The very worst thing about Dillon Brooks is that his whole schtick works. You know that thing he does where he’s just the worst? Every second of every game? I hate that. I hate that it gets under my skin. I hate that he wants to get under my skin and then succeeds without even trying. I hate that all he has to do is show up and I’m suddenly in a bad mood. Mostly, I hate that I hate it. I especially hate that, last night, he came out in the 2nd half, reached into our chest like that guy in Temple of Doom, and ripped out our still-beating heart before lowering us into a fiery pit of misery.

With about 4 minutes left in the game, I was sitting there stewing. Like, really marinating in it. The Suns were up 11 and were doing as many things right as the Spurs were doing wrong. It wasn’t falling

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