Adversity can be a merciless trickster. Just when it seems like it has filled every fissure and spread its devilish tentacles into every cranny, it redoubles and finds another avenue to torment. The Minnesota Timberwolves have been entrenched in the unyielding grip of adversity for a while now, but this last mini-stretch of games has been the tightest throttle adversity has laid upon them. But, as this team often has, it bucks trends and defies expectations. It squirms out of adversity’s clench. It fights for its life.
The game ends 140-134. Their two best players are wallowing on the bench adorned in street clothes. They’re on the road, in the league’s most daunting arena, against a team who had the third-best record since the All-Star break. They’re naught but innocent onlookers to Julius Randle’s bloody scoring onslaught. They survive a big comeback and half a dozen late and strong pushes from the Knicks. That’s adversity. That’s a fucking great win.
That adversity was shunted to the side from the opening tip. It was a night where defense seemed to be bottled and labeled with a menacing skull-and-bones logo, and the Wolves played into that credo immediately. They knocked down their first 10 shots — 10! — and carried that scorching offense through the entirety of the first half. Pulling away was a different story, though, because the Knicks were sizzling themselves and even after a whopping 79 first-half points, Minnesota went into the long break with an easily wipeable 9-point lead.
And wiped it was. Randle exploded in a way that few have ever exploded and Minnesota was left trying to crawl their way out of the debris field he left. The Wolves never really let go of the rope, but their hands were burnt and battered trying to hold it against Randle’s force. The third period came and went and what had at one point ballooned out to a 17-point lead had been shrunken to a single point.
Adversity had reared its ghoulish head again and it all just felt fraught with nervousness. We’ve seen this team crumble in pressure situations and without their two big guns it almost felt inevitable that they would do so again. They continuously allowed the Knicks to pull away to five-point leads but they fought back each time. They somehow scratched and somehow clawed and somehow finished the bloodbath with a pulse. A few big buckets, a few clutch stops, and a whole lot of heart propelled them over the line.
Mike Conley: 10/10
Minnesota motherfucking Mike. Masterclass. Like a puma stalking his prey, smooth and stealthy and deadly. All night long he savaged the Knicks’ defense with quiet precision. When he is knocking down long-range jumpers he’s remarkably good, but it’s all of the other things he has mastered that make him the perfect grizzled hands to carry this team to nights like this.
The way he split apart the defense to whip passes around and force them into rotation was the soothing elixir to Minnesota’s lack of scoring punch and star power. He was feisty defensively (even if he wasn’t able to quell New York’s collective heater) and he fucking lives for 50/50 balls. Sniffs them out and slurps them up.
As the sprinkles on top of his ice cream sundae of awesomeness, he throws one of the sickest passes imaginable. Drenched in tangy hot sauce. He inexplicably flips a finger roll into a drop-off pass, defying logic and space and time and gravity. Scientific shit.
Finished with 24 points (80.2% TS), 4 rebounds, 11 assists and 2 steals in 32 minutes — +13.7 net rating.
Jaden McDaniels: 10/10
Remember when his chrysalis cracked open and he emerged as an otherworldly alien, dripping in neon-colored juices of brilliance? It’s happening. It’s here. We’re living in his timeline. Sure, the referees haven’t caught up yet, but it’s only a matter of time before the entire basketball world has his name on their lolling tongue. Even on a night when those blaring whistles had him in their usual stranglehold, he stamped his impact on it in a fistful of ways.
His drives and dribble-moves were tight and effective. His shooting remains a buoy that is holding Minnesota’s fragile offense afloat. And he plays defense. He thrives on defense. He fucking ruins nights and injects himself into the nightmares of would-be scorers. His foul-proneness forbade him from guarding Julius Randle for long stretches, but he was the only one who could douse the inferno when he was matched up with the burly forward. In the end, he drowns him in a sea of limbs and forces a couple of enormous clutch stops, rounding out another two-way triumph.
The kid is here.
Finished with 18 points (65.4% TS) and 4 rebounds in 31 minutes — +34.0 net rating.
Taurean Prince: 10/10
This was more than a bounce back. Seriously, what the fuck? How the fuck? Where the fuck?
This was the ugly duckling turning into a fucking bald eagle. This was the best game of his career. It might be the most efficient night any player has put forth this season. Or this decade. After months of constipated performances and two recent nights of diarrhea messes, he was shitting gold flakes in this one.
It just starts and ends with his shooting. Sure, there was stout defense, big-time finishes at the rim, and crisp passing pulsing through his big game, but when you attempt eight treys and splash eight treys then the headline is written in ink. When you make every shot at every moment in every way, you get the praise for it and that’s how it should be.
It’s a game that will be scrawled in the annals of Timberwolves history. Taurean Prince’s redemption.
Finished with 35 points (118.6% TS), 5 rebounds and 2 assists in 32 minutes — +36.1 net rating.
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