[PtR] 我们从马刺负于勇士的比赛中学到了什么

[PtR]

By Charlie Thaddeus | Pounding The Rock (PtR), 2025-04-01 01:40:45

由生成式人工智能翻译，译文内容可能不准确或不完整，以原文为准。

NBA铁律：别让布兰丁·波杰姆斯基状态火热

让我们从比赛结束时说起，那时一切都恢复了原位。

148–106。

本赛季最大的分差。

这可能不是本赛季的最低谷，也不是最惨痛的失利，但绝对是最悬殊的失利，这也算得上是某种程度上的成就。某种糟糕的成就。

或者——我的意思是——这很糟糕吗？在这个阶段，我们还在记录好与坏吗？每一个结果，无论是输是赢，都只是在毫无方向感的虚空中漂浮，最终归于平淡。愚蠢。无聊。难以捉摸。

第四节充满了令我喜欢的东西。马穆泰·迪乌普(Mamadi Diakite)有很多表现机会。他基本上终结了比赛。我看到他坚定地抬起手臂，对抗试图扣篮的特雷斯·杰克逊-戴维斯。马穆把球挡开了，我们都欢呼雀跃！杰克逊-戴维斯抢到篮板，轻轻地把球放进篮筐，让勇士队以124-87领先。

我隐约记得，在比赛早些时候，镜头切到了安静地坐在人群中的蒂姆·邓肯。他的头发放下来了。他穿着一件迷彩T恤。他看起来像是刚从长达十年的沉睡中醒来的人。我羡慕他。

他上次为马刺队效力是在2016年5月12日。

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第三节发生了什么有趣的事情吗？马刺队有几次差点将分差缩小到20分以内。凯尔登·约翰逊命中了一个漂亮的转换三分球。德文·瓦塞尔投进几个球。斯蒂芬·卡斯尔命中了一个三分球。我不知道。

总的来说，第三节是时间开始失去意义的时刻。记分牌上的数字变慢、扭曲，并开始循环往复。符号取代了数字。时间不再是按时间顺序排列的，而是环境化的。德文在油漆区内以指尖挑篮的方式投进一球，时间大约是“草莓：火山消防车”时刻。美洲之塔在中心球场以某种速度缓慢旋转。

我几乎可以肯定勇士队和马刺队在比赛，但勇士队穿着黑色球衣，马刺队穿着蓝色球衣。

没有人会相信我，但我相当肯定有一只巨大的郊狼在场边跑来跑去。他脸上带着疯狂的表情，明亮的绿色眼睛凝视着太空，燃烧着我的灵魂。他穿着一件印有数字“2！”的球衣。

没错，甚至数字2似乎也在尖叫。

图片来源：Garrett Ellwood/NBAE via Getty Images

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当第二节开始时，比赛已经感觉输定了。

马刺队在本节的前五次投篮全部失手。凯尔登·约翰逊走步违例。米奇·约翰逊因此吃到了一次技术犯规。斯蒂芬·库里在场上，但似乎是多余的，就像稻草人身上穿着一件花哨的连衣裙。这场比赛显然是在实现某种宇宙目的，而这种目的似乎与占据这个空间的物理实体无关。像斯蒂芬·库里这样的天才应该出现在别的地方。某个风险更贴近现实的地方。

走开，斯蒂芬·库里！回到人类的世界！这场比赛要去的地方，我们不需要道路。

上半场即将结束时，杰斯-Z在2000年推出的热门歌曲“Big Pimpin’”的器乐版本在扬声器中大声播放。布雷克·韦斯利投出了一个后仰三分球。

球擦过篮板侧面。

图片来源：Nic Antaya/Getty Images

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当布兰丁·波杰姆斯基命中了他本场比赛的第一个三分球时，我并没有太在意。它让勇士队取得了5分的领先优势。很自然。也在意料之中。他在肘区为摩西·穆迪设置了一个无球掩护，然后弹到弧顶之外。球传到了他手中，他的其他队友开始行动起来，进入了他们的进攻节奏。布兰丁等了半秒钟。他盯着他的防守者哈里森·巴恩斯，认为他有足够的空间。

