My God, Victor Wembanyama

Late in Monday night's Game 1 of the Western Conference Finals, a beleaguered Shai Gilgeous-Alexander dribbled tentatively into the mouth of San Antonio's defensive zone. That zone had been total hell for the two-time reigning MVP. Now, with the Thunder down four points inside the final minute of the game's second overtime period, Gilgeous-Alexander was pretty well wasted. He'd played 50 minutes of intensely frustrating basketball; he'd been guarded by approximately 78 different sturdy and long-armed Spurs, often by two or three at a time; with few exceptions, every time he'd carved out a sliver of attacking space, he'd looked up and seen Victor damn Wembanyama looming up in front of the basket. He'd tried floaters, and step-backs, largely to no avail; he'd tried hesitations and Nash dribbles, to even less avail; he'd tried kick-outs to the corner, a really striking number of which had been deflected or intercepted by opportunistic Spurs defenders. That was his night: waves of pesky guards and sturdy wings, zipping around in impossible numbers, and backed always by that huge menacing Frenchman. That Frenchman, by the way, was putting the finishing touches on the defining performance of his still-young career. He would finish the Spurs' 122-115 victory with 41 points, 24 rebounds, and three blocks. Moments before Gilgeous-Alexander embarked on the aforementioned drive, Wembanyama had snatched an entry pass, tossed away Oklahoma City's best defender, pirouetted in the paint, and smashed a two-handed dunk, through a foul, directly in the mug of the home team's best rim protector. Minutes before that, he had sent the game into its second overtime by rising up for and burying an audacious 28-footer in semi-transition. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5gHzi6r5TbE