By Devon Birdsong | Pounding The Rock (PtR), 2026-06-09 21:16:29
我向来对恐怖电影不太感冒。
当然，我一直痴迷于《闪灵》（The Shining）中那种动摇人心且开放式的双重性（斯蒂芬·金 (Stephen King) 欠库布里克一个人情，因为库布里克对原著进行了升华，那个不知感恩的家伙），或者是年轻时的彼得·杰克逊 (Peter Jackson) 执导的《脑死亡》（Dead Alive）中那种怪诞的极致。尽管过去十年里，我挺喜欢心理恐怖片的复兴，但总的来说，这并不是一个我经常接触的电影类型。
最让我百思不得其解的是，那些依靠“突发惊吓”（jump scare）的恐怖片居然大受欢迎。在恐怖片这个类型中，突发惊吓如今已是一项历史悠久的传统，但在将其作为一种巧妙的惊悚点缀，与将其作为唯一的卖点或刺激手段之间，存在着一条极其微妙的界限。
就我个人而言，我对过度刺激的适应速度太快了，以至于这类电影对我很难起作用。年轻时，当需要喝越来越多的酒才能达到效果，而酒精带来的快感却在逐渐减弱时，饮酒对我来说就失去了吸引力。
如今，步入中年的我生活相对清醒，我发现喝上一两杯就足以达到微醺的效果。对于突发惊吓，我的感觉也是如此。次数太多，我就会开始失去兴趣。我发现，一段持续且不断加剧的内心不安，反而要有效得多。
这大概就是为什么我整个周末的大部分时间，都在为不得不动笔写第三战的赛评而感到焦虑。
与之前对阵雷霆的系列赛不同，这次没有任何一场大胜或惨败。输球固然难受，但如果是惨败，至少过程结束得很快。当你在第四节落后20分以上时，你很快就会对比赛失去执念。这似乎不那么让人痛苦，或者至少能让你早点放弃挣扎（拉开降落伞）。
总决赛的每一场比赛，都感觉像是低空跳伞直接降落到了远望酒店（Overlook Hotel）。比分无休止的拉锯战开始让你的大脑产生幻觉。马刺到底领先过多少次？他们真的曾经领先过吗？我敢发誓他们曾领先过8分，或者10分，或者6分。等等……他们被追平了？？
分差开始让人感觉像我们的国家货币（或油价）一样通胀，一切似乎都是相对的。领先到底算什么？在现在这种情况下，领先5分基本上就等于打平。这全是假的，全是幻觉。更糟糕的是，这些比赛开始给我一种感觉，就像我唯一经常观看的连环杀手系列电影带给我的感觉一样。
每到关键时刻，尼克斯似乎总能顶住重重阻碍，投进每一个球。
进攻时间行将结束时的超远距离祈祷式投篮？
他们能进。
在近乎完美的防守轮转中送出精妙传球？
他们能传到。
多名马刺球员已经卡好位置并触碰到了关键篮板？
他们能抢下来。
这开始让人觉得，无论马刺多么警惕、多么纪律严明、防守意识多么到位，他们都在被命运本身所阻挠。就像他们正开着车跟在一辆运木卡车后面，而这辆卡车随时可能随机掉落货物，将身后的一切毁灭殆尽，而我一直处于预感到灾难即将发生的焦虑中，结果却发生了同样糟糕（甚至更糟）的事情。
而在第三战的第二节，那种《死神来了》（Final Destination）的既视感再次袭来。
马刺在第一节的前十分钟左右表现得棒极了，但随后尼克斯奋起直追，打出了两队在本系列赛中单节最高得分的一节。
纽约在那一节里三分球13投6中。他们整节运动战投篮合计16投13中。所有的球都能进。面对完美干扰的投篮、失去平衡的单脚起跳投篮、在文班洛夫克拉夫特式的臂展上方划出宏伟弧线的投篮（尤其是布伦森，他似乎已经掌握了这项神技），还有那些几乎没有弧线的平射炮。
他们罚球8投8中，而且他们看起来甚至根本不需要罚球。
马刺在第二节开始时曾领先12分。现在，他们落后7分进入半场休息。理智上我知道7分并不算多，但我开始觉得马刺面对的是某种超自然的力量。
难道詹姆斯·多兰 (James Dolan) 最终还是屈服了，把灵魂卖给了黑暗势力？亚当·肖华 (Adam Silver) 是创造世界的造物主吗？现在的尼克斯是被威利斯·里德 (Willis Reed)、迪克·巴内特 (Dick Barnett) 和戴夫·德布斯切尔 (Dave DeBusschere) 的幽灵附身了吗？
马刺是被绑在了一辆失控的过山车上，还是这一切都只是我的幻觉？
