Popovich watched the action unfold in silence, but those who knew him could tell—beneath that calm, weathered expression, a storm was brewing.
Last year's crushing loss to the Kings still gnawed at him. If the Spurs were to fall to the Warriors again this season… well, that would shake all of San Antonio to its core.
Fully aware of what was at stake, the Spurs players threw themselves into the game with unwavering focus.
Their new leader, Kawhi Leonard, caught the pass, crossed over sharply, and drove toward the free-throw line.
Barnes, guarding him, braced himself like a soldier before battle, every nerve tight as he tried to read Leonard's movement.
But Leonard simply backed him down.
Once. Twice.
Then, feeling the rhythm click, he gave a quick shoulder fake, spun, and faded into a smooth jumper.
His body stretched out mid-air—the ball followed its perfect arc and dropped clean through the net.
"Unstoppable!"
The commentator in the studio couldn't help but exclaim.
"Basketball today is all about speed—fast breaks, transition attacks. Those old-school mid-range jumpers and post-ups we used to love are almost gone."
"But look at that—Leonard's form, his balance, that graceful control. A true throwback scorer."
"Exactly," added the co-commentator beside him with a nod. "This kind of slow-paced offense is rare now. It's less efficient, sure—but man, is it beautiful to watch."
On the next play, Curry used Gasol's screen to barely create space for a shot on the perimeter.
But after such a grueling game, his stamina was running on fumes.
The ball left his hands, hit the rim weakly, and bounced away.
"Fast break!"
Leonard grabbed the rebound and roared—a rare sight—then spun and sprinted down the court himself.
Just as Curry turned to retreat, a flash of silver and black streaked past him.
"Tony? He can still run like that?"
Curry's eyes widened as he saw the No. 9 jersey flying by.
"Man, this old guy still has gas in the tank?"
In terms of stamina, Tony Parker—already in the twilight of his career—couldn't compare to Curry.
But with age came wisdom.
Sensing the game would come down to the wire, Parker had been conserving his energy, saving just enough for moments like this.
This was before the tension between Leonard and the Spurs ever surfaced, before the "team meeting" led by Parker.
At this point, Parker still genuinely cared for Leonard—like family.
As Leonard pushed up the court, he caught sight of Parker trailing right behind him and couldn't help but smile.
Moments like this proved that the veterans were still the most reliable.
He took a long stride into the paint, with Barnes scrambling to close off the lane.
Leonard drove hard, flicked the ball to the corner—
Parker caught it, adjusted, and knocked it down.
Two possessions, five unanswered points.
The Spurs led 120–114.
The Warriors were down six, and overtime was slipping away!
"Timeout!"
Seeing the tide turn, Steve Kerr burned his final one.
"They've completely shut down the perimeter," Curry rasped, his throat burning.
"I can't get open at all."
The Spurs had locked the arc with their twin defensive walls—Danny Green and Kawhi Leonard—and Curry was feeling it.
Kerr looked at his exhausted star but said nothing.
It was only now he realized how far he still was from Popovich's level of tactical mastery.
Just like in last year's Finals—when Tyronn Lue's endless isolations on Curry left him helpless—he had no counter.
He'd reflected on it many times since.
If it had been another top coach in his place, they might've made the adjustment right then—and the championship wouldn't have slipped through his fingers.
"Run one for me," came a calm voice.
Klay Thompson looked at Curry, steady as ever.
"I can still move."
As the second option, this was his moment to step up.
"Alright!" Kerr nodded firmly. "We'll run Play Two. Gasol, sink low—free up space for Klay's shot!"
After the timeout, Thompson delivered. He broke free at the top of the key, rose, and fired.
Swish!
The Buddha struck without mercy, nailing the three.
120–117. Game on again!
But on the next possession, Aldridge faced Green—half a head shorter—and calmly drained a mid-range jumper over him.
Just one minute remained!
This game was shaping up to be one of the defining performances of the "Double-D" era.
Both All-Stars had scored over thirty, one dominating inside, the other outside, tearing the Warriors apart.
The Warriors had the ball again. With no open look, Curry swung it to Green, left unguarded at the top.
Green didn't hesitate—he launched a three.
And against all odds, it bounced off the rim and rolled in.
A lucky ball!
For the Warriors, it was like a hand had pulled them back from the edge of a cliff.
"Let me take this one," Leonard said, casually wiping sweat from his face, still expressionless.
"Alright," Aldridge replied simply—his speech now as efficient as any true Spur.
Leonard took the inbound and brought the ball up himself.
This possession would likely decide the game.
At the top of the arc, he crossed over on Barnes, then spun past him with a smooth pivot.
Thompson slid over to help, but Leonard stayed calm—gathered, bent his knees, and released.
Clang. It missed.
But in that instant, Aldridge lunged from the mid-range line toward the rim, leaping high for the putback.
Facing the much larger Aldridge, Draymond Green made a desperate move—he grabbed Aldridge's arm and yanked him down.
Both men lost balance mid-air, missing the ball completely.
Beep!
The whistle blew from the corner referee—no question, it was a foul.
Green landed awkwardly on one foot, stumbling but staying upright. Aldridge wasn't so lucky.
Thud!
He crashed hard onto the floor.
Green stood beside him, trying to find his balance on one leg.
Then, as if struck by some cruel impulse, he lifted that massive size-13 foot—
—and stomped down hard on Aldridge's ribs.
"Take that!"
"Ow!"