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You don’t have to be from these parts to appreciate the Cavaliers’ magical journey to the Promised Land, or their precarious predicament now that they’ve arrived. But it helps.

I was born, bred and reared right here on the hard-scrabble streets of Cleveland. Actually, as a wee Optimist, my father reared the living crap out of me, and it toughened me up for hairy situations like the one the Cavaliers currently find themselves in. I don’t like being in an 0-2 hole to the Spurs any more than you readers do. But here we are. True underdogs – the role we were born to play.

San Antonio stampeded the Cavaliers again on Sunday night, jumping out to a 29-point lead before Cleveland’s furious fourth-quarter run. As in Game 1, point guard Tony Parker sliced and diced precisely, carving up Cleveland to the tune of 30 points. Two-time All-Optimist Second Teamer, Manu Ginobili, finished with 25 points and the Big Fundamental with 23, 9 and 8.

Despite early foul trouble, TheBron led the Cavaliers with 25 points. Daniel Gibson added 15.

Yes, it’s fair to say that the Cleveland Sports Renaissance took a slight detour over the past few days in Southwest Texas.

I spent most of the 30-plus hour bus ride breaking down film and crunching numbers, when – somewhere near Louisville – it occurred to me that the Cavaliers don’t have a Math problem with the Spurs. They have a Science problem.

As an Eastern Conference team, the Cavaliers thrive on bare-knuckled, broad-shouldered basketball. Mikki Moore smushing Sasha. A shirtless Rasheed Wallace erupting in the bowels of The Q, chucking sweaty laundry at a Pistons underling.

The Spurs, on the other hand – while being tough and efficient – are simply too nice. Tim Duncan, Manu, Robert Horry, Pop. Even Tony Parker – who I always assumed was just some dude from, say, Plano, Texas who faked a French accent to bag Eva Longoria – isn’t as horrible as everyone thinks.

They let the other team lose their emotions while finding its weakness, and exploiting it with surgical precision.

And while the streets of Detroit or New Jersey were like a war zone for the Wine and Gold, the laid-back city of San Antonio is filled with open-air Mexican weddings and bowlegged little old men in cowboy hats.

I have said countless times in this column that TheBron is at his absolute best when an opponent has gotten his Irish up. And using the easy-to-follow anger scale to your left, I would venture to say that our Akron-born hero hasn’t ventured past a 2.7 at any point during the first two games of the Finals.

This falls perfectly into San Antonio’s plan, and they’re laughing it up right now. While we Clevelanders are frenetically fretting the Finals, they’re walking around Tower City, eating our Sbarro’s pizza and buying fancy underpants at Victoria’s Secret for their wives and girlfriends back in Texas.

But tonight I see all that turning around. The Spurs have kept their melons on straight so far, but let’s see how they do on enemy ground and/or without a lead.

We’ll get to those dramatic events in just a moment. First, I’d like to turn to the old E-Master top-of-the-line e-mailing machine, where there is a definite trend developing.

Previously, there was only talk of Playoff Beards and alternative means of Cavaliers support. But now, you little dummkopfs are talking more and more about superstitions. And of course, I am all for superstitions as they fall loosely under our Science category.

Here is just one example …

Optimist-

I read the letter in your last column from the lady about the grey, black and white clothes. I just realized my dog is black and grey. I have decided that that is close enough to Spurs colors, so outside he goes for the game even though it’s 90 degrees plus.

Anyway, GO CAVS!

Rob Powers
Newark, OH

Many of you have written to ask my opinion on various conundrums just like Rob’s, and I say do whatever is working. Adam from New Philly won’t use French dressing, Chris from Mentor has to wear his “Defend Cleveland” shirt, Joe from Akron has eschewed friends, family and the girlfriend to watch in solitude. And as we read in that last column, Pat Burke – who’s as crazy as a soup sandwich anyway – won’t allow his sister and her husband to attend Game 3 because they’re “bad luck people.”

If you’ve been keeping track of these first two games: Whatever you’ve been doing during the first three quarters – STOP doing that. And whatever you’ve been doing for the fourth quarter – KEEP doing that. If you’ve been drinking a certain kind of beer in the fourth, drink it all night on Tuesday. If Uncle Lou left after three quarters on Sunday, throw him out after the National Anthem.

That good mojo will allow TheBron and his young ward, Daniel Gibson, to begin their handiwork from the first quarter forward on Tuesday – as each nets eight points in the opening period at The Q.

Tony Parker can’t get untracked, but unfortunately Michael Finley does. The Spurs lead at the half, but it’s by just a single point – 44-43.

The Spurs push their lead to five early in the second half, but Drew Gooden catches fire midway through the period, canning three straight jumpers and accounting for 10 of Cleveland’s 19 points in the period. The Cavaliers tie the score to end the quarter on Daniel Gibson’s three-pointer.

It’s nip-and-tuck throughout the fourth until Bruce Bowen clobbers TheBron on a drive to the hoop with the score tied 71-71. That’s all the young King needs to get his catecholamines released, with only his prefrontal cortex to keep him from a blinding rage.

FEAR THE BEARD!

The Rubber City Royalty goes on to score the Cavaliers' next eight points. The Spurs suddenly go cold and the rest of the squad feed off their leader’s intensity. The Large Lithuanian cans four straight free throws down the stretch and the Wine and Gold remain undefeated in Finals games at The Q with the 83-77 win.

Tonight the real Cavaliers show up for four quarters. Instead of a sense of panic, the Cavaliers find a sense of urgency. They choose focus over foolishness. And tonight, the young King realizes his greatness.

As for you people, I don’t want to hear about Cleveland curses. I want each and every one of you – whether you’re coming to The Q or not – to be ready to crush, kill and destroy.

Gird up your loins, Cavalier fans.

Let’s see that chest out and that head held high. Tonight, Cleveland shows the world what we’re all about. The trail from Heartbreak Kids to Heavyweight Champs begins in Game 3 on the corner of Huron and Ontario. The Cavaliers can’t win four games on Tuesday night. The Cavaliers can only win Tuesday night’s game on Tuesday night.

They have to.

Keep the faith, Cleveland.

Your pal,
The Optimist

COME ON, CAVS! ©1975

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