Another plank in the bridge to the finish line. Some planks are gnarled and splintery and hard to jam into place. Others, however, click into their spot with such ease and such snug brilliance — a hand crafted for the glove. On those nights, the hammer feels lighter, the nails aren’t as rusted, and the workers beam as they engineer their masterpiece. This was one of those nights. In hindsight, it’s just another plank, but in the moment it’s everything that makes this whole endeavor worth our while.
The game ends 113-92. The Orlando Magic are facing the most challenging part of their bridge fabrication so far this season. With the alluring stylings of Franz Wagner headlining a laundry list of outs, they’re trudging through the trenches right now. Still, with their impressive coaching and their franchise-altering star in Paolo Banchero, they’ve been tussling with opponents outside of their current weight class and managing to leave with unexpected (on paper) wins more on several occasions.
So, don’t write this off as simply a schedule win or a hand-wrapped gift from Lady Luck. The Magic are feisty and capable of a nasty bite. With a blend of overbearing physicality, unselfish ball movement, and silky shooting, the Wolves muzzled them in spectacular fashion.
When a team is bristling with the kinds of varied talents that the Timberwolves possess play the way they did on both ends of the floor in this game, they’re hard to stop. When they do it for a sustained period, against an injury-riddled team, you get a bell-to-bell beatdown.
Another plank, sure, but a damn fun one to put down.
Mike Conley: 9/10
If the Wolves are percolating — truly percolating as they were in this one — then you can guarantee Minnesota Mike’s wise old fingerprints are emblazoned all over the fucking thing. He hasn’t quite been in a tailspin of late, but the ultraviolet light we’ve become so seamlessly accustomed to has been slowly dimming.
This, however, was a flash of the dazzling luminosity again. A celestial beam of brilliance encasing us and warming our souls. He wasn’t the talisman of the night in the box score, but everything filtered through him. Whether it was furnishing the table or shoveling the food into his own gullet, he was the version of himself that had been absent of late.
He did miss a couple of bunnies around the rim that he usually makes, but aside from that he was dovetailing with his big men in the pick-and-roll, raining triples off the catch or off the bounce, and contributing as a terrier-like rebounder and a defender.
Minnesota are a completely different prospect when he’s in a mood like that.
Finished with 11 points (61.9% TS), 3 rebounds, 10 assists, 2 steals and 2 turnovers in 32 minutes — +37.9 net rating.
Anthony Edwards: 1/10
On a night glittering with every color of the rainbow, he was the dark cloud that proceeded it and the rumbling thunder in the distance afterward, always threatening to strike away the luster but never getting the chance.
He chose a wonderful night to play that part.
Perhaps he was always going to struggle in this one or perhaps the three early fouls (and the huge lead the Wolves had when he reentered the game) was enough to send his rhythm askew. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter in the end; for him more than anybody.
We know he’s going to shrug off these kinds of nights like a sodden coat and step into a more comfortable attire next time out. He’s not going to litter a night with unforced turnovers, lethargic rim-attacks, and slothful off-ball defensive efforts in the same way he did in this one. Of all things that could possibly prick at our collective worries, Anthony Edwards suddenly becoming a putrefied bowl of fucking gruel isn’t one of them.
A slate easily wiped clean.
Finished with 6 points (36.1% TS), 4 rebounds, 3 assists and 5 turnovers in 26 minutes — -0.1 net rating.
Jaden McDaniels: 10/10
His best game of the season. Bar none. Not only because he’s been a roller coaster of injuries and inconsistencies and fouls and fucking weirdness for much of the campaign, but because it’s nigh on impossible for a player in his role to even put forth a better night than this one.
What more could you ask for?
Lock up the scorching-hot-of-late Paolo Banchero? He slips through every ball screen, contains every drive, contests every shot, turns the budding star’s night into a walking fucking nightmare. Grab more rebounds, you’re tall as shit? Here’s nine of the bastards. Find your own scoring more often? He splashes a few jumpers, gets into his sweet spots around the rim, and dunks Anthony Black into the earth’s fucking core.
He checked boxes, dispelled criticisms, and flat-out starred in his role.
Finished with 15 points (71.8% TS) and 9 rebounds in 35 minutes — +48.2 net rating.
Karl-Anthony Towns: 10/10
There’s not a man on the planet who deserves to be plastered all over lowlight reels more than Mo Wagner. Just a big punchable loser. A dirty player, a flopper and a whinger. A face consistently frozen in a state of mewling grievance. Karl-Anthony Towns hammered him into another dimension and he deserved every fucking ounce of it.
And that was just the glacé cherry atop the sumptuous cake. With Edwards’ impact almost immediately stricken from proceedings, he took it upon himself to dominate. From all quadrants of the floor, in all ways, with both violent wroth and awe-inspiring finesse.
When he wasn’t nailing all five of his 3-point looks, he was twinkle-toeing to the rim and finishing around or through contact. When he wasn’t dishing off pinpoint dimes, he was shuffling his feet in perimeter defense or rotating around the rim to provide help. He was everywhere. And, like a few of his teammates, he needed this palate cleanser after a capricious couple of weeks.
Thanks, Mo.
Finished with 28 points (72% TS), 6 rebounds, 5 assists, 3 steals and 2 turnovers in 34 minutes — +39.4 net rating.
Rudy Gobert: 10/10
He was the architect of Minnesota’s downfall in Dallas and he was the master of their superiority in Orlando. Sometimes you’re the earthworm and sometimes you’re the chicken beak; he rummaged through the puny frontcourt of Orlando and munched up every fucker who entered his coop.
The thing about him is you know what you’re going to get when he is feeling it. No surprises, no new additions to his bag, no flowery prose required. He lives in a form of basketball stasis and that’s what makes him so remarkably reliable.
So, he does his thing.
He plays the hits and then he replays them until we’re all dancing a merry fucking jounce. He ducks into the paint to finish at the rim, he bursts out of screens and thunders lobs and dives over anybody in his path, and he runs the entire defense from his station at the rim. The Magic barely find a clean shot within 10 feet all night long and he was the horn-laden bouncer manning hell’s gate.
Perhaps he’d slipped a little from his early-season boomlet, but this was him back to his very best.
Finished with 21 points (83.1% TS), 12 rebounds, 3 blocks and 2 turnovers in 34 minutes — +20.0 net rating.
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