By: Mitchell Felker
June 7, 1995. I was an 11-year old gangly mess of arms and legs that refused to wear shoes outside of school and couldn't even look a girl in the face yet. But I was the biggest sports fan in the world, so who needed girls anyway. And to that point, I'd lived quite the charmed sports-life. Being born in rural north Texas, the only thing that mattered to me was that blue star (I know, I know). But then after moving to Houston in the early 90's, it didn't take long for basketball (and to a lesser extent, baseball) to get its claws into me. Soon the Dreamshake and Killer B's were right there on the wall next to my Michael Irvin "Playmaker" poster.
So to recap, before my 12th birthday, I was in the midst of the greatest NFL dynasty there will ever be (save it, THE. GREATEST.), had seen a National league MVP and likely champ in baseball if not for a soul-killing strike, and had already witnessed my still-favorite basketball player ever carry a ragtag team to an NBA Championship.
So in Game 1 of the '95 Finals, with the Magic up by three on the Rockets with six seconds to play and Nick Anderson at the free throw stripe, I was pretty sure I was about to explode with anxiety. I was basically batting 1.000 in big games at that point in my life (who knew that would flip so, so hard), so I had no idea what to do with my self when it seemed the Rockets may lose. My dad was plugging away on the graveyard shift, and my mom had zero interest in sports, so I was left to my own devices during one of the biggest moments I'd ever witnessed. We all know how Nick the Brick earned his nickname, but when he missed that second free throw and yet managed to grab his own rebound before getting fouled again, I spiked the remote control (don't tell Dad) and turned off the TV to go shoot baskets in the dark to cool off. It wasn't till two hours later, after I'd imaginarily helped Dream dispatch Shaq and Penny in Game 7 to win the title, that I came back in and watched Sportscenter. To my shock/elation/dismay, Anderson missed both of his free throws, the Jet tied the game to send it to overtime, and the Magic didn't box out Hakeem (6:10 mark).
My point is, kids are dumb. "I'll never make that mistake again," I told myself.
Well, some things never change. I'm still an idiot.
Last night the game headed into a commercial break with three minutes to go in the third, and the Rockets down 18. DeAndre Jordan had just REJECTED a Dwight Howard hook-shot and the Clippers were capping a 14-2 run. "This is an avalanche!" Jon Berry said. And I was absolutely buried in it. Able to take no more, I turned the sound down low, wrapped myself in the warmest blanket in the world, and intentionally dozed off on the couch. I was in no mood to write the doom-and-gloom recap this was sure to be, choosing rather to wake up early after I'd digested what was happening, and finish the fourth quarter to have it posted before coffee time. But around 12:30 last night, my phone started buzzing with texts from my buddy Chad.
"Holy S***"
"You watching??"
"49-18 run!!!"
Needless to say, I restarted the fourth quarter immediately. After finishing the game, the opening paragraph of Jonathan Abrams' Grantland piece on Josh Smith was sticking in my head.
Quote:
From the stands, Pete Smith can still hear people complain about his son’s play. He has to restrain himself from responding. He detests the critical comments, the jabs from people who’ve never played the game at an elite level. They don’t know how hard it can be. They don’t know that you need guts to take those shots. They don’t know that Josh Smith is living a dream that’s been transferred from father to son.
Well Mr. Smith, can you hear the haters now?
Dwight Howard (20 pts, 21 reb with 7 offensive, 1 ast, 1 stl & 2 blk) was the only reason the Rockets were hanging in the game early while LA was running their layup lines on Houston's defense. But his obligatory silly fouls and even a flagrant and technical foul each eventually handcuffed his aggressiveness. James Harden (scored 17 of 23 points in the 2nd) was the only reason Houston fought back and took a lead in the second quarter, but remnants of the flu sapped his strength early and he went MIA in the second half.
So near the end of that dreadful third quarter, after Kevin McHale's mistimed Hack-A-Shaq had sparked the Clippers into retaking the lead, the Rockets were running out of ideas. With their two best players hamstrung, who would step up and be the reason they got back in the game in the fourth quarter? Who would grab the team by the belt and make certain that they didn't go meekly into the offseason? Josh Smith and the rest of the Headband Brigade, that's who.
When the Rockets were healthy this season, or at least healthy-ish, I L-U-V loved their bench mob. It didn't matter who else was on the court (although D-Mo made them particularly formidable), what really made it fun to watch was the Brigade. Smith added his playmaking, Jason Terry his shooting and Corey Brewer his Corey Brewer-ness. At full strength, I liked Houston's bench as much as any in the NBA.
But never in my wildest dreams did I think they had that in them. Against Chris Paul (31 pts, 7 reb & 11 ast) fighting to prove he can carry a team to the second round and the best Blake Griffin (28 pts, 8 reb, 2 ast, 2 stl & 1 blk) we've seen to date, in a do-or-die elimination game ON THE ROAD, and without the league MVP runner-up, the Rockets outscored the Clippers 40-15 in the fourth quarter. Smith (19 pts, 6 reb & 2 ast), Brewer (19, 10 & 2, and a +/- of +32) and Terry (7, 7 & 5) were good all night, but definitely saved their best for last. They combined for 34 of those 40 fourth quarter points (15 for Brewer, Smith 14 and Terry 5). Smith more-or-less played the point and was nearly flawless. He took care of the ball and although he shot too much from the outside (4 attempts), they were going in (3 makes), so it didn't matter. He had the guts to take those shots.
But it wasn't just the offense. The defense in the fourth quarter was outstanding as well. I don't know if it was tired legs on the Clippers part, but the Rockets looked quicker, sharper than they have all playoffs. They didn't miss a rotation and there were no open shots to be found on the perimeter for Clippers' shooters. Blake Griffin definitely got tight and was scared to pull the trigger on his 17-footer, which had been deadly all night up to that point. Dwight Howard and Smoove controlled the rim and kept the Clips' bigs off the glass while Brewer and Trevor Ariza bounced around the outside like they were spring-loaded. I don't want to think James Harden, even sick, was hurting them so much in that department, rather they just finally felt the heat on their ass, but that was the defense that's required to win championships.
As for the rest of the Rockets, Terrence Jones was a factor off the bench, scoring 16 points on 6-8 shooting, with 5 rebounds, 2 assists and a steal. He thoroughly outplayed the Clippers backup bigs, but just doesn't have much to offer against Blake Griffin. I'm oddly a huge Pablo Prigioni fan, but he was actively bad last night, and even picked up a tech for punching a chair. On another positive note, Jamal Crawford seems to have cooled off from where he was earlier in the series and Austin Rivers has come back to earth, as both were a non-factor last night.
So now, back to Houston for Game 7. This is undoubtedly the biggest game the Rockets have played in almost 20 years, since John Stockton buried them in Game 6 of the '97 Western Conference Finals. The three days will help James Harden get his legs back after the flu, but it will also give the Clippers some much needed rest; they haven't had three days off since Game 2 of the first round against San Antonio. You better believe Chris Paul will be as focused and ready as we've ever seen him, with Blake Griffin and DeAndre Jordan at max volume. The Rockets can't afford another slow start or count on more dreadful Hack-A-Shaq to keep them in it. They need to feed off the home crowd and come out hot, with the same intensity on defense that they showed in the fourth quarter last night.
But if the Rockets do fall behind and need a spark, be sure that Josh Smith, Corey Brewer and Jason Terry will be ready. For when the night was at it's darkest, and the Rockets hanging by a thread, it was the Brigade that rescued them. Let's just hope they're not so necessary on Sunday.