比赛就这样继续进行着。马刺艰难地取得领先，接着尼克斯就会完成不可思议的配合和进球，或者马刺会以不寻常的方式犯错。尽管他们最终只有8次失误，但感觉圣安东尼奥的每一次传球要么是鲁莽的，要么是被对手预判到的，以至于我都觉得自己快要心慌或心绞痛了。
如果这是一部标准的连环杀手电影，到那时我早就适应了，但就像《死神来了》一样，正是那种绝对的不可思议和不可预测性（或者是虚假的安全感），让我的血液持续沸腾。
在第四节的大部分时间里，我不是站着就是来回踱步，而我的女儿则舒适地窝在沙发上，安静而天真地熟睡着，与我形成了鲜明的对比。在这场疯狂的比赛中，我根本不敢把她抱回房间！谁知道会发生什么意外？！
我已经履行了睡前拥抱的“合同约定”。我女儿无法理解的是，我因为在麦迪逊广场花园那块显然闹鬼的地板上，观看这部可能带有超自然色彩的、摧毁我最爱球队希望与梦想的“虐杀电影”，而签下了怎样的灵魂契约！！
（谁说富有戏剧性的内心独白不是生活的调味剂呢？）
接着，马刺艰难地取得了最后一次领先。他们即将领先达到两位数。
然而，尼克斯成功挑战了犯规，凯尔登·约翰逊 (Keldon Johnson) 被发现才是真正的“元凶”，就像《史酷比》（Scooby Doo）里那些糟糕的揭秘时刻一样，这抹掉了文班的进球和加罚。
随后，布伦森投篮命中。接着是阿努诺比。英勇的达龙·福克斯 (De’Aaron Fox) 予以回应，但布伦森继续缩小分差。
给维克托的空接配合，但这似乎无济于事。大局已定，这感觉带有一种恶意的加尔文主义色彩。尼克斯就是那群“选民”。一切都是命中注定的。我们以前看过这部电影，至少看过了两次。而我绝对没有在伪神学的泥潭里崩溃。
接着，卡斯尔命中了一记三分。
这不仅仅是一记三分。这是在进攻时限即将结束时，向神明发出的救赎祈求。这是一次生命的交换，瞬间将别人的名字写在篮球死神的名单上，换回了自己的生机。这是一支心率图已经归零的NBA球队的起死回生。这是整个系列赛中，马刺一直失之交臂的微小奇迹。
你能看得出这种振奋是真实的，因为当OG·阿努诺比 (OG Anunoby) 走上罚球线时，没有人垂头丧气或放弃防守。当杰伦·布伦森 (Jalen Brunson) 凭借最后一口气展现出荒谬的魔法，投进一记后撤步三分将分差缩小到3分时，大家也依然坚挺。
随后，作为2023年NBA年度关键球员的福克斯（他在这个系列赛的大部分时间里都不得不谨慎选择出手时机），在今晚找到了最后一个完美的出手点，顶着防守强悍的阿努诺比投进了一记中距离跳投。隧道尽头的曙光终于显现。迷宫的出口就在眼前。那台怪异而疯狂的丧尸收割割草机也终于停歇。
接着，卡斯尔的两记罚球锁定了胜局，冰封了比赛，就像杰克·托兰斯 (Jack Torrance) 倒在落基山脉暴风雪中的户外一样。
我如释重负。说“如释重负”感觉不太准确，因为我还不知道该写点什么；但这个词又很贴切，因为我当时真的很想去上厕所。
电影版《闪灵》的结局是模棱两可的。我们实际上并不知道杰克遭遇了什么，甚至不知道他到底是谁、是什么。而《死神来了》系列也即将迎来第七部，却依然没有比之前的电影透露出更多清晰的线索或终结的迹象。
马刺依然要打第四战。他们依然要在麦迪逊广场花园作战。没有人知道这究竟是一次短暂的喘息，还是一个转折点。等待本身就是一种心理恐怖。
但至少在这一晚，马刺打破了至少一名马刺球迷的阴谋论幻想。
我不知道明天会带来什么。我不知道他们是否已经打破了魔咒。但我知道，我无法停止观看。
我情不自禁。这是世上最棒的表演。
关键启示
- 在今年季后赛的大部分时间里，马刺的罚球命中率（79.5%）实际上略高于他们的常规赛平均水平（78.7%），但在前两场比赛中，他们的罚球命中率仅为75%，这让他们付出了代价。昨晚他们的罚球命中率（78%）更接近平均水平，在分差如此微弱的情况下，这几乎无疑是决定胜负的关键因素。因此，让我们希望他们在这方面能继续保持上升势头。人们总是把“细节决定冠军”挂在嘴边，甚至到了偶尔让人翻白眼的地步，但3%的差距就是有这么重要。也许米奇·约翰逊 (Mitch Johnson) 应该安排一堂训练课，让球员们练习罚球，而肖恩·斯威尼 (Sean Sweeney) 则站在一旁，尽其所能地模仿鬼娃恰吉？只要他们肯来问我，我脑子里有的是各种各样的点子。
