Hoha, sturdy Sons and Daughters of the Cuyahoga! It’s me, the OG of Optimism, checking in for the final time from Oakland.
Friends, if there’s one source I love quoting more than Mike Tyson, the “Rocky” film series and the Holy Bible, it’s Winston Churchill.
And the British Bulldog once said that “nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result.”
The Warriors had their shot to put the Wine and Gold down for the past week, but they couldn’t do it. And now our beloved Cavaliers have rallied from a 3-1 Finals deficit to force a Game 7 for the first time in 50 years after dropping the Champs by two touchdowns on Thursday night in Cleveland.
Once again, the Cavaliers were the more physical team. Tristan Thompson lived up to Tyronn Lue’s billing as the squad’s “heart and soul.” Kyrie Irving continued his postseason brilliance. J.R. Smith remained in rhythm. And TheBron maintained his superhuman Finals barrage that hasn’t been seen since … last year’s superhuman Finals barrage.
The Cavs held the Warriors to 11 points in the first quarter, clamped down on Draymond Green in his return from suspension and watched the two-time MVP go crazier than a soup sandwich after fouling out late in the fourth quarter.
So here we are.
Once again, I’ll point to the end of Game 4 when Green needlessly poked the bear in a game that was well in-hand for Golden State, triggering the angry synapses in the King’s medulla oblongata.
And instead of Cleveland coming back blue for Game 5 in Oakland, they returned feeding off TheBron’s ursine wrath.
And despite his chill demeanor at the podium on Saturday, Numeral 23 will be looking to apply the five-point palm exploding heart technique when he hits the hardwood on Sunday night – Oracle’s jeers fueling his fire.
Right now, the King is too close to history, to sports immortality, to let Game 7 slip through his fingers.
But it’ll take more than just another herculean performance by TheBron to get the job done tonight. They’ll need contributions big and small – from Kevin Love to Dahntay Jones. They have to weather (and counter) Golden State’s runs. They have to cherish possessions, crash the offensive glass and attack the Warriors’ interior.
They know what they have to do.
What I have to do before that is appease a harsh taskmaster’s insatiable thirst for knowledge.
In my Game 6 column I explained that before the previous contest in Oakland, a high-ranking NBA big-shot remarked on Jeff “Schaef” Schaefer’s bristly bedside manner. And one would think this would’ve tightened up the fur-bearing PR Jedi. But if anything, these rumblings have only made Schaef more petulant.
So the big guns stepped in. And that meant Mama Schaefer – who read her bearded baby boy the riot act.
Actually, I was just getting used to his hair-trigger temper and I believe – with all these cross-country trips to the West Coast – that the team itself was feeding off Schaef’s raw venom. And it’s gotten us to Game 7 with a nasty attitude.
But don’t worry, Mrs. Schaefer. He’s due to be shorn by a team of barbers after we bring the Trophy home early next week.
Right now, however, we need that skeletal little gastronome straight-up surly for the greater good.
And if I wasn’t afraid for my safety around him, I wouldn’t bother telling you that Today in History marks the first NASCAR race in Charlotte in 1949, the approval of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 in 1964 and, most importantly, the annual celebration of Juneteenth – marking the day in 1865 when slaves in Galveston, Texas were finally informed of their freedom.
On this date in 1910, in Spokane, Washington, Father’s Day was celebrated for the first time. And that gives me the opportunity to throw good vibes to my dad, the Poptimist, back in Garbage Heights.
He’s a surly Eye-talian cuss with a perfect head of hair who can fix anything, served in Korea, never missed a day of work and has been married to my moms for 63 years. His mistrust and borderline contempt for authority is both palpable and hilarious.
Happy Father’s Day! – to my pops and all the other dads out there.
Today’s Birthdays include, but aren’t limited to Macklemore, Kathleen Turner, Dirk Nowitzki, (Angry-o-Meter staple and member of the original “Big Three”) Moe Howard, Phylicia Rashad, super-fox Paul Abdul, Paul Dano and the Iron Horse, Lou Gehrig.
Today also marks the Birthday of former Cavalier, Anthony Parker – who started over 200 regular and postseason games with the Wine and Gold from 2009-12, not long after starring with Maccabi Tel Aviv – winning three European titles and the Euroleague MVP twice.
Cynical fans would sneer at AP’s nickname: “The Jordan of Europe.”
He could easily have responded with: “Which continent are you the Jordan of?” But he never did. That’s because Anthony Parker is about the classiest guy on either continent or in any league. So, here’s to the 2012 winner of the prestigious “Austin Carr Good Guy Award.”
Happy Birthday, AP!! Everybody likes you!
Radically shifting gears, those who Died On This Date and, pending a zombie apocalypse, remain in that state of immobility include Slim Whitman, Len Bias, Manute Bol and the great James Gandolfini.
I hope that satisfies you for the season, Schaef! I consider my work here complete.
The Wine and Gold’s magnum opus is nearly complete. But they’ll have to survive 48 minutes of hoops hell to see it through.
It’s a good thing the Angry-o-Meter is blinking red on this sunny Father’s Day.
But as you can see, while his teammates are burning incandescent with rage, TheBron looks cooler than Teddy Pendegrass sipping the proverbial milkshake in the proverbial snowstorm.
Why?
Because I predict TheBron will play with a controlled rage – almost a peacefulness. He’ll still be well into ‘crush-kill-destroy’ mode, but it’ll burn inside him until the final buzzer.
Tonight’s formula is simple. The Cavaliers have to come out with physicality. If they get ahead they must stay aggressive; if they fall behind, they must stay attached.
To be honest, I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight. And my mother once told me that there are always bigger things to pray for besides a sporting event – no matter how big. I agree with her.
So, God, this isn’t so much a request for the Cavs to win the NBA Championship as it is a heads-up about my beloved friend J.R. – who we lost to cancer eight years ago.
I know he’s up there and I’ve watched Playoff games with him before. Win or lose, he’s likely to destroy the place over the course of the night. So if you have anything nice up there – like Audrey Hepburn or George Harrison – you might want to put them away until Monday morning.
As for you mortals back in Cleveland – I love you more than ten Bruce Drennans and six Scott Raabs. And I truly believe our time is at hand.
We’re well past the time for big, schmaltzy speeches. All you and I can do now is gird up for tonight’s Game 7 in Oakland.
We’re living in history, my friends. You’ll realize that in just a few hours.
Right now ….
Keep the faith, Cleveland.
Your pal, The Optimist
