That will do it. That will douse the demons that have been haunting the Minnesota Timberwolves in holy water. That will fire up the fan base, inject some much-needed momentum into the team, that will even make the Karl-Anthony Towns-shaped hole in the roster seem just a smidge more fillable. There is nothing like an underdog win that does it. Nothing like a raucous Target Center. Nothing like beating this irritating iteration of the Memphis Grizzlies.
The game ends 109-101. A weird and wild and wonderful game it was. Whatever you could possibly imagine unfurling in a Wolves game unfurled in the most magical way possible. Scintillating offensive forays, stringent defense, technical fouls, jawing rivals, clutch moments. Coming off a three-game stretch that hammer-punched the franchise into the earth’s crust, this was the ideal tonic. An elixir from the gods.
It didn’t feel that way early on, however. When Memphis jumped out to a very early lead, the memories of the aforementioned losing skid flooded back like a tidal wave. Then, it flipped. The energy was back in the players and in the building. The defense was unfathomable — forcing a whopping 27 turnovers and 20 points — and showed all of the rotating, pre-rotating, shot-contesting and hustle that we’ve grown to miss dearly. The offense wasn’t quite as snarling, but they found enough points throughout the night to keep Memphis at arm’s length and then pummeled them into submission in the closing minutes.
In the end, Dillon Brooks and Ja Morant launched the toys out of the stroller, spat their pacifier onto the hardwood, and sadly admitted defeat. Above all, that felt the sweetest. One of Memphis’ greatest strengths as a team is their ability to treat any game as if they’re going to win. No matter the score or the situation or the opponent. It’s how they steamrolled past Minnesota in the playoffs last season. This game, though, Minnesota made them fold. Forced them to fold. Sent them packing with barely a whimper as response.
That’ll do it.
D’Angelo Russell: 8/10
It’s not often that he really leaves his fingerprints all over a game when his shot isn’t falling. He is a make-or-miss kind of player and his game as a whole often feels that way. This one didn’t. This was the most refreshing change of pace. This one felt like a player who couldn’t quite find his shot-making wavelength but went about his night as if he were scorching hot.
While he only sprinkled in few made shots, including an icy-veined triple late in the proceedings, he spent his whole 37-minute stint organizing the offense, spraying dimes, and defending like a fucking jackal. Sometimes the shots don’t go in. That’s the nature of this treacherous beast of a sport. But adding those peripheral party tricks is something that can turn Russell from zero to hero really quickly.
Finished with 15 points (43.3% TS), 5 rebounds, 10 assists and 2 steals in 33 minutes — +18.8 net rating.
Anthony Edwards: 10/10
He was fucking swashbuckling even before Dillon Brooks willingly swan-dived into the snake pit. Memphis’ resident dickhead didn’t just poke the bear, he stuck his oversized head straight into the fucker’s mouth. Expectedly, he ended up decapitated. Brooks is, quite comfortably, the league’s least sinister villain. He was treated as such in this one.
Edwards was frothing at the mouth before that. He wasn’t whipping heads off with Mjolnir in the scoring category after a saucy 11-point first quarter, but he was everything the Wolves needed. A decisive ball-mover and willing screener. A cutter and a floor-spacer. A menacing on-ball stopper and a screen-navigating dream.
Most importantly, like maybe the most important thing he has shown in any one regular season game, he was a fucking monster as an off-ball defender. He picked off a fistful of passes and fiercely swatted a trio of shots, but just as impressive were the things that didn’t count in the box score — the pre-rotations that take multiple rewinds to catch, the closeouts that stopped open looks, the off-ball chasing that stopped Brooks, Morant, John Konchar and Jaren Jackson Jr. from getting clean looks off-the-catch.
Might have been his best game ever. Bet Dillon Brooks feels as stupid as he looks.
Finished with 29 points (68.8% TS), 3 rebounds, 5 assists, 5 steals and 3 blocks in 37 minutes — +12.8 net rating.
Wendell Moore Jr.: 9/10
This is how you drive a car, welcome to the Indy 500. Here’s a golf club, have a swing, you’re in the PGA Tour now. Have a first NBA start, you’re guarding Ja fucking Morant. Welcome to the big leagues, kid.
He’d be forgiven for getting beaten black and blue by one of the league’s shiftiest, floppiest, corniest, bounciest stars. Instead, he stifled him. He suffocated him. He made life far harder for Morant than any mere mortal has a right to. Morant is a freak, so the 24 points and six assists next to his name shouldn’t come as a surprise, but there were 7 turnovers and a 40 percent field goal clip sitting next to those numbers.
And it wasn’t anything extraordinarily different. It was just smart angles in ball screens, crisp positioning with his body, and constant attentiveness. He wasn’t rabid or reckless, he was just clever. And ditto for the other end of the floor. He knocked down a trey and made a few transition buckets, but for the most part he just moved the ball quickly and moved himself into pockets of space. He did his part. He won the race, made the hole-in-one, and thrived in his first real taste of NBA minutes.
Finished with 7 points (58.3% TS), 3 rebounds and 2 assists in 20 minutes — -3.1 net rating.
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