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NBA PLAYOFFS FIRST ROUND // GAME 3, MEMPHIS GRIZZLIES @ PORTLAND TRAIL BLAZERS
Final Score: MEM - 115, POR - 109
I would not call the pregame atmosphere juiced. This is a contest complete with dread, fear and loathing. The Blazers have been worked in both of their games, injuries stacked like crackers at the Dippery*, Lillard in the throes of a basketball crisis, cause unknown. The Grizzlies' unceasing pressure defense is a perfect poison for the Blazers' half-court flow attack. Rumors—from Woj, from the heavens, from whispers in the hallways—about LaMarcus Aldridge with a side eye towards Texas.
I stand at the entrance on the court. I hear a small kid speak to Damian Lillard, taking an extraordinarily long time to sign autographs: "YOU GUYS ARE GONNA WIN!" I admire his optimism, but I know in my heart he will be broken. If not today, tomorrow. If not tomorrow, someday, by sports or by life or by death, his own or that of his loved ones. An older man in the third row is hunched over his seat and extending his arm as far as it can possibly go. It is below adult dignity, but he feels it in his heart. Who am I to judge?
I talk to a fella in a Vancouver Grizzlies jersey. He is from Vancouver, B.C. He just kept with the team after they left, because he liked some of the players. This series was made for him. I was happy for him, the world's last Vancouver Grizzlies fan.
When Wes Matthews came out, wearing an Iron Man mask, the crowd was jolted to life. They did not have this energy at all for the rest of the game. It was moving. Later, when an old video of Wes made an announcement over the Jumbotron, it was like a ghost was in the building.
Portland crowds are optimistic by nature. They cheer happy, cheer excited, like a fun dog who is happy to see the Blazers after they get back from a day at the beach. When it came time for the lights to go down and the intro video—all grey and red, vaguely Soviet in feeling, particularly when Joel Freeland jabbed the point end flag at the camera and stared as hard and deep as he possibly could—I was shocked at how angry they all seemed. The waves of cheery Blazer Optimism were replaced by what I can only describe as loud, aggressive communion. It was like I was at a New Jersey Devils game, some Eastern seaboard sports team that uses sports to channel their anger at living in a permanent concrete blightscape. These waves of anger would recur throughout the game, targeted at refs. It was a stressed-out room, not suitable for people who are allowed to live among trees.
The game was, for the most part, eerily similar to the last game, which was eerily similar to the game before that. Rotations remained pretty much the same. Meyers Leonard, who has flashed some floor-stretching utility in the previous games in the series, made a cameo in the first half and didn't show up at all in the second. Freeland was benched altogether. Chris Kaman had two points. One might expect that, after they were dramatically victimized by the Grizzlies in the first two games, the Blazers might opt to use a different approach in this one, maybe even do something nutty.
They did not. They did the same thing, playing slow and deliberate, walking the ball up, playing slow, going to Aldridge at power forward, not stretching the defense, not running, deliberately walking right into the Bear's mouth. They played the same players the same minutes. This time they came slightly closer, because Memphis went into stall mode at the end of the game and gave up some Batum three-pointers. It was like seeing a musical on PBS, then seeing the same production in person, but there's an OK encore tacked on because these hayseed tour attendees will cheer for anything. If a BUH-ROD-WAY crowd were seeing this, they would demand something different and better and amble out of the theatre.
This is a doomed matchup.
Batum was very good. At the end of the game, he maybe wasn't as good, but he was taking it on himself to create offense when other stuff hadn't been optimal. Lillard was good. Aldridge was all right. He was not terribly efficient, but he didn't succumb to Memphis's aggressive turnover-seeking doubles this time. Some people threw down the MVP chant when he was taking foul shots. They are sucking up. He misses the foul shot. He was too polite to validate the crowd's overstatement.
CJ McCollum has a very eventful night. He was good, first of all, and congratulations to him. But he got in a small war with Vince Carter, who both fouled him over the shoulders on the fast break (the crowd was livid that this was just a common foul; to them I say: You need to show a little more respect for Fat Vince Carter, you animals) and blocked him at the rim. A young man dominating an old man: Mayhaps death will not come for us after all. Also, CJ got absolutely ravaged by Kosta Koufos—blood in the streets, crying mothers, a dunk for the ages, sang of by the sirens forever.
A little girl had a sign that said "Skin the Grizzlies." As a lover of animals, and a staunch anti-fur advocate, I was disgusted. In the third, the camera fixed on two young women with a sign in the seat in front of them. They didn't notice, until they did, then they gave a "nah, I am not picking up this sign" look to the camera. The crowd was also deeply disenchanted with the T-shirt cannon. It was a restless night.
Beno "The Demon" Udrih was out. In his place, Nick Calathes, who had no turnovers and drilled the open shots the Blazers were giving him. He basically reproduced Beno's production. Marc Gasol was terrific—25 points, fouls drawn left and right, assists, blocks, stepbacks, the full Gasol on display, the lightest murderous touch you've seen in your whole life, the bruiser and the floating leaf all in one, Memphis and Spain, the sun and the moon. I wept. Z-Bo was also good. In the third, he leaned into Aldridge on a post-up and briefly resembled a misshapen "T." I am not sure how this was supposed to create advantage in the post.
In the game's last reasonably leveraged play, Grizzlies switched Tony Allen onto Lillard. They did this because Tony is awesome, and everyone kind of knows where the ball is going to go at this point. When Lillard came off the screen, not only did Randolph sag off and cover him, but Allen turned the screen into pixie dust and managed to get a hand up along with the switch. Lillard faded deep, the shot was off, it landed in Lee's hands, he outletted to Allen, who got out and immediately caught the ball, and dunked it, and the game was functionally over.
It went on for a while, because the Blazers went into a foul game really early. I hated this, for the most part. But there was one moment that was amazing: During these garbage shots, Tony Allen got called for a foul. He was absolutely livid, and spent time before the second shot wandering around the left side of the court and flailing his arms around. I also think maybe he didn't get out in transition at one point so he could make sure to get daps.
Game 4 is next. There will be a team that comes back from a 3-0 deficit, someday, but it certainly will not be these Portland Trail Blazers, who have been worked up and down the court for the whole series. Conley might be out with a head injury. If this game somehow turned after Conley went out with a concussion, would you have really been happy about that? If yes, I understand, but you unnerve me.
* My restaurant that exclusively sells dips. Hummus, Spinach Artichoke, Cheese: if you can stick one type of food in it and that food will be covered with different food, we make it and serve it at THE DIPPERY.
Corbin Smith is a contributor to the Blazers blog Portland Roundball Society. Follow his coverage of Portland's playoff run at wweek.com—however long it lasts.
WWeek 2015