We’ve Arrived At The “Nitpicking The Officiating” Portion Of The Finals

Nobody wants to think about officiating, much less talk about it. Joyce Carol Oates knows it. The NBA Finals are no occasion for rational nonpartisanship. The middle ground is out of reach. If I want to say something straightforwardly true about the officiating, like, "Referees are still sorting out how to protect Victor Wembanyama from a kind of mauling that only he faces," unless I surround the statement in 1,000 caveats so that the eventual sum of what I have said is, "Victor Wembanyama should be strapped to the electric chair," my observation is guaranteed to zoom right past the part of the brain of a Knicks fan that assesses the truth value of language. And that Knicks fan is likely to respond with something like, "Ey, you wanna talk about protection, dis freakin' Victor Wembanyama got away with assassinatin' our guy Jalen Brunson, ey, fugget about it." Which, hyperbole aside, is both true and irritatingly orthogonal to my own observation, and tempts us into a tangle of conflicting grievances. Just last night our own Giri Nathan shouted those very words, and then stormed off in a huff, slapping the hood of a taxi and exchanging angry exclamations and rude gestures with the driver. He's out there now, no doubt ranting at strangers on the subway. The assassination in question occurred in the first quarter of Game 3. Brunson screened Wembanyama near the top of the key and then stuck to him, at approximately navel-height, as the Knicks moved the ball to Landry Shamet on the wing. It's not even all that clear that Brunson was restricting Wembanyama's movement, but Wembanyama has been getting hugged and arm-barred and clobbered all playoffs, and the Frenchman responded to this particular crowding of his personal space by wedging a forearm under the back of Brunson's skull and then violently shoving him to the ground. The officiating crew, led by Marc Davis, failed to whistle what was at minimum an obvious common foul.