Don’t show me the bright side. Please spare me the benefits of education. Above all, please spare me your amazement at Stephen Curry’s amazing shot and “night night” celebration. Because I’m irritated right now.
About eleven minutes have passed since the Celtics’ heartbreaking, post-traumatic stress-inducing, barn burner of a loss that had me and Toto wondering if a twister had transported us again to Game 6 of the 2022 NBA Finals. I am not, and I will not, be composed. Thus, everyone should prepare for the worst.
I knew the Celtics wanted that game as much as I did based on how tense and awkward they played in the closing minutes. Their body language gave me the impression that I was reading All Quiet on the Western Front, when troops who had been shell-shocked were fighting for their lives.
In a Steph Curry legacy game, legacy shot, and legacy celebration, the fourth quarter was an assault. For the first time in my life, I yanked my computer screen closed as soon that the broadcast cameras moved to Curry’s fists clenched together, like a cemetery for my dreams and a pillow for his head. I lost all patience watching a game.
I have no idea what has possessed me. This game had regular season significance, and the team was planning a quick road trip to Sacramento to complete the journey. This is a Tuesday night in December, not a postseason series. Thus, I think we should relax.
However, I detest the Warriors. I honestly only recall a small portion of NBA history because I’m not that old. And yet, for some reason, the majority of it is the Warriors winning—either the league as a whole, against LeBron James in particular, or—more recently—against the Celtics, who are very special to me.
It was psychological warfare, this game. The Warriors play in the Western Conference, and since we don’t get to see them very often, I don’t get many opportunities like today to think about the existential terror of Steph Curry at his best and how dreadful it is to play against him.
In the fourth quarter, I started to get flashbacks to the 2022 Finals, where Al Horford was torched in drop coverage on a switch and Jayson Tatum looked like he could barely match an alpha.
That fourth quarter had a cosmic oddity about it. There’s no logical explanation that fits what happened. Because most of them were wide open, even if you fault the C’s for settling for threes on what seemed like every time down the floor. In addition, the Celtics missed what seemed to be easy layups; they once missed a field goal despite having three offensive rebounds and many clear chances.
I’m simply going to presume that the Celtics were frozen in dread since I have no idea what sort of black wizardry was going on there. These men are broken by the Warriors for some reason, and judging by the way their muscles tensed up with each jump-push-and-hook shot in the closing minutes, I’m not sure whether they’ve moved on from the 2022 Finals defeat.
No player can match Curry’s raw presence or the way he terrorizes rival players and supporters, in the eyes of the fan base. When in his hands, a basketball transforms into a weapon of mass devastation that can end a game on its own with a scorching three-point shot.
Many current players, including Damian Lillard and James Harden in their peak, have tried to emulate Curry’s offensive style. Both of those players have similar outside-the-arc shooting ability—I honestly don’t care about your defense—but none of them has amassed the same body of work as Curry.
That notoriety hangs around his neck like an anaconda. Curry always takes advantage of opponents who are afraid to approach too closely for fear of having their heads bitten off. Each and every. Time fucking out.
Do I have to worship this man? Should I express gratitude for having lived during the time when I was able to witness this grandeur in person? If you ask roughly every member of the national NBA media as well as half of my friends, I suppose I am. But this is about something more than respect, so I’m not going to do the cliched “man, even though I’m sad we lost, I have to respect Curry for that” media tour.
It’s quite trendy to appreciate Curry, even among Celtics fans my age. Despite the constant controversy and doubts that surround him, he is totally uncontroversial and has stuck with his team. Even after the 2022 Finals, many of my friends still claim to be fans of Curry because they can recognize his individual brilliance and admire him for all the magic I just said.
I acknowledge that Curry’s game-winning three-pointer with ten seconds remaining on the shot clock is a unique occasion. The rest of humanity lacks the poise to shoot a three-pointer in overtime against the league’s top team with less than a second remaining on the shot clock, making him the only player on the world who could have hit that shot.
I, however, cannot like someone I fear. I questioned how people choose teams to cheer for outside their local team in an article I wrote last month on second favorite teams since I’ve always found it to be impossible. Curry holds a comparable place in my thoughts. His greatness is something I acknowledge and embrace, yet he has harmed me too much.
Another chapter in the “Stephen Curry hurts my feelings” story closed on Tuesday night—or, I suppose, Wednesday morning, given that this one started well before the witching hour. The dude continues to be a weapon of mass basketball devastation, which irritates me and makes fun of me. There was really no comparison to what he and the Celtics could do. Though I believe the day will come when I can forgive him, today is not that day.
It may happen today as well, as the game ended just 53 minutes ago. On this one, I retain the right to go to sleep.
