Chapter 286: Hypnosis Tactics, The Spurs Start Torturing Fans
ATT Arena.
With 1 and a half hours left before tipoff, the arena was already packed. Spurs jerseys filled the lower bowl, homemade signs waved in the air, and the noise was loud enough to vibrate in your chest.
People like to call San Antonio a small city, but the numbers say otherwise. According to the July 1, 2004 United States census, San Antonio had a population of 1,236,249, eighth in the country, only 27,500 fewer than seventh place San Diego and 25,000 more than ninth place Dallas.
San Antonio does not have a large community, it is not a political or financial hub, and it does not sit on any major international route. Tucked away in the south, close to Mexico and far from direct flights to major world cities, the place feels quiet and affordable more than glamorous.
The daily rhythm is simple, which makes people think it is not a cosmopolitan city, but by size and by fan base, it is anything but small.
From the hotel all the way to the arena, the Suns could feel it. Spurs fans lined the route and wrapped the building in sound, doing everything they could to shake the visitors before the ball even went up.
As soon as the Suns stepped into the visiting locker room, a different kind of pressure hit them.
The Spurs visitors room was cramped and old, arguably one of the shabbiest in the league, barely better than a run down public bathhouse.
The room was only about 20 square meters, and with a group of 6 foot tall players crammed into that space, the air felt heavy.
On top of that, there was a sharp, foul smell hanging in the locker room.
"Man, did the San Antonio guys take a dump in here?" Amar e Stoudemire muttered as he changed, unable to hold back his disgust.
"This is like a gas chamber. They definitely did this on purpose," Diaw grumbled nearby.
Diaw usually grabbed a pregame coffee, but not today. He could not imagine drinking coffee surrounded by that smell.
D Antoni watched the complaints ripple through the room, then cracked his clipboard twice to cut through the noise.
"We are here to win, not to be comfortable," he snapped. "Forget all this off the court nonsense and lock in on the floor. That is where we fight."
Nash clapped his hands and backed him up. "Heads up, fellas. Let's answer their little tricks with how we play. We control this with our game."
The message landed. The Suns huddled up, hands in, shouting their team call as their focus snapped back to basketball.
Game 3 tipped off.
Duncan won the jump ball, and the Spurs took the first possession.
Parker did not rush. He brought the ball over half court, stood at the top of the floor, and started directing traffic.
Spurs players crossed and curled through their sets, and only when the shot clock dropped to 12 seconds did Parker give the ball up.
Finley curled to the high post to catch.
Chen Yan stayed attached to his hip, and when Finley turned, there was no space to shoot.
So Finley went high over the top, floating a lob entry to Duncan.
The moment Duncan caught it, Chen Yan abandoned Finley and joined Stoudemire in the double team.
"Phoenix is sending the second defender, they are not letting Duncan get to that turnaround," Kenny Smith said on the TNT call.
"Yeah, Chen came out ready to hit somebody tonight," Charles Barkley added. "He is all over that from the jump."
The trap nearly forced a turnover, but Duncan's experience kicked in. He steadied himself, pivoted through the pressure, and forced his way into a shooting motion, drawing a whistle on Chen Yan.
Duncan stumbled to the floor, Chen Yan went down with him, and both sides felt the physical edge of this game immediately.
Everyone in the building could sense it. This was already more intense than the first 2 games.
Duncan straightened his jersey, walked to the line, and hit 1 of 2.
The score was 0 to 1.
The Suns took over on offense.
The Spurs sprinted back and forced Phoenix into a half court set.
Chen Yan set a screen for Nash. After the pick and roll, Nash swung the ball back to him.
San Antonio did not switch.
Chen Yan's screen had not fully connected. Parker slipped around it early, and Bowen stayed tight to Chen Yan's body.
Out on the wing, it turned into a straight one on one.
Bang.
Bang.
Chen Yan tested Bowen with sharp changes of direction.
Bowen, fully locked in, slid in front of every angle, cutting off driving lanes. His hands were everywhere, swiping at the ball and making every dribble feel crowded.
Chen Yan did not back down. His offensive bag was too deep for that.
He leaned his shoulder in, used his body to create space, and worked his way toward the top of the three point arc.
Near the top of the key, he stopped on a dime, half turned, then rose into a fadeaway.
Bowen exploded forward with everything he had.
He was wired tonight, playing with an edge that bordered on angry. For a veteran defender with multiple All Defensive First Team selections, having a rookie light him up in back to back games was a straight shot at his pride.
Local reports in San Antonio had already mentioned Bowen sleeping in a separate room from his wife for 2 nights just to stay in peak shape for this matchup. How the media got that detail, nobody knew.
Bang.
A beat later, the sound of the ball clanging off the rim was swallowed up by a roar from the home crowd.
The contest had done just enough. Chen Yan's turnaround missed.
When he landed, Chen Yan slapped his own elbow and looked toward the official, signaling contact on his shooting arm.
The referee did not respond. Once the whistle stays silent, there is no rewinding the play.
The official simply raised his arm to indicate play on.
Chen Yan swallowed it and sprinted back on defense.
This was San Antonio, and he knew before arriving that the whistles would lean toward the home team. He had already prepared himself for that.
In transition, Parker once again slowed everything down.
He eased the ball over midcourt, then the Spurs started methodically working it side to side along the arc.
With 6 seconds left on the shot clock, Parker finally used a screen and pulled up.
Bang.
Another miss.
For 2 straight trips, the Spurs had bled the clock and waited until the final seconds to shoot.
This was exactly the plan Popovich had drawn up to counter the Suns: slow against fast.
The idea was simple and cruel. Fewer possessions, less rhythm for Phoenix, and a mental grind that would chip away at the Suns' patience until they broke.
Popovich, the league's resident chess master, had reached into his playbook while trailing 0 to 2 in the series and pulled out this strange, suffocating approach.
Early on, it worked.
Phoenix could not find their usual tempo. Trapped in these slow transitions and late clock possessions, the Suns managed only 17 points in the 1st quarter.
It was their lowest 1st quarter output of the entire season.
The Spurs were not exactly lighting it up either. Forcing the clock like this twisted their own offensive rhythm as well.
By the end of the 1st, San Antonio had only 19 points.
Watching the score crawl, fans around the world started venting.
"Did the Spurs just crawl back into their shells?"
"This pace feels like an old college game where everyone walks the ball up."
"They really might be the most boring team in the league."
"My kid's school team plays faster than this."
"These guys should all switch careers and become hypnotists, I am literally falling asleep."
The Spurs slow paced tactics were not just dragging Phoenix into the mud, they were punishing the audience too.
This was why the league office never loved this version of San Antonio basketball. The style was poison for ratings. People simply did not want to watch this brand of grind.
Since ABC began carrying the NBA in 2003, the lowest Finals ratings both belonged to the Spurs. In 2003, when they faced the Nets, the rating was 6.5. In 2007, against the Cavaliers, it dropped to 6.2.
San Antonio became one of the rare teams in sports history whose record kept improving while their overall fan count seemed to shrink.
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