In defense of the San Antonio Spurs

By Emerald Gao
Written on May 19, 2007

Blogging requires ego. This is an unfortunate yet obvious truism; our lives become embroiled in the sports and teams we follow, and I do think it is important to contextualize my likes and dislikes within the framework of fandom. How are people expected to interpret my opinions otherwise?

Blogging also requires a certain circumlocution. All this speak of ego was merely to say that I cannot explain why I like the San Antonio Spurs without going into detail about my general taste regarding sports in general. So please indulge a bit of self-centered ramble.

1. A romantic notion of defense in team sports

a) Defense is counterintuitive in most sports. Teams cannot win games playing only defense, and offense -- the art of engaging in positive action -- is a human instinct that is heightened in the athlete's mind. The urge to score points/goals/(insert other relevant terminology) is inherent in the sporting soul. Except in the case of baseball or cricket, defense is a purely reactionary instinct. While defending in world football, a player cannot control what his opponent is doing; he can only respond, or try to prevent a certain action. On a team scale, defense requires exceptional awareness of space and time, of each players' physical limitations, and for any team to execute a defensive plan, every player must play their part. It's a choreography of restraint, of discipline.

b) The San Antonio Spurs are generally credited with playing the best defensive basketball in the league. Often this aspect of their game is mentioned as a backhanded compliment, accompanied with an aside about how "lifeless" they can be. This seems to be 95% popular opinion, 5% hype-pushing nonsense. Basketball is one of the most offensive-heavy sports I can think of, and general sentiment among fans veers toward high-scoring games, as the run-and-shoot model championed by the Phoenix Suns or the Golden State Warriors is increasingly hailed as the new wave of basketball philosophy. The artistry of defense is slowly succumbing to the pace of the postmodern game. And I hate it. I hate that my already tenuous appreciation for the NBA is being worn down by a system of aesthetics that favors only athleticism, skill, and forward vision. This is why I like the Spurs as a defensive team.

2. The time element

a) A certain friend has taken it upon herself to persuade me that one of the biggest reasons to watch baseball is the fact that games are not allowed to end in ties. This is heretical to me, because in my opinion, having time limitations on a game is crucial to retaining suspense and competitive tension. I enjoy the battle against time just as much as I enjoy the battle between individual players and teams. It's an extremely human duel that I think goes unappreciated in our everyday existence, and it's another reason why sports are such effective representations of our own mundane lives.

b) The Spurs are the best 48-minute team in the NBA. They don't rely on "intangibles" like home support or urgency of survival to battle the clock; their appreciation of the shot clock and their ability to change paces or shift gears at crucial times seem almost inherent, and nobody else exhibits that sort of internal collective control in the NBA. Game 6 was a masterclass in controlling the clock: Forced to play at the Suns' pace in the first half, they went into the break with a slim lead, looking able but still on the verge of being overwhelmed. They came out in the second half and went even faster -- they threw the Suns off their own pace. Watch the third quarter of tonight's game again and tell me the acceleration in the Spurs' game wasn't incredible to watch. Game 5 was equally thrilling to watch, despite the unfortunate circumstances. Some will say that the Spurs stifled the life out of that game. To me, it was a cognitive display of time manipulation. They allowed the Suns to take a massive lead, but didn't panic or deviate from their philosophy, knowing that the Suns were short on personnel and would eventually run out of gas on the defensive end. Exploiting the opponent's weakness is always smart, and the fact that the Spurs are willing to trump adrenaline and emotion with intellect is admirable to someone who doesn't have any allegiances.

3. A matter of perspective

a) This brings me to the caveat of my so-called fandom. I am an armchair fan of basketball. I love players, but I also love coaches and tactics. The eternal struggle between the star and the system doesn't apply itself to the way I view the sport, so I can obsess over the tension between Greg Popovich's machine-like system and the extent to which it allows for creative playmakers like Tony Parker and Manu Ginobili to blossom. I am allowed, by virtue of being a forever-fairweather fan, to appreciate the unbridled chaos of Golden State as they engulf the Mavericks, or the virtuosic artistry of Jason Kidd and Steve Nash; or to indulge in one of a thousand different storylines, like the maturation of the Baby Bulls, or the ongoing tragedy of Tracy McGrady in the postseason. World football is a much different experience: I am emotionally involved, and all reason must be thrown out the window where my team is concerned. I realize this puts my point of view in contention with pretty much every true fan of the sport, but it's still the only point of view I know.

b) From the perspective of someone who has no overriding passion for either team, this Suns-Spurs series was undoubtedly tainted. The officiating screwed both teams over, but the refs weren't the biggest culprits: the NBA was. The latest Bill Simmons column does a superb job of outlining why, but the league's culpability in leeching fairness from the series shouldn't take anything away from the way the Spurs have played in all six games. Addressing the situation from the Suns' point of view, yeah, they were unlucky. Nash's injury in Game 1 changed the velocity of the fourth quarter, but this kind of dumb luck is something all sports fans should reconcile themselves with. The suspensions of Stoudemire and Diaw were unfair, but the league correctly implemented the punishments. A football analogy: This is the exact same situation as the red card that was awarded to Jens Lehmann in the 2006 Champions League final, where a rational interpretation of the rulebook facilitated the dismissal, even though the circumstances should have precipitated a more lenient reading.

Despite these very legitimate complaints, the Suns were felled by two things that had nothing to do with league bureaucracy: an insufficient defense, and D'Antoni's insistence on using Kurt Thomas to negate the force of Tim Duncan. It was obvious from the get-go that the latter tactic wasn't going to yield much of a defensive advantage, yet the Suns persisted in trying to stifle Duncan. Duncan is the best method-player of his entire generation, maybe ever. He knows what his strengths are, and his athleticism and experience allow him to execute his signature move with extraordinary regularity. Thomas, as good a defender as he is, was never going to dam the flow of his game. Even worse, employing Thomas as a one-on-one contender against Duncan went directly against the Suns' offense-oriented philosophy. They tried to adhere to the Spurs' game instead of playing 100% to their own strengths, and in every encounter except Game 5, that was their downfall.

I know the Spurs are the most hated team in the league. They are evil masterminds personified: brilliant in thought and execution, but not that inspiring for casual viewers who want to see "stylish" basketball. And true, they have their ugly players (Bowen), their ugly moments (Horry's Flagrant-2 against Nash in Game 4), but they also have incredibly beautiful players (the speed of Parker, the old-school consistency of Finley) and moments (Ginobili's performances in Games 5 and 6). But what I admire about them more than their ability to exert complete control over the clock and the pace of the game is their acknowledgment of their role in the NBA. They occupy a highly unenviable place in league lore, but despite all the media scrutiny and criticism, they are able to completely dismiss the fact that they are one of the most hated franchises in recent memory.

Someone on Free Darko described them as a "necessary evil," but I disagree. World football villains like Abramovich's Chelsea, who undermine everything the sport stands for, are a "necessary evil," if only for their ability to inspire renewed interest (if not passion) in the fundamental values of the sport. The Spurs, on the other hand, I consider to be a "necessary foil," a team that is considered a relic, but finds success despite the vogue of run-and-shoot basketball. In that sense, they are an ideological underdog, and that's something I've always embraced.

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