The good old trap game. Coming off an impressive comeback win, against a team who is actively trying to lose, on a cold winter’s night in Minnesota. Everything about it screams banana skin. The Minnesota Timberwolves are prone to slipping on that skin. Despite the obviousness of the trap, they have had no issues walking into it this season. This game felt like that, it felt like another low-energy night, but the Wolves scraped by. You can spin that into a negative or a positive, but they get away with a win. And wins continue to be all that matters.
The game ends 113-104. Nothing about this screamed Naismith Hall of Fame. This wasn’t going to grace any textbooks or be shown to any burgeoning youth. Until it was. It took a while. It took a first half that stunk up the Target Center and the beginning of the third quarter that reeked of a team willing to drop another easy game. But eventually Minnesota found their stride. They found their run and their highlights and their swagger. They found their fun.
So, you can spin this game into a positive or spin it into a negative, but there is no denying that this polarizing packet of players can be fun. There is something to be said about how easily they let the hapless Houston Rockets push them around in the first half through shot-making, offensive rebounding and transition pace-pushing, but there is no denying the fun that ensued once Minnesota got their shit together. Whether it was poster dunks or stifling defense or 3-point shooting, it was fun.
In a season filled with heartbreakers and hopelessness, this oasis was welcome. The Wolves avoided the trap and stepped around the banana skin. And they did it with the sort of entertainment value that made their season-long disappointments vanish for just a little while.
D’Angelo Russell: 9/10
Just felt like he cruised through this one without a bead of sweating welling on his forehead. It’s often the case with him, he meanders and creeps far more often than he fizzes or dashes. Sometimes that manifests itself in the worst ways, but this was the good kind of laissez-faire. This was the sort of ease that made everything feel like it was going to be okay. Like a warm drink when you’re sick. Like some fucking soup in flu season.
He wasn’t necessarily percolating from his usual mid-range zone, but nestled a quartet of triples into the bottom of the nylon — including a few big ones while the game was still teetering in the second half — and he lived at the charity stripe. Throw in a generous helping of pick-and-roll passes and smart dishes around the perimeter and you end with a really sweet night.
Finished with 23 points (81.7% TS) and 8 assists in 32 minutes — +6.6 net rating.
Anthony Edwards: 44/10
Have a fucking night.
Just do as you please. Turn Alperen Şengün into a statue, if you want. A big flabby block of Turkish Delight. Nom Nom Nom. Get up or get out of the way. In the moments between thunderous throwdowns, just hoist the team up onto your herculean shoulders.
Nail eight triples, the degree of difficulty rising substantially on each attempt. Get to the rim incessantly. Knock down contested mid-range jumpers. Turn Jalen Green into a plate of mashed potatoes. Have Houston’s front office questioning their draft picks. Defend the point-of-attack like a demonic hellhound sent from the underworld to terrorize would-be scorers. Put the team on your back when they seem destined to let another should-be-easy win slip through their fingers.
Just have a fucking night.
Finished with 44 points (73.6% TS), 6 rebounds, 4 assists, 3 steals and 3 blocks in 41 minutes — +17.7 net rating.
Jaden McDaniels: 2/10
Was the yin to Edwards’ yang. While his fellow wingman was shredding the game into a billion tiny pieces and cackling maniacally as he did so, McDaniels was struggling. His jumper didn’t find a rhythm, he missed a few shots at the rim that he almost always nails, and his defensive output seemed to suffer from the same bouts of lost confidence as his scoring output.
In the end, he watches the final minutes of the game from the bench. He didn’t sulk, providing us with meme material as he reacted to Edwards’ madness instead, but it certainly wasn’t his night and everybody knew it.
Finished with 5 points (39.6% TS), 2 rebounds and 2 blocks in 31 minutes — 0.0 net rating.
Kyle Anderson: 3/10
Somebody put a fucking curse on the rim. Stephen Silas, hexing him from the hotel room before the game, probably. Anderson has been the absolute fucking bomb for a while now, so it makes sense to mutter maledictions in his direction. And it worked. Whatever Silas or the Rockets did, it worked. Anderson was snakebitten for the entirety of the night. The floater didn’t drop, the mid-range clanged, the 3-pointers bricked. Never once did he trouble the scorers.
A trio of blocks and a handful of other nice stops at the rim acted as a saving grace for what was a putrid night. We’ve seen him this season, though, we know what value he brings. There should be no worries about this off-night lingering.
Finished with 7 rebounds, 2 assists and 3 blocks in 33 minutes — +11.4 net rating.
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