McKillop’s teams, when they’re right, they play with such a level-headed fury.
Jason did his thing, all angles, intellect and body control.
Max was Max. That kid, and I don’t know that I fully understood this before, at least not to such an extent, but sitting press row at Belk for the whole game for the first time in years and years made me appreciate his play more than ever. He plays, defense in particular, with an utter ferocity. You can practically hear his exertion.
Steph was awesome, of course, he of the light that’s as green as green can be. You always know he’s going good, though, when you notice, just as much as the threes, the floaters, the runners, the pull-ups, the crafty little dribble drives that turn into layups that lead to him piling up all those twos like he does all those threes.
No wonder middle-aged men in the stands at Belk wear those No. 30 jerseys. The part of me that’s a sensible adult thinks that’s kind of ridiculous, but I’ve got to be honest here: The proud, almost primal part of me kind of digs the hell out of it.
Steph aside, though, the tenor of Saturday’s game was established just as much by the whole team’s sticky fingers and active hands. Thomas Sander had SIX steals. All of it was a 40-minute reminder that being in the right place at the right time doesn’t have to be an accident, and shouldn’t be.
After the game, in the little press get-together, Thomas said this succinct thing about Steph: “Seeing him feel like he can do anything makes us feel like we can do anything.”
Steph, asked about his 37 points, said this: “We played our best game of the year.”
The kid said we.
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