You know, when I was younger I used to be a good tennis player. Started when I was young, may have even been my first sport, or right there with soccer, long before I took up football and basketball. Played it into college. I remember one summer I was playing local tournaments, and I had won a couple, and went into a tournament late int he summer ranked either #2 or #3. Forget which. Do remember being insulted that I was expected to lose in the semi's to this big guy with a big forehand ranked lower than me, so I ran him ragged and forced him to retire with cramps 2 1/2 hours into the match on a 100 degree day. Anyway, #1 seed was a lefty I had seen play but never faced. First, I always hated playing lefties. Second, he was better than me. I knew it going in. I could feel it in warmups. But it was the Finals, there was a small crowd, I had my pride, and so I came out the first set firing. And so did he. It was actually one of the best sets of tennis I was ever involved in. There were some great points. I smoked some big winners, I had my Boris Becker diving onto the ground game going which crowds always got a kick out of. It was fun, it was entertaining. Except for this little fact: I was losing. I don't remember whether it ended up 3-6 or 4-6, but either way, I played some of the best tennis of my life, and he was still a little better. I hit it hard, he hit it harder. And really, that wasn't me. That was my ego, but I was always a tactical player. And so I sat there between sets, and I came to a decision. I could either keep on going that way, have a fun, fast, hard hitting loss which would entertain. Or I could get smart and try to think my way out of it. So I came out in the second set, and I took all the pace out of the ball. I hit underspins, topspin lobs, moonballs, drop shots, but absolutely nothing that would let him get in any rhythm. And I found weakness on his backhand. If I hit a big heavy moonball to that side, he couldn't handle it if it kicked up around his shoulder. The match got really really ugly, but ugly was always where I lived, and so I dinked and I lobbed and chose erratic points to suddenly serve and volley, and I completely mucked up the game. More importantly I completely mucked up his game. I couldn't outhit him, so instead I did everything in my power to never give him anything in rhythm. And it worked. 3 sets later, I won. I won ugly, but I won. It wasn't about ego. It wasn't about style. It wasn't about being better than him. It was about doing absolutely exactly the opposite of what my opponent wanted to do, and it was about winning. Vivek and his toadies, and possibly even Corbin if he's bent over for him, should consider that lesson.
If you play the Golden State Warriors, and you run, you lose. You might get style points, we did not even get those, but you might. But you lose. You might entertain, we did not, but you might. But you lose. So unless you're an idiot you don't do that. Not when you have one of the league's great muck up the game options in your lineup. No, you play the Warriors, you should be doing absolutely everything in your power to make the game absolutely fugly, rhythmless, and paceless. You should be slugging it out, getting to the line, intentionally fouling them to stop breaks. Calling timeouts on any run, running the shotclock down, pounding it inside, and if you've got it in you, flipping in and out of zone defenses to boot. You should be doing absolutely everything in your power to muck up the game, and make them uncomfortable and unhappy to be there. You want to make it miserable. And out of that misery, maybe you can steal one. But running up and down the court with them going "wheeee!!!"? Yelling "push it push it"? That's asinine. That's style over substance. That's ideology over practicality. And in the end, that's losing.