when he took the first one.
Jamal Crawford went off, which was predictable in the abstract but never ceases to be irritating. He spent the entire first half knifing into the paint, getting a look at like six to ten feet, immediately pulling up, and swishing. It was, as it always is when Jamal is killing you, like a madness imprinted on your skull, a bright pink question mark hovering right in front of your face, tangible but not rational. Thankfully he hit the side of the rim and the spell was broken and he was not as good in the second half.
Austin Rivers scored a ton of points and got hit in the eye by Aminu. I was in the press room after the game and got a close up look at the eye and guys: that is one fucking disgusting eye injury. The whole thing is purple and swollen over, so bad it's like it has a purple butt in front of his eye, with a giant fucking cut. Gnarly shit, man. Lookin' like it was gonna crawl off Austin's face and eat the postgame spread out by the TV trucks, steal a goddamn camera and film some horrible swollen eye political manifesto. It looked like your boy had an oxygen-deprived Ted Cruz on his face. DeAndre also took a spill on Aminu's account. (Bill Schonely voice: "No One Leave The Rose Garden with All Their Blood! Rip City Baby!")
The team definitely started out tight. Their motion sets were getting pressured and intercepted and blown up and there was a sense of deep unsettlement out there on the floor. Thankfully, Lillard was unaffected, because he is a higher life form than the rest of us who wander around our lives with no solid idea of what we're doing or what we're SUPPOSED to do. He scored 14 big ones in the first and tugged the team on down the road on a night when their normal shit wasn't quite cutting it.
The Blazers botched two alley oop passes to Plumlee on the same possession. The second one, by Aminu, sailed above his head and into the clouds, somewhere. It was such a stupid game.
But it's over now. The Blazers head to Oakland on Sunday to face THE GOLDEN STATE WARRIORS, an unstoppable juggernaut without their best player for juuuuuust enough time for maybe the Blazers to take a game and put this thing in an unpredictable place. Or, they're way too young to deal with these dudes and get wrecked immediately in a very severe and depressing way.
Willamette Week