OAKLAND -- "Steph: Don't let this be my last game. That's all I'm asking."
These were the words of Jermaine O'Neal in the locker room following a gritty 100-99 Game 6 win for the Golden State Warriors over the Los Angeles Clippers to send the series to a seventh game.
"[Stephen Curry] felt me," O'Neal said. "He said he got me. Draymond [Green] came in, said he got me."
Those heartfelt words from O'Neal just hours after his knee buckled and sent him to the sidelines represented a team that feels like things will never be the same after this season. It's the "sideline music" that Warriors head coach Mark Jackson said they must tune out if they wish to reach their goals.
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For the Dubs, that sideline music presents itself in many forms. It's the persistent rumors that Jackson's job is all but gone unless Golden State goes on a miracle run. It's the cloudy futures of expensive veteran David Lee and disappointing youngster Harrison Barnes. It's that this team can't seem to keep their assistant coaches on the bench. With the sideline music playing in the background during a 51-win campaign, the Warriors are in a familiar place. They're now one win away from playing in the second round of the playoffs for the second year in a row.
But back to O'Neal, and specifically to the moment when he and Glen "Big Baby" Davis got into a two-body collision under the rim early in the second quarter. O'Neal, with 17 years of wear and tear on his odometer, was left feeling the brunt of the damage when Big Baby banged directly into his knees like an out of control Crown Victoria taking out a baby carriage left out in the street. The roar quieted briefly in Oracle as O'Neal writhed in pain. Then, the roar turned vitriolic as seething rage was unleashed by Warriors fans toward Big Baby. It was a seminal moment in the game because an undermanned team was now down a second center and the Warriors were running out of options in a do-or-die Game 6 against a Clippers team that loves to run.
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There was only one option left. Scrap. Claw. Grind.
An already ugly game got uglier, as both teams shot below 40 percent from the field. Hard fouls were dished out. Questionable calls became the norm. A sense of urgency took over the building. More significantly, O'Neal's injury forced the Warriors to go small (somewhere, Don Nelson was smiling the biggest of smiles). Once again, Golden State proved that no one plays small quite like them. With Barnes playing power forward and Green effectively playing the point-center position, momentum swung in the Warriors' favor.
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This has happened before. Last year, when Lee went down with injury in Game 1 of their first-round series against the 57-25 Nuggets, Jackson's only real option remaining was to downsize. By adding an additional ball handler on the court, the floor opens up and Curry suddenly finds openings in the corners and the wings. Driving lanes open up and fouls begin to accrue for the opposition. That's when the Warriors' offense can become quite scary.
But while the offense improved slightly with the smaller lineup, defense won Game 6. Specifically, Green's defense on Blake Griffin. Green's ability to keep Griffin off the block meant Griffin was hoisting contested jumpers all night. The result? An 8-of-24 shooting night and a Clippers offense that was completely out of sync.
There's a sense around the Warriors that this might be the last stand for many of the key figures around this team, which sounds insane on the surface. Jackson brought light of that when he said that this unit "will never be together again" in his postgame press conference, and hearing O'Neal admit that the team feels like "our coach won't be our coach next year" was eerie. It felt like a team bunkered in, preparing for the worst with their backs against the wall.
When someone's back is against the wall, there's only one option left, and that's to fight back. The Warriors did just that in Game 6, allowing this team to play together for at least one more game.
Happy Hour drink recommendation: Black Bison Vodka Cocktail. It sounds like a Memphis Grizzlies drink, right? Tough and gritty, etc. But in reality, it's a sweet and beautiful drink to behold. That's what the playoffs are all about. Plus, if you're like me and you try your hardest to watch all these games, you've evolved into a moody and sleepy grizzly bear. I mean, look at Stephen A. Smith and I. Dear God, the playoffs just might be the end of us all.
TGIF.