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Spurs pop the clutch

Yesterday I wrote about the decline of the Duncan-era Spurs and the need for something to be different next year if they were going to stave off that good night.  Though I’m still not sure what will right the ship and prevent the Silver-n-Black from fading away, I do know that last night Manu and Neal did their best to make sure the Spurs wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Plenty of people in the sports coverage world have provided more than enough coverage of the events of Game 5, so I won’t be spending too much time on that.  Instead I will try to focus my laser beam of white-hot, violent love on Friday night’s game.

Here’s what I know:

The arena in Memphis will be CRAZY tomorrow night.  The people of Memphis have waited too long for a moment like this.

Momentum has shifted ever so slightly to the Spurs .

With the exception of Game 4, this has been a very, very hotly contested series.

The Spurs have been in this position before.

Here’s what I expect:  more of the same. 

The Spurs will have to play a near perfect game on Friday if they want to make it back to San Antonio for Game 7.  Can they do that?  Yes, but your guess is as good as mine whether they do so or not.  Here’s another thing I know, last season when the Spurs faced the Suns in Round Two the games had a pretty similar feel to last night’s with the Spurs up early in the first half only to go on to give up that lead and eventually the games.  Last night however, the Spurs found a way to pull the game out in the end, and I think that bodes well for tomorrow.

With that I leave you with this:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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