Notes From Carmichael 1.9 and 1.10

The end of the season did not go well for our beloved Heels.  After topping BC on the road and Virginia Tech at home, we dropped the final five games to finish the year at 14-17, going 4-12 in conference play.  Ags and I caught the final two home contests, last Sunday against NC State, and this afternoon against Duke.  Here's the postmortem. 

1.9 - NC State, Feb 21.  We watched an incredibly janky video feed of Carolina "at" State a few weeks ago.  (While they renovate Reynolds Coliseum, the Wolfpack are playing their home games in a Raleigh high school gym, and the tape looked exactly like a junior AV club production of a sporting event.)  In retrospect, it was just as well the contrast was fuzzy and the camera didn't always track correctly.  State crushed the Heels 78-49, completely dismantling them in the second half.  We were hopeful a rematch at home might turn the tables, but despite Steph cranking out 30 points and 13 rebounds and Des and Jamie each scoring 13, the Wolfpack overwhelmed Carolina again.  They out-shot us 43.8% to 32.1% from the field and killed us on the glass at both ends.  Besides Steph's bonkers outing, the one other flashing moment of brightness in the gloom came from 'Dea, who made one of the most freakishly athletic plays I've seen all season.  She went airborne to block a shot in the paint, came down for a fraction of an instant, and then somehow sprang right back up again to block a second attempt.  I mean, she didn't even need to bend her knees on the second block, she just pinged off the floor like it was a trampoline.  It was incredible.  That lady is a goddess, y'all. 

1.10 - Duke, February 28.  It was Senior Day today, and the reality of not watching 'Dea and Erika next season hit me hard during the pregame ceremony.  (It got a little dusty in Carmichael for a second, is all I'm saying.)  It was also Sylvia Hatchell's 64th birthday, and it pains me to say she did not have a happy one.  I don't even really want to write about it.  Duke has had a fairly mediocre season, but they are huge and athletic and they shot the holy hell out of the ball today.  The first half, and particularly the second quarter, was nearly flawless for the Blue Devils.  They moved the ball, forced turnovers, essentially doubled the Heels' FG%, and went 7-14 from deep.  By contrast, Carolina couldn't buy a bucket or a stop all afternoon.  The game was over at halftime and the indignity only worsened as the margin blew out down the stretch.  The game, and the season, came to an end 93-57.  It was a rough year. 

There's still the ACC Tournament, and a chance to maybe tilt the scales of that aforementioned 4-12 conference record back to a more favorable ratio.  We'll be watching.  Go Heels.  

Notes From Carmichael 1.7 And 1.8

Guh.  On January 7th, we watched the Heels play a whirlwind game against Syracuse, capping a six-game win streak with a phenomenal second half performance.  In retrospect, that moment resembled nothing so much as Wile E. Coyote running off a cliff into open space and continuing to sprint on thin air.  He can make it, the silly creature, if he just keeps pumping those scrawny cartoon legs and remains blissfully ignorant to the reality of the situation.

Everything that's happened to Carolina since has been the moment where he looks down.  A forlorn glance at the camera, a poink poink eye blink, and he vanishes from the frame.  Cut to an overhead shot of him, all four limbs splayed out, sound-tracked by a cheesy "bombs away" slide whistle as he recedes at terminal velocity toward the canyon floor.  There is a puff of smoke on impact.  Then he's clawing his way out of a crater that is a perfect silhouette of his person, walking all scrunched up and mangled while accordion music plays.  His brow is comically furrowed as he slinks off screen.  The shot fades out.

That Syracuse game, almost a month ago, is the most recent victory the Heels have notched this season.  They've now lost seven straight, all except one (Georgia Tech) by double digits.  Sylvia Hatchell earned a two-game suspension, and Xylina McDaniel is out for the season with yet another soul-crushing injury in a career that's already seen far too many.  I've seen two of those bleak outings in person. 

1.7: Miami, January 17th.  Aggie's parents were in town, so we traded our usual season tickets for a four-pack one section over and went to the game with them.  I've been ranting all year about our short bench being the eventual death of us, and losing Xylina really was the nail in the coffin.  The first time Sylvia subbed in Erika Johnson, I looked at Ags' father and said "well, you've just seen the entire bench rotation."  (This is not entirely the coaches' fault.  Four of the kiddos on that bench are either injured or sitting out a season because of transfers.  I just think they should be giving the ones that can play more burn, partly to get them some in-game run, but mostly to give the starters a break.  The cumulative effect of that many minutes can linger, and I worry about what happens down the road.)  Anyway, the Miami was not a good showing.  Steph had 9 boards and a team-high 19 points, but she did so on an inefficient 8-23 from the floor.  Both 'Dea and Hill tossed up double-doubles, but for naught.  Corlina hung close in the first half and clawed back to several ties, but never led again after a 14-13 edge late in the opening quarter.  Miami didn't blow us off the floor, they just outplayed us consistently all game long.  When the buzzer sounded, it felt like a much worse loss than the 76-61 final would indicate.

1.8: Louisville, February 4.  Tonight's game was rough viewing.  We started by spotting the Cardinals two points before opening tip on a pregame administrative technical foul which, whatever. The refs were garbage all night and I continue to believe that ACC officials are the most incompetent humans walking the earth.  Once again, the ladies came out strong and played an excellent first half.  Then, as in every game since 'Cuse, the second half went dismal as our legs went out from under us.  The 10-point lead the Heels had with just under eight minutes left in the third quarter evaporated in a wash of bricks and turnovers and overall haphazard play.  They never recovered because recovery can't happen without rest, and their is none to give with our current rotational dearth.  Carolina gamely plugged away, but all of 'Dea's heart and truly astounding athleticism, all of Des and Steph's dynamism, couldn't do it at half-speed.  Their legs are gone, and they won't be back this season.  And Jamie, poor Jamie Cherry.  Pumpkin looks exhausted.  Leading the team, playing damn near nonstop every game because there simply is no one else.  She has the weight of the world on her right now, and it's taking a toll.