他出手了。迅速而果断。球在篮筐上转了一圈，掉了进去。太阳升起来了，像往常一样。潮汐听话地涨落。世界继续走向无限。克里斯·保罗把球带到前场，脸上带着冷漠的表情。

我承认，我对布兰丁·波杰姆斯基了解不够，无法断定周日晚上是否是他的“职业生涯之夜”或其他类似的说法。我所知道的是，他的第一个进球是他即将进行的比赛的象征。轻松。自信。无忧无虑。他会一头扎进内线，他那双亮粉色的鞋子与球场上所有可能的颜色组合都形成了强烈的冲突，然后踩下刹车，让他的防守者飞到空中。一个流畅的轴心转动之后，他把球放到了篮筐反面的下方。

他命中了受干扰的投篮。他命中了空位投篮。他命中了一些球，他在三分线外站着，凝视着太空，感觉过了好几个小时，才考虑把球投出去。他太棒了。

观看像布兰丁·波杰姆斯基这样的球员，在他的比赛中打出像布兰丁·波杰姆斯基那样的表现，而马刺队整体却打出这样的表现，这根本感觉 不 自然。这感觉很陌生。超凡脱俗。一种未来主义的语言，在古老的声音合唱中被说出来。

这场比赛不应该有这样的事情。这是一个篮球将被分解成其核心元素的地方：橡胶、木材、肉体和100%回收的轻质聚酯纤维。我打开电视，期望看到这场比赛演变成无定形的形式，撞击着一块寻找意义的巨石。相反，我不得不看着一个来自威斯康星州的22岁男孩，像他发明了火一样打球。

我尊重它，但我害怕它。我不知道该如何处理我所看到的一切。我想躲起来。

图片来源：Michael Gonzales/NBAE via Getty Images

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昨晚，马刺队走下了主场，与对手握手，并继续保持着他们在开球时一模一样的状态。

篮球比赛结束了。对此我们可以肯定。我花了一晚上时间观看篮球在球场上来回漂移，一遍又一遍，完成它的使命。

想象一下像那样存在。

想象一下在那里，从你被带到这个世界的那一刻起，你就在你注定要呆的地方。一个完美的圆形球体。空虚。一种潜力，仅受推动你前进的潮流的限制。

至少目前来看，马刺队会继续像那样漂浮。他们逆流而上，然后随着潮流放松下来。随着赛季的进行，他们会变得虚弱并失去力量，但通过这个过程，一定有更深层次的事情在发生——一种我们无法完全看到、知道或理解的蜕变。一个形状正在形成，朝着某个更伟大的设计。

目前，我们只能存在并随之流动，满足于知道我们的旅程仍在按部就班地进行。

我们不知道我们要去哪里——只知道我们正在前往那里。

图片来源：Nathaniel S. Butler/NBAE via Getty Images

点击查看原文：What We Learned from the Spurs loss to the Warriors

What We Learned from the Spurs loss to the Warriors

Rule #1 in the NBA: Don’t let Brandin Podziemski get hot

Let’s begin at the end, when things snapped back into place.

148–106.

The largest deficit of the season.

Probably not the lowest point of the season, nor was it the worst loss, but it was certainly the most loss, and that’s something. Something bad.

Or—I mean—was it bad? Are we keeping track of good and bad anymore at this point? Each result, win or loss, is kind of just floating through the directionless void of a nondescript final stretch. Silly. Frivolous. Inscrutable.

This quarter was full of things I like. Tons of Mamu action. He basically closed the game. I watched him raise his arms defiantly against Trayce Jackson-Davis, who was attempting to throw down a dunk. Mamu sent it away and we all rejoiced! Jackson-Davis got the rebound and gently put it back through the hoop to put the Warriors up 124–87.

I vaguely remember, earlier in the game, the camera cutting to Tim Duncan sitting serenely in the crowd. His hair was down. He wore a camo t-shirt. He looked like someone who had just woken from a deep sleep that lasted a decade. I envied him

The last time he played for the Spurs was May 12th, 2016.

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Did anything cool happen in the 3rd quarter? The Spurs almost got the lead under 20 a few times. Keldon Johnson hit a nice little transition three. Vassell threw a couple buckets in. Castle hit a three. I don’t know.

Mostly, the third quarter was the point where time started to lose meaning. The numbers on the scoreboard slowed, warped, and began looping back on themselves. Symbols replaced digits. Time was no longer chronological, just ambient. Devin hit a finger roll in the paint right around Strawberry: Mountain Fire Truck. The Tower of the Americas at center court started slowly revolving at some point.

