Guilt-Free Greatness

Four hours from Las Vegas, The Clippers and Spurs put on a Game 7 fight that everyone could enjoy without having to rationalize.

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LOS ANGELES — Doc Rivers stepped to the microphone, looking simultaneously disheveled, worn, and triumphant. Before the first question could even be asked, the head coach of the Los Angeles Clippers had something he needed to say. His opening statement was an ode to the vanquished Spurs — to their class, to their coaching, to their incredible run of long-term success that he so clearly envies and admires.

“And then the last thing that I loved about this series,” added Doc, gracefully shifting from praising his competition to the contest itself, “it was all basketball. It wasn’t any crap. It wasn’t any fights. It wasn’t any — it was just two teams — think about it, playing basketball.”

It’s highly doubtful that Saturday night’s bloated spectacle at the MGM Grand was anywhere on Rivers’ mind as he made that statement, but it was, in some small sense, interesting to hear him hail the absence of any “fights” on the same night that over $300 million was expected to be generated thanks to Floyd Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao finally stepping into the ring and going through the motions.

Saturday’s superfight pretty much lived up to expectation: It was dominated by Floyd, it was generally lackluster, and it was almost certainly a few years too late. It also, for weeks in advance, had the ignoble distinction of being dominated by discussion of whether even watching was itself an immoral act. Daniel Roberts continued his master-class on why Floyd’s history of domestic violence makes everything he touches feel so dirty. Sarah Spain suggested that the $100 PPV price tag might be put to better use, and USA Today actually broke down how much good such a donation could do for an organization that supports abused women.

That’s been the unfortunate paradox for Mayweather/Pacquiao, from basically the moment it was announced. It’s a fight that’s been clamored for for years by boxing connoisseurs, casual fans, and those who wanted simply to recapture some of the magic of old Las Vegas. And yet, almost immediately, any joy over this “dream fight” was quickly overpowered by the realization that a man with Floyd’s violent history certainly didn’t deserve the warm fuzzies.

Back in Los Angeles, there was no conflict. No inner turmoil. No moral hazard. There was only joy.

It was, of course, only the first round of the Western Conference Playoffs, and a series of stern tests lie ahead. But for a Clippers franchise that has long been a punching bag, you could feel something cathartic in the air as Chris Paul knocked down a go-ahead, fallaway runner with one second on the clock before hobbling away, the result of a hamstring strain suffered early in the game. For Paul, this team — his team — had been through too much for a mere injury to derail their moment.

“I thought about our team and all we had been through,” said Paul of his tenacious performance, in which he scored 27 points (on 9-for-13 shooting) and also had six assists, two rebounds, two steals and a block. “I knew if it was anybody else on our team in a situation like this, they wouldn’t have laid down. Just tried to find a way.”

“There’s not really a good word that comes to mind,” said Blake Griffin, who posted a triple-double with 24 points, 13 rebounds and 10 assists, when asked about the resilience of the All-World point guard seated to his left, “It was unbelievable. To be injured like that, when he came back, I was like, ‘Man.’ I asked him, I was like … ‘What can you do? Can you do anything?’ And he was like, ‘We’ll see.’”

It’s easy to be buoyant in the wake of a dramatic victory, but there is no denying the era of good feelings currently taking hold in Los Angeles, where, at long last, the city’s “other” basketball team appears to finally be on the right side of karma. A season ago, Donald Sterling’s racist ramblings turned every Clippers game into a quandry. A team, and its coach, juggled questions of prejudice and class and what lay ahead.

Now, one year later, the slumlord owner is gone, replaced by Steve Ballmer — living embodiment of sports lunacy, crazed fanaticism distilled down to its purest form, and a Jumbotron producer’s best friend.

When he was introduced as owner, Ballmer famously promised a “HARD-core” ethos, and on this night at least, the team, to a man, lived up to the billing. Matt Barnes (who faced his own domestic violence allegations in 2010 before his fiancee denied the accusations and the charges were dropped) ignited the crowd early with 10 points in the game’s first eight minutes. Griffin’s triple-double was yet another testament to his continued evolution from otherworldly athlete to well-rounded superstar. DeAndre Jordan endured the horrors of the charity stripe long enough to grab 14 rebounds. J.J. Redick and Jamal Crawford provided long range answers whenever they were needed, and a capacity crowd in Los Angeles was again reminded of the fact that there is no joy quite like a 300-plus-pound Glen Davis slashing to the basket with as much conviction (if perhaps far less grace) as anyone in the NBA.

But for as long as he remains in blue and red, the Clippers will always belong to Paul, a man whose acquisition turned them from laughingstock to playoff contender almost immediately. For four seasons now, he has shouldered the bulk of the blame for each playoff exit. Perhaps that’s why, on Saturday, he sounded like a man who realized just how easily this series could also have slipped away.

“Those guys right there are legends. Pop, Tim, Tony, Manu. Like we’ve been saying all series, they’re not gonna beat themselves. Down the stretch … our team has a thing that Doc says, ‘Don’t let go of the rope.’ Any time we could have let go of the rope and said, ‘It’s these guys.’ But guys kept fighting and we found a way to come away with the win.”

It’s a frustrating but undeniably reality that in 2015, being a fan has become a consistent question of conscience. Nary a week goes by without Keith Olbermann finding something in the sports world that is indeed worthy of a boycott, be it the exploitation of the NCAA, the long-term dangers of the NFL, or the undeniably queasy feeling that comes from watching an accused rapist selected first overall in a pool of his peers.

In recent weeks, Floyd Mayweather has come to represent rock bottom. He’s a violent, unapologetic man who refuses to reckon with his past crimes, comfortable in the knowledge that his skills in the ring will insulate him from any real consequences. That, ultimately, is what made the biggest boxing match of our generation so toxic, the knowledge that whatever skills “Money May” might still possess are precisely what has empowered and enabled his abusive behavior for years.

Meanwhile, at the Staples Center, there was a basketball game. It was indeed just that, a game, and not any sort of solution for the fraying of our nation’s sporting fabric. But there was undoubtedly something uplifting about watching such a competition, at the highest level, and not having to feel conflicted. A worthy champion, and a hungry challenger, battled blow-for-blow, and when it was over, you couldn’t help but walk away feeling a deep admiration for both.

“It was clean, solid, beautiful basketball by both teams,” said Doc Rivers when it was all said and done, “I’m a better person because I went through this series. I guarantee you that.”

It’s the kind of quote that leaves modern-day sports cynics rolling their eyes, but for a few hours in the City of Angels, the game was beautiful enough to make you believe him.