The starters (plus Erika) can hang with anyone in the country.  I really believe that.  South Carolina, UConn, anyone.  They're that good.  Jamie is turning into a superb floor general.  'Dea is a goddess of the hybrid wing/post.  Des is a freaking offensive wizard.  Steph can do everything, including ridiculous chase-down blocks like the one she had tonight.  Hill throws up double-doubles with ease.  Erika is the perfect sixth player off the bench.  But right now every contest is a crash site somewhere in the third quarter because they have literally zero help.  That's unsustainable no matter how great the talent, how exacting and refined the fitness and conditioning regimen.  Dead legs can't win games, and this is a team full of them right now.

And you know what?  They don't care.  They will fight and scrap and be brilliant even unto the point of exhaustion.  Given the totality of the variables stacked against them, this was maybe always going to be a lost season, but they damn sure aren't going to quit.  And we will love them for it and be there for the whole glorious experience.   

Go Heels.  

The Warriors Remake A Beloved Childhood Movie.

About four minutes into the first quarter of last night's biggest game, I looked at Ags and said: "I think Golden State's gonna lose this one."  Given the season so far, I was aware of how impetuous and incredibly stupid that sounded, but just hear me out.  The Warriors were on the second night of a road back-to-back, fresh off a game that should never have required a Harrison Barnes buzzer beater to win it.  On Saturday night they had Philadelphia, running joke of the NBA for the past few seasons, smoked by 24 points midway through the 3rd quarter.  The starters were sitting down, waiting as they've done so often this season to watch the bench mop up a fourth quarter composed entirely of garbage time.  Then the Sixers started doing stuff. 

And while they were doing that stuff, Golden State couldn't buy a bucket, couldn't play much defense either, and coughed up a genuinely perplexing array of turnovers.  Philly went on the kind of scoring spree no one is supposed to have against the Dubs, first winnowing the deficit back under twenty, then down to ten.  At some point during this insane run of David sling-shotting pebbles at Goliath and connecting on most of them, Steve Kerr realized they couldn't just ride it out.  Back on the floor went the starters, having to uncoil their muscles and psyches from the relaxation of watching a blowout from the bench and extend themselves again.  (Draymond Green admitted in a post-game interview that he felt responsible for chasing a triple double at the expense of the team.  This was a commendably honest attempt to shoulder the onus for the Warriors' second-half problems, but let's be real: the whole team had a messy hand in that skid.)  

Somehow Philly managed to tie the game up at 105-105 with 22 seconds to play.  Then, for the first time in a completely listless quarter-and-a-half of basketball, Golden State remembered who they are and what they do for one crucial, final posession.  Steph Curry dribbled to the right side of the arc and whipped a pass to inside to Draymond Green just below the free throw line while Harrison Barnes stood in the right corner.  Sixers forward Jerami Grant left Barnes to help on Green, I mean ... just collapsed to the inside and left a dude shooting nearly 40% from deep this season very, very wide open.  Green immediately pinged it to Barnes before Philly could even start to recover.  He canned the trey and walked off for a 108-105 victory.  It was a beautiful play; precisely the sort of whirring, pick-your-poison ball movement that makes the Warriors so dangerous.  It absolutely should not have been necessary, except the Warriors looked and played like tired, fallible humans for once, so it was. 

Anyway, that's why I stupidly thought last night would be a loss for Golden State.  They'd been forced to lurch out of their accustomed easy confidence and push themselves to a win against a vastly inferior team they thought they'd already beaten.  They had looked despondent for most of Saturday's second half, and they were now traveling directly into the maw of Madison Square Garden, no days off, no recovery.  The Garden atmosphere was, predictably, that of a denser and infinitely louder Wagnerian opera for the biggest game of the season. (Barring a playoff appearance that is still very much a possibility.) 

The first quarter looked like my intuition might be worth something.  The Warriors once again couldn't hit shots, played poor defense, and turned the ball over too much.  Steph had a sub-pedestrian game overall, going 5-17 from the field for just 13 points with 4 dimes and 4 boards.  Fortunately for Golden State, Draymond tossed up a 20-10-10, Klay Thompson poured in 34 points, and Shaun Livingston kicked in 11 off the bench.  Conversely for the Kincks, Aaron Afflalo, Langston Galloway, and Derrick Williams pretty much shot their own team out of the game, combining for an abysmal 9-37 from the floor. 

The Warriors were up six at the half, opened the 3rd quarter with a blitzkrieg, and ended up winning 116-95.  Even with that cruddy opening frame and Curry playing fairly atrocious basketball by his standards, they made sort, brutal work of the Knicks once they shook that tired doofishness out of their collective game.

Look, I figured they were due is all.  Golden State won't lose very many games this season, but last night seemed like it had a decent chance to be one of those anomalies.  I swear, at the time, it really did.  I doubted them, but I've learned my lesson.  Right now, I am Buttercup having just tumbled down that hill in the Princess Bride, and the Warriors are Wesley.  This without the True Love overtones, of course.  My heart already belongs to another.  (Go Hawks.)  But still, I know how she felt.  "I will never doubt again."