The NBA Finals: That Sinking Feeling

You know that scene from The Return of the King where the Riders of Rohan come to the aid of Gondor, mop up the Pellinore Fields with Orc butt and think they've got the armies of Mordor beaten only to see those HUGE Elephant thingies with conspicuously Arab-looking guys riding on top? Remember the feeling of dread? Remember the feeling of, "Oh man, what do I have to do to beat these asses?!"

Did Tony Parker and the Spurs miss a golden opportunity
to close it out in Game 6?
(image by Edward A. Omelas/San Antonio Express)

If not, then watch the following clip where King Theoden's facial expression just magnifies his despair:

Yeah, that's what I felt when San Antonio came so close to winning the 2013 NBA title only to make some critical miscues in the final 30 seconds of Game 6.

And now I have that same sad feeling I had when I saw Theoden get flattened by the Nazgul. That feeling that no matter what the Spurs do, or what anyone does for that matter, the Miami Heat are just destined to continue their malevolent rule over the basketball-loving world.

Oh, please no. Not again. Not ever again.
(image from review2akill.com)

Right now let me wallow in my despair, okay? Let me swim in my sadness and anguish. Let me lay the blame on a lot of people.

I blame the Boston Celtics for mishandling Ray Allen and letting him go.

I blame Frank Vogel for not trusting Roy Hibbert in the dying seconds of Game 1.

I blame Kawhi Leonard for missing THAT free throw.

I blame the Spurs for letting Mike Miller and Chris Bosh get TWO offensive rebounds in the last 30 seconds of regulation.

This could have -- SHOULD HAVE -- been done already. LBJ should be chomping on humble pie right now. Timmy should be dreaming of his fifth ring ceremony. The Boshasaurus should already be extinct in the state of Florida. The Miami experiment should have gone 1-2 in the Finals, failing to meet its "not one, but many championships" declaration.

The world should already be alright, but, instead, we have a Game 7.

A Game 7 where the Spurs stand as TREMENDOUS underdogs. No momentum. No homecourt.

The only thing they got going is Pop's pokerfaced expression even in the face of insurmountable odds.

This is my outpouring of despair, of misery, of utter dejectedness at how something so beautiful cold turn so rotten in the space of half a minute (and five extra).

I hope I've exhausted all my negativity now, so that, by tomorrow, I'll have a sliver of hope left as the Spurs, those old, tired, boring, Spurs, can, somehow, find a way to lead us all through this darkness and into the light again.

Cue Hans Zimmerman score, please.

I hope that, as Theoden's friends came roaring back to save the day on the Pellinore fields, the Spurs will dig deep and find the strength to make this a Game 7 to remember.

There is that sinking feeling, but hope is not sunk yet.

Not yet.