A couple months ago, some friends and I made plans to see the San Antonio Spurs when they were in town to play the Brooklyn Nets. Obviously, we weren't going for the opportunity to see the Nets' youths develop around the dubious veteran presence of Michael Porter Jr.; the draw was Victor Wembanyama. We wanted a first-person glimpse of the 7-foot-5 alien.
This plan settled on the edges of my mind until the conclusion of the NBA's All-Star break, after which it took on a new intensity. Beginning in mid-February, my brain regularly cycled through Wemby-centric thoughts as I went about my day-to-day: I hope I get to see Victor Wembanyama. I wonder how many sick dunks Victor Wembanyama will throw down. What's Victor Wembanyama doing right now? There was a brief moment of panic when I realized San Antonio was playing back-to-back nights on this Eastern road trip, with the stop in Brooklyn as the second leg. Would the Spurs rest him against the hapless Nets? Thankfully, they did not.
On Thursday night, I finally got to see Victor Wembanyama, and although he had a pedestrian game by his own standards—12 points, eight rebounds, no threes—it was still a riveting experience. The game, a 126-110 San Antonio win, was moments of Wembanyama doing something, or trying to do something, interrupted by some bullshit I wasn't there to see. A significant portion of the crowd felt the same way.
The Wemby highlights were scant but nonetheless impressive: In the first quarter, he blocked Porter at the rim; in the third quarter, he caught Devin Vassell's lob for an effortless dunk. Beyond that, the big French center collected free throws and often made the wise pass to an open teammate. He also took many a tumble. A friend remarked that when Wembanyama fell, it reminded him of a marionette that had its strings cut.
When watching a Spurs game on television, you can tell that Wembanyama looks so physically different than any other basketball player on the court, and I can confirm firsthand that the effect is not diminished when sitting in the upper level of Brooklyn's arena. Even in a shitty photo on an older phone, you can tell that something's off. I snapped a couple of pics during the game for my own memory, and in one of them, Wembanyama resembles some sort of positionless cryptid.
Zoom in, and the effect is even more striking. Without warning, a bass-boosted version of "Money Longer" might start playing in your head:
Then Wembanyama picked up his fifth foul and shortly afterward left early in the fourth quarter because the Nets were toast. Anyway, fun game.