- 马刺也终于投中了他们的三分球，命中率接近他们的常规赛平均水平（35%）。在这个领域，投篮波动性是一头让两支球队都深受其害的猛兽，但马刺在前两场比赛中的三分命中率只有30%，而均值回归定律在某种程度上为他们复了仇。值得庆幸的是，在经历了跨越多个轮次的超长火热手感后，尼克斯的命中率终于回落到了略低于他们常规赛平均水平的程度（当然，这少不了马刺防守的协助）。但是，如果马刺重演前两场比赛的表现，他们将无法在麦迪逊广场花园再次带走胜利。所以，在比赛开始前点燃你们的祈祷蜡烛吧，因为我有一种预感，他们将不得不顶住对手极其凶猛的反扑。
- 在经历了前两场让我质疑他在这轮系列赛中该如何被有效使用的比赛后，凯尔登看起来状态有所回升。通过限制自己的使用率，并像福克斯那样更聪明地选择出手时机，他最终以全队最高的正负值结束了比赛，并成功将自己从负净效率值的深渊中拉了出来。然而，尽管我很喜欢这种更具选择性的打法，但我有一种预感，马刺*至少*需要凯尔登打出一场爆发性的比赛才能捧回总冠军奖杯。因此，他仍然需要在更高效地等待时机的同时，密切寻找机会。在之前的两轮系列赛中，都至少有一场比赛是凯尔登手感热得发烫的。面对一支显然已经做好了防守他准备的球队，他还能再爆发一次吗？我想我们拭目以待。
- 卡特·布莱恩特 (Carter Bryant) 投中了一记三分！这是他本系列赛的首个三分球，而在 PTR，我们也喜欢庆祝这样小小的胜利。当然，我们都期望他能瞬间化身斯蒂芬·库里 (Steph Curry)，改变整个系列赛的走势。这要求看起来很合理。也许我可以去买一棵《迷魂记》（Obsession）里的许愿柳。我相信这绝对不会产生副作用，毕竟这又不是什么“猴子爪”。
今日谢幕曲——今晚的主题歌：
The Killing Moon（《杀戮之月》）—— Echo and the Bunnymen 乐队
由生成式 AI 翻译，译文内容可能不准确或不完整，以原文为准。
点击查看原文：What we learned from the Spurs heart-stopping Game 3 win over the Knicks
What we learned from the Spurs heart-stopping Game 3 win over the Knicks
I’ve never been much for horror films.
Sure, I’ve always been fascinated by the destabilizing and open-ended duality of The Shining (Stephen King owes Kubrick a debt for improving on the book, the ungrateful wretch), or the bizarro excesses of a young Peter Jackson’s Dead Alive, and though I have enjoyed the return of more psychological horror over the past decade, by-and-large it’s a genre I don’t engage with much.
Most perplexing to me is the popularity of horror films that rely on the jump scare. The jump scare is a time-honored convention at this point in the genre, but there’s a very fine line between using it as an intelligently startling punctuation, and having it function as the only real draw/form of stimulation.
