SAN ANTONIO, TX - JUNE 5: Karl-Anthony Towns #32 of the New York Knicks, Victor Wembanyama #1 of the San Antonio Spurs and Jalen Brunson #11 of the New York Knicks look on during Game Two of the 2026 NBA Finals on June 5, 2026 at Frost Bank Center in San Antonio, Texas. NOTE TO USER: User expr essly acknowledges and agrees that, by downloading and or using this photograph, User is consenting to the terms and conditions of the Getty Images License Agreement. Mandatory Copyright Notice: Copyright 2026 NBAE(Photo by Jesse D. Garrabrant/NBAE via Getty Images) | NBAE via Getty Images For a while now, I thought I was watching a very specific kind of story. An underdog with tenacity. A chosen one on the rise. An ascension. A coming-of-age. A fairy tale, maybe. The details were always a little hazy, but the protagonist was never in question. It was the Spurs. It just felt right. Every moment had meaning. Every setback only served the cause. The signs were everywhere if you knew how to read them. Our time had come. Our story was happening in real time, right in front of our eyes. Somewhere in the third quarter, down fourteen, I started to wonder if I’d maybe wandered into the wrong theater. I felt like I was drowning. Every Spurs possession was happening at warp speed. Shots went up quick and bounced out. Layups lipped out. Drives sputtered. The ball found its way into Knick hands before I could even process what was happening, and then suddenly everything was headed the other way. These Knicks possessions, though. Those were like getting punched in slow motion. Just haymaker after haymaker and, sure, you could see every one coming but your arms were moving through molasses. There’s nothing to be done except to just sit there and take it. Then everything speeds up again and you’re dizzy from that last punch but, oops, another three just rattled out and the Knicks are headed back up the court again. I was exhausted. I was dizzy. And I was starting to get the distinct impression that, in whatever version of this story I thought I was watching, this is not how it was supposed to go. Much to my chagrin, I could not stop focusing on the Knicks fans in the crowd. They were making me insane. Not, like, a little annoyed. Insane. Seriously, every time a bunch of blue and orange hands went up after another bucket, it was like a galactic five-year-old found a bruise on my arm and just kept poking it. I felt like I was in my living room trying to grieve the demise of an old friend and a bunch of drunk guys were screaming BING BONG KNICKS IN FOUR BABY directly into my ear canal. Get out of our house, you absolute ghouls. I know. I know. It wasn’t really about them. Whatever. It’s just that it felt unfair in the specific way that life feels really unfair sometimes, when something wrong is happening right in front of you and there’s no one to appeal to and no rule being broken and it’s just happening. Why? Because. But here’s the thing. I was so busy being mad at them for acting like they belonged there that I didn’t stop to consider why they were so sure they did. Maybe they knew something I didn’t. I turned the sound off with around 11 minutes left in the game. A tried and true tactic I’ve used for as long as I can remember when Sports has gotten a little too real for my taste. Something about the silence makes it seem more palatable. Like I can finally breathe and think for a second. Sometimes it’s just nice not to have to listen to Richard Jefferson anymore. Wembanyama hit a three. That wasn’t going to fool me though. No sir. This whole game had been defined by the Spurs getting purchase on a cliff face before immediately tumbling back down a few feet and starting over. Castle got in for a pretty good dunk. Wemby blocked Hart. Their shots weren’t really falling anymore, but this wasn’t real. This was just the death rattle. Harper with a bucket. I’m telling you, watching this play out in silence was surreal. I obviously wasn’t going to turn the sound back on and mess with whatever favor I’d earned with the gods to inspire the run. Still, it was as if I was standing on the other side of the glass watching all of this happen to someone else. I wanted to scream or shout or bang on the window, but all I could do was stare. Mouth agape. Silently trying to will something into existence just by wanting it enough. Our crowd was going nuts. The Knicks fans were, finally, mercifully, joining me in a silent vigil. The score was tied. Three minutes left. Were they actually going to do this? They’d spent all night searching for answers and had they now, against all odds, finally found some? Victor took two steps, covered about a hundred feet of ground, and laid it in. The Spurs were winning. They were winning this game. Winning this series. Potentially never going to lose again. Maybe this was our story after all. It’s wins all the way down, baby! Wembanyama grabbing that board off the Brunson miss with 12 seconds left was the first time I actually let myself believe they were going to pull this off. The two best players on the court had just stared each other down, one on one, and Vic had prevailed. We were going to go back up, score, and dance off into the night. The story had been written. Our fate had been sealed. The stars were aligned. Fate, it turns out, has a pretty funny sense of humor. Before the game, Wembanyama was asked in French about this team’s habit of finding solutions only after running into problems. As usual, the frankness of his assessment kind of caught me off guard. “We’re kind of like spoiled kids,” he said. “For some of us, it’s our first season and we’re already in the Finals. We don’t fully realize it yet. And to me, the team that appreciates the position we’re in the most will be the one that wins.” Two games in, the Knicks look like they know exactly where they are. How could they not? This is a franchise that has spent the better part of three decades being a punchline. Draft picks that didn’t pan out. Superstars that chose somewhere else. Stars that arrived and immediately got hurt. An owner who, at times, seemed to be actively working against his own team. Last year, this group got within two wins of this exact moment and then Tyrese Haliburton and the Pacers ripped their hearts out. Twenty-seven years of almost and now here they are, back in San Antonio. In the Finals. In our building. Their fans look deliriously happy and their players look like they’re on a mission from God. They all look like they’ve been waiting their whole lives for this moment. Maybe this is the story we’ve really been watching all along. It could be as simple as that. Takeaways I’m willing to live in a world where I’m being too cynical about all this. The Spurs found something in that fourth quarter that looked real, and crazier things have happened. That said, down 0-2 heading to a Garden that is going to be absolutely feral is a lot. It’s not impossible. It’s just a lot. It’s….yeah, a lot. Victor looked absolutely gassed all game. Right up until he didn’t! Still, I feel like I’ve seen him miss a ton of shots he normally makes in this series and it’s for sure a little disconcerting. The biggest thing the fourth quarter showed is that this Spurs team is invincible when Wemby is looking invincible. When he’s not, well, they get pretty vincible all of a sudden. This is something that somehow continues to seem profound even though we’ve been learning it over and over again for about three years now. The Luke Kornet rebound off the missed Brunson free throw is an all-time moment that is going to be lost to history and I am furious about it. They put him in to do exactly one thing and he did it. He reached into a tangle of legs and limbs and came out with the basketball, somehow without stepping out of bounds. It was as stunning a play as his chase-down block in the OKC series. It deserved a better ending. Alas. Part of me thinks Fox should have taken that last shot. I can’t fully explain it. It just felt like that was going to be his moment. That’s why we brought him here. Everyone in the building knew Wemby was getting the ball, so why not shock the world? He had the shot, didn’t he? I’ll never know because I refuse to watch that sequence again, but in my heart I think he had it. Feels bad, y’all. Feels real bad right now. Spurs in 7. WWL Post Game Press Conference Have you ever actually walked into the wrong theater for a movie? No, that seems borderline impossible. I did used to like, double dip at the theater all the time back in the day when there was nothing else really going on. It felt like once you’d given your ticket to the guy up front you really could just hang out back there in the bowels of a Regal Cinemas for days on end. So you’d just watch multiple movies? Sure, or just like, a double feature or something. What was your best double feature? My favorite one, for sure, was a combination of Mission Impossible 2 followed by Shanghai Noon. Cinema! I was a man of culture. I’ve never felt more artistically fulfilled. You really don’t want to keep talking about that Spurs game do you? I really don’t. ...read more read less