Sami let me get NBA International League Pass for the playoffs which means that I can watch all of the games online live and on-demand. For the past two weeks I have been consumed by basketball, watching three or four games a day. It's pretty awesome.
My first memory of the NBA playoffs is from back in 1990. I was seven. The Blazers were beaten in the finals by the Detroit Pistons, and while the series only went five games, the final deciding game went down to the last shot. Vinnie "The Microwave" Johnson hit a game winner with .07 seconds left. I bawled my eyes out that night like it was the end of the world. At the time it had been 13 years since the Blazers won their one and only championship and that was twenty-one years ago.
As I get older, I often find myself revisiting memories in the past through the eyes of my parents. My dad was right around my age when the Blazers lost back in '90. The year after, I remember he had a friend come over to the house to watch the Blazers play the Lakers in the Western Conference Finals. I recall that series as much for the visitor (6'8" college basketball coach with a thick braided ponytail down to his ass) as I do the final play- Magic Johnson collecting a rebound and rolling the rock like it was a bowling ball down to the Laker baseline. That heady play used up nearly all of the remaining game clock and sealed the series.
In 1992 Michael Jordan's Bulls took care of the Blazers in a series that will always be remembered for the "shrug game" where MJ went unconscious in the first half of Game 1. This was a difficult time for me as a kid torn between his favorite team and the undeniably popular superstar whom every grade schooler tried to emulate with an outstretched tongue. Once, in the second grade lunch line, a friend showed me a picture he drew of the Blazers and Bulls' logos intersected by the letters v and s. Being young and not able to comprehend my mix of emotions, I tore the paper up, and made the kid cry. He ended up not telling on me, for which I am grateful.
On Sunday I woke up at 5:30 in the morning to watch the Blazers play Game 4 of their first round series against Dallas. Sure, I could have slept in and watched it on demand later, but if given the opportunity, I have to watch it live. I can't stand not knowing while the rest of the Blazer universe rejoices or jumps from the Broadway Bridge. And yes, fast forwarding through all of the commercial breaks, game stoppages, free throws etc., is convenient (and crucial if you have a lot of games to get through in a day) but it cuts out nearly all of the drama.
The first three quarters of the game were horrific- probably the worst basketball I have ever seen since my dad retired from coaching middle school girls. I couldn't help but wake up Sami in the other room with what started out as violent cursing in the first quarter before transforming into pitiful moans in the third. By the fourth quarter I had given up. We were down by 18 and it would take nothing short of a miracle to even make it competitive. Sami came into the room, sat and said that maybe our unborn daughter would be good luck. I guess you know what happened if you follow sports- Dallas quit defending and throwing up long jumpers and Brandon Roy turned back the clock. The score kept getting closer and closer and I was rubbing Sami's belly like she was a Buddha statue for good luck. When Roy converted the four point play I began jumping, dancing and screaming like a mad man. I threw my fleece Oregon blanket in the air and Sami said I looked like I was doing interpretive dance. All of it was worth the price of the NBA League Pass and when Roy banked home the winner, it felt like the steal of the century.
Like nearly everyone who follows hoops, I had given up on Roy (and to an extent still have, let's see him show up for a road game). He was horrendous in the first two games and really looked like he couldn't move. It was an incredible experience watching him carry the team on his back and I have to admit that I cried when he was interviewed after the game and said "I thought I'd never play basketball again." It was my first tear since "The Microwave" ended the dream in the Memorial Coliseum twenty-one years ago.
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