Personally, I adjust to over-stimulation far too quickly for these kinds of films to be very effective. As a younger man, drinking began to lose the appeal once I needed to imbibe larger and larger quantities of alcohol, even as the effect lessened.
Now, in the relative sobriety of middle-age, I find that one or two drinks can really do the trick. The same feels true for the jump scare. Too many, and I begin to lose interest. I find an extended section of growing unease to be far more effective.
Why is probably why I spent most of my weekend dreading the thought of having to write about Game 3.
Unlike the previous series against the Thunder, there haven’t been any blowouts. Losing feels bad, but in a blowout at least it goes quickly. You lose your attachment to the game pretty quickly when you’re down 20+ in the fourth quarter. It almost seems like it hurts less, or at the very least, allows you to pull the chute earlier.
Each Finals game has felt like base-jumping into the Overlook Hotel. The endless seesawing of the score starts to play tricks on your mind. How many times have the Spurs had the lead? Have they actually ever really had the lead? I could have sworn they were up by 8. Or 10. Or 6. Wait…they’re tied??
The margin starts to feel as inflationary as our national currency (or gas prices), and everything seem relative. What even is a lead? Five points ahead is basically a tie at this point. It’s all a fugazi. It’s fairy dust. Even worse, the games were starting to give me a feeling that the only slasher franchise I’ve ever regularly engaged with gives me.
Anytime something important needed to happen, the Knicks seemed to hit any and every shot in spite of the odds.
A long-distance prayer at the end of the shot clock?
They’re going to make it.
The perfect pass out of a near-perfect defensive rotation?
They’re gonna find it.
A critical rebound that mutiple Spurs are in position for, and have hands on?
They’re gonna come down with it.
It was starting to feel like the Spurs, no matter how vigilant, how disciplined, how aware, were being thwarted by fate itself. Like they were driving behind a log truck that was about randomly lose its load and annihilate everything behind it, and I was constantly in a state of having a premonition about it, only for something just as bad (or worse) to happen instead.
And in the second quarter of Game 3, the Final Destination vibes started to kick in again.
The Spurs were amazing for the first ten-or-so minutes of the 1st quarter, before the Knicks caught back up with the highest-scoring quarter of the series for either team.
New York hit 6 of their 13 threes in that quarter. They went 13/16 from the field as a whole. Everything was going in. Perfectly contested shots. Leaning shots off one leg. Shots majestically arcing over Wemby’s Lovecraftian reach. (Brunson in particular seems to have mastered this) Shots with seemingly no arc at all.
They went 8 for 8 from the free-throw line, and they didn’t even seem to need it.
The Spurs had been up by 12 at the start of the 2nd. Now they were down by 7 going into the half. Intellectually I knew that 7 points wasn’t much, but I was starting to feel like the Spurs were up against something supernatural.
Had James Dolan finally given in and sold his soul to dark forces? Was Adam Silver the demiurge? Were the current Knicks being possessed by the ghosts of Willis Reed, and Dick Barnett, and Dave DeBusschere?
Were the Spurs strapped to an out-of-control roller-coaster, or was it all in my head?
And so it continued. The Spurs would claw out a lead. The Knicks would then make impossible plays and shots and/or the Spurs would slip up in unusual ways. And even though they only ended up with eight turnovers, it felt like every pass from San Antonio was either reckless or hazarded by their opponents, to the point that I thought it might be giving me heart palpitations or angina.
If this had been a bog-standard slasher film, I’d have adjusted to it by then, but as in the case of Final Destination, it was the sheer improbability and unpredictability (or false certainty) that was keeping my blood pumping.
I was either standing or pacing for most of the fourth quarter, my daughter tucked in on the couch, a serene and innocently slumbering opposite. I couldn’t carry her to her room in the middle of that madness! Who knows what might have happened?!
I had honored my contractual agreement for pre-bedtime cuddles. What my daughter had failed to grasp was the nature of the contract I had signed in watching this potentially paranormal snuff film of my favorite team’s hopes and dreams on the apparently haunted hardwood of Madison Square Garden!!
(Who says dramatic monologuing isn’t the spice of life?)
And the Spurs clawed out one final lead. They were about to be up double digits.
And then the Knicks successfully challenged the foul, with Keldon Johnson found to be the real culprit like some awful Scooby Doo reveal, which wiped out Wemby’s make and the free-throw.
