I tried to do the math on how many basketball games I’ve been to. Between the Minnesota Timberwolves, Gophers, and Lynx, I finally settled on around 500 games total, give or take a couple. However, Sunday night’s Wolves game against the Golden State Warriors had an emotion inside the building that I’ve never experienced.
Games the season after the COVID pandemic were bizarre. As one of 200 to 300 fans allowed in, you could hear every word the players said on the court. After Flip Saunders passed away, the first couple of games were a combination of mourning a beloved coach and celebrating his life. After the Wolves traded Kevin Love for Andrew Wiggins, it was odd, but also a feeling of hope.
I’ve been to Lynx games after mass shootings and the killing of congresswomen, and their moment of silence is heavy. Still, the tension eventually eased, and basketball took center stage. Even after Renee Nicole Good’s death, you could feel the anger. After a moment of silence and fans voicing their opinions, the focus eventually turned to basketball.
In my professional life, I deal with death a lot. As a nurse, patients pass away – it’s inevitable. Some from old age, and some from complications. Some expected, and others not expected at all. I’ve given CPR and lost a patient. I’ve seen wounds heal and infections disappear with the help of modern medicine. Heck, through an almost ten-year career as a nurse in and out of facilities and now working in home care, I’ve seen almost everything, felt every feeling.
That changed Sunday, though. Sitting in the arena beforehand, waiting on Chris Finch and Steve Kerr to address the media, there were no smiles, no jokes, hardly any talking at all. There was an odd feeling of comfort knowing that although we all exchanged pleasantries of “Hey, how’s it going,” we were also all lying when we said “good.”
Finch came to the podium first and had to stop numerous times to hold back his emotions while offering his opening statement.
“It’s the second time in less than three weeks we lost another beloved member of our community,” he said, “in the most unimaginable way…”
Finch then responded to a question about his experience living in the Minneapolis community, visibly choking up again.
“It’s my home, I’m part of the community, I’ve been embraced since Day 1,” he said. “People have been amazing, and it’s sad. On a human level, I’m certainly someone that takes great pride being here, and a lot of our players feel the same. They love being here.”
As Finch walked off the podium, he gave a head nod my way as I thanked him for his words, then disappeared into the hallway.
After Kerr spoke, I walked through a nearly empty Target Center concourse. The atmosphere was something I’d never experienced. The security guards I had been giving fist bumps to for years did so without a smile. Admittedly, I couldn’t muster one back. Even the incredible in-arena host nearly walked past me with a glazed over look, before stopping to say hello.
As I climbed the stairs to my seat, the arena was nearly empty. Loud Prince music blared through the speakers, and a large protest was moving across the street outside the arena.
The arena slowly filled, but there wasn’t a buzz of excitement. No one was gathered above the Wolves bench hoping for autographs. Hardly anyone was watching Stephen Curry throw his half-court heaves at the end of his workout. At my seat, the feeling was something I’d never felt; the weight of each person walking through the curtains just added to the tension in the arena.
Before tipoff, the organization held a moment of silence for Alex Pretti. After the silence, fans again made their feelings heard on the current situation in Minnesota.
The Warriors were introduced, and there were hardly any boos for Draymond Green. The Wolves came out to a spattering of applause, and the opening tip commenced.
I wish I could say I have some analysis of the game or key takeaways from the 111-85 drumming the Warriors put on the Timberwolves, but I don’t. The Wolves team on the court, the coaches, the fans, the arena staff, you could feel in the air that they didn’t want to be there.
“I thought that was a ghost of a performance by us,” he said after the game. “We just never could really establish a rhythm.”
Julius Randle expanded on Finch’s comments after the game.
“Lifeless,” he said. “No energy at all. So, terrible choice of words, but it’s just no energy to what we’re doing. No purpose. No passion. Just kind of feels not great.“
Donte DiVincenzo agreed with the ghost description and added that it was hard to play basketball on Sunday.
“Yeah, everybody is tired,” he said. “Everybody, your heart and your thoughts are with the family going through that tragedy. But that’s not an excuse.
“I think, if anything, sometimes that brings a community together more, and we need to stay together as a community, as a team, and just push through these rough days, these dark days, because there’s a lot more bigger things than basketball, but what we can control right now is our basketball and our energy.”
The Wolves did play again on Monday night. Thankfully, they were able to control their performance and end their five-game losing streak. Monday felt more normal. The crowd was loud, the players seemed more engaged, and basketball can once again be an escape from reality for so many people.
However, the atmosphere and performance from Sunday I hope I’ll never have to experience again, in my professional life or as a fan. So much heaviness and pain, all in one place, in one evening, it will likely stay with me forever as a ghost in my memories.