I’m almost positive the Warriors and the Spurs were playing, but the Warriors were wearing black and the Spurs were wearing blue.

No one will believe me, but I’m fairly certain there was a large coyote running around on the sidelines. He had a crazed look on his face and bright green eyes that stared out into space and burned into my soul. He wore a jersey with the number “2!”.

That’s right, even the number 2 seemed to be screaming.

Photos by Garrett Ellwood/NBAE via Getty Images

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The game already felt lost when the 2nd quarter began.

The Spurs missed their first five field goal attempts of the quarter. Keldon Johnson traveled. Mitch Johnson got a technical foul about it. Steph Curry was on the court but seemed unnecessary, like a fancy dress on a scarecrow. This game was obviously fulfilling some cosmic purpose that didn’t seem germane to the physical entities occupying the space. A talent like Steph Curry belonged somewhere else. Somewhere the stakes felt a little more down to earth.

Begone, Steph Curry! Return to the realm of men! Where this game is going, we don’t need roads.

As the half came to a close, an instrumental version of Jay-Z’s hit 2000 song “Big Pimpin’” blared loudly over the speakers. Blake Wesley hoisted a fadeaway three.

The ball glanced off the side of the backboard.

Photo by Nic Antaya/Getty Images

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When Brandin Podziemski hit his first three of the game, I didn’t think much of it. It gave the Warriors an early 5-point lead. Natural. Expected. He set an off-ball screen for Moses Moody at the elbow and then popped out beyond the arc. The ball swung around to him, and the rest of his teammates mobilized, getting into the flow of their offense. Brandin waited half a second. He stared at his defender, Harrison Barnes, and decided he had enough space.

He let it fly. Quickly and decisively. The ball rolled around the rim and dropped in. The sun rose, as it always does. The tides obeyed. The world continued on into infinity. Chris Paul brought the ball back up the court, an impassive look on his face.

I’ll confess right now that I do not know enough about Brandin Podziemski to say whether or not Sunday night was a “career night” or anything like that. What I know is that his first shot was emblematic of the game he was about to have. Easy. Confident. Carefree. He would drive headlong into the lane, his bright pink shoes clashing violently against literally every possible combination of colors on the floor, then put the brakes on and send his defender flying through the air. A silky pivot later, he’s dropping the ball under the reverse side of the rim.

He hit contested shots. He hit open shots. He hit ones where he stood at the three-point line and stared into space for what felt like hours before even considering sending the ball on its way. He was magnificent.

To watch a player like Brandin Podziemski have a night like Brandin Podziemski had, amidst the kind of night this collective Spurs team was having, did not feel natural at all. It felt alien. Otherworldly. A futuristic tongue being spoken amongst a chorus of ancient sounds.

This game wasn’t meant to have things like this. This was a place where basketball would be broken down into its core elements: rubber, wood, flesh, and 100% recycled lightweight polyester. I tuned in expecting to watch this game devolve into shapeless forms banging against a monolith searching for meaning. Instead, I had to watch a 22-year-old boy from Wisconsin play like he invented fire.

I respected it, but I feared it. I didn’t know what to do with what I was seeing. I wanted to hide.

Photos by Michael Gonzales/NBAE via Getty Images

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The Spurs walked off their home court last night, shook hands with their opponent, and continued to be exactly who they were at tipoff.

Basketball was played. Of that we can be certain. I spent the evening watching as the ball drifted back and forth across the court, over and over again, fulfilling its purpose.

Imagine existing like that.

Imagine being out there, exactly where you were meant to be from the moment you were brought into the world. A perfectly round sphere. Empty. A potential limited only by the current that carries you along.

The Spurs continue to float like that, at least for now. They swim against the tide, then ease back out with it. They weaken and lose strength as the season goes on, but something deeper must be happening through this process—a metamorphosis we can’t fully see, know, or understand. A shape forming toward some greater design.

For now, we can only exist and flow alongside, content in knowing that our journey continues apace.

We don’t know where we’re going—only that we’re headed there.

Photo by Nathaniel S. Butler/NBAE via Getty Images

By Charlie Thaddeus, via Pounding The Rock