And the Brunson hit a shot. And then Anunoby. And the valiant De’Aaron Fox answered, but Brunson continued to close the gap.
An alley-oop to Victor, but it didn’t seem to matter. The fix was in, and it felt malevolently Calvinistic. The Knicks were the Elect. Everything was predetermined. We’d seen this movie before. At least twice. And I was definitely not crashing out in a pseudo-theological way at all.
And then Castle hit a three.
And it wasn’t just a three. It was an end-of-the-shot-clock plea for intercession. A life exchange momentarily shifting someone else’s name onto Basketball Death’s list in place of your own. The resuscitation of an NBA team that was flat-lining. A tiny miracle of the sort that had been evading the Spurs all series.
And you could tell the invigoration was real, because no one hung their head or checked out when OG Anunoby ended up at the free-throw line. Or when Jalen Brunson benefited from one last gasp of ludicrous magic by hitting a step-back three to cut the lead to three points.
And then Fox, the 2023 NBA Clutch Player of the Year, who’s had to pick his spots for most of the series, picked the last perfect spot of the night, with a mid-range jumper right over the formidably-defending Anunoby, and the light at the end of the tunnel was there. The edge of the maze. The weirdly rampant zombie-killing lawn mower.
And a pair of free-throws from Castle iced the game, like it was Jack Torrance out of doors in a Rocky Mountain snowstorm.
And I was relieved, which feels like the wrong word, because I wasn’t sure what to write. But also the right word, because I really had to pee.
The ending of the film version of the shining is ambiguous. We don’t actually know what happened to Jack, or who/what he even is. The Final Destination films are heading into their seventh installment, with no more hint of clarity or cessation than in the films before.
The Spurs still have to play Game 4. They’ll still be at The Garden. There’s no way of knowing if this was a respite, or a turning point. Anticipation is its own kind of psychological horror.
But for one night, the Spurs disrupted the conspiratorial delusions of at least one Spurs fan.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I don’t know if they’ve broken the cycle. But I know that I can’t stop watching.
I can’t help it. It’s the best show around.
Takeways
- For most of the postseason, the Spurs have actually shot a little above (79.5%) their season average (78.7%) at the free throw line, but they shot 75% during the first two games, and it cost them. Shooting closer to their average last night (78%) was almost certainly a deciding factor when the margin is so thing, so let’s hope they continue to trend upwards in the respect. People always talk about championships being won in the margins to the point of eliciting the occasional eye roll, but that’s how much a 3% difference can matter. Maybe Mitch Johnson should set up a practice where players shoot free-throws while Sean Sweeney stands next to them doing his best Chucky Doll impression? I’ve got all kinds of ideas, if only they’d ask me.
- The Spurs also managed to finally knock down their threes to the tune of something close to their season average (35%). Variance is a beast that both teams are falling victim to in that arena, but the Spurs shot 30% from three over those first two games, and the law of averages has somewhat avenged them. Thankfully, the Knicks are finally sinking back down to just below their regular season average (with some Spursy assistance, of course) after going on a very extended hot streak over multiple rounds, but the Spurs aren’t going to win the day in MSG again if they get a repeat of those first two performances, so light your payer candles before the game, because I get the feeling they’re going to have to weather a fierce response.
- Keldon Johnson looked a little bit better after a pair of games that had me questioning how he could be effectively used in this series. But by limiting his usage, and picking his spots more like De’Aaron Fox, he ended the game with the team-high plus minus and has pulled himself out of the depths of a negative net rating. However, as much as I like the more discerning approach, I get the feeling that the Spurs are going to need *at least* one big game out of Keldon in order to bring home the trophy, so he still needs to keep his eye out for opportunities while biding his time more efficiently. Both of the previous series have featured at least one game with Keldon on a heater. Does he have one more in him against a team that has clearly prepared for thwarting him? I guess we’ll see.
- Carter Bryant hit a three! It’s his first of the series, and we like to celebrate the little victories as well here at PTR. Naturally we all expect him to instantly morph into Steph Curry and change the complexion of the series. That seems fair. Maybe I can go out and buy one of those wishing willows from Obsession. I’m sure that won’t backfire at all. It’s not like it’s a Monkey’s Paw.
Playing You Out – The Theme Song of the Evening:
The Killing Moon by Echo and the Bunnyman
By Devon Birdsong, via Pounding The Rock