In Praise of the Predictable

Nobody can deny the appeal of the underdog; we are naturally predisposed to sympathize and often be moved to root for those who have the odds stacked against them. Maybe their story is an impossibly compelling one. Maybe for the truly cynical, it’s about the surprise of seeing something that rarely happens: the shock value of the unpredictable. Regardless of the logic, I personally tend to succumb to this tick of human nature and, trust, it can make being a sports fan a very unrewarding experience (ask me how those MJ years went and I struggle to revive the part of me that died when Phoenix was felled by that cursed John Paxson dagger many moons ago).

However, even I have to admit that sometimes it’s just best to substitute surprise with something that possesses a little more substance. Just because a consequence does not allow for interpretation, does not mean its finality can be just as pleasing in its definiteness. Plus, you don’t have to wonder if your cable went out, neither (my question to you, David Chase, is if you were so comfortable with your ending why did you flee to France during its broadcast and bring up words like ‘audacious’ when describing it).

Culturally iconic television aside (will people see the Wire’s better now?), I take no joy in watching the NBA season wind down to its last breath, despite my monetary empowerment from the quicker ending. Last night’s game may have been exciting, but in the way that two bottom rung teams from the Big East duking it out in a tight affair in February is exciting. If you enjoy a close game for the sake of competitiveness, it was interesting. However, contrary to popular belief, watching professionals miss lay-up after lay-up does not constitute excellent defense, it just means the game has turned ugly. The Cavs really should have taken Game 3: the game played out in a best possible scenario for them (not counting, of course, the one involving Duncan, Parker and Ginobili all on the verge of fouling out by halftime). Fans may scream and shout about how the game ended but I truly can’t help but think the League did LeBron a huge favour by not putting him on the line for three shots with the series, ultimately, in the balance.

At the end of the day, barring a truly spectacularly implausible comeback where Cleveland plays at some other-worldly level (the part that makes it implausible), it's clear that this series needs to end. Immediately. Sadly, it comes down to the disproportionate ability between the two teams involved – the Cavs are inferior to San Antonio on every level imaginable. As far as match-ups go, I still believe Cleveland would struggle to beat any of the teams the Spurs took out (yes, Denver too) in a seven game series. Chronically out-coached Mike Brown finally made some defensive adjustments, waiting in an almost Mitchell-esque belated fashion to play, what would appear to be, his last strategic cards. Now that Pop and Co. have a night to take that game plan apart, Game 4 will be the definition of moot. And there’s absolutely no way Manu ends up with 3 points on Thursday…

There’s an analogy here somewhere – something about stepping to someone greater than you with no game, perhaps.

This most forgettable of Finals takes nothing away from LeBron as a player: in fact, it may well have helped in giving the Cavs’ management the sort of insight necessary to turn their team into a legitimate championship contender. But for now, my lasting memory of the series will be of Varejao spinning in the lane and attempting that ill-advised, potenitally game-tying scoop which barely hit iron. A comical surprise that surely everyone could have done without: this is one series that would actually benefit with an abrupt fade to black.