The NBA Finals are incredible, no matter who tries to ruin them

What appears to be turning into an incredible Finals series receives a jolt of new energy.

Good morning. Did someone check on Mike Bloomberg? Don't let great-grandparents sit courtside when Josh Hart is loose! Let's basketball.

First thing's first: this is some incredible basketball. All three games of the NBA Finals have been really tight in the final minutes. The mood is tense all 48. Every substitution on both sides feel weighty. The timeouts are needed just to clear the adrenaline, albeit briefly. All Finals series feel tense because of the stakes, but sometimes the pressure clears more frequently due to lopsided games or a clear talent imbalance. There's no relief here, just the space between games. You can sense it in the players too, even though they'd surely not admit that this feels different. The Spurs, of course, had a series just like this last round, so their emotional regulation must be elite or totally screwed up. The basketball is high level, everyone in both gyms is amped out of their minds for it, and there's little more you could ask for.

It's Game 3 and these dudes are all already sick of each other.

Jalen Brunson, to his credit, let his game talk for the most part and had his best offensive performance of the series: 32 points on 11/25 shooting. The problem? Turnovers galore: Brunson had five, including a couple that he just threw away on miscommunication with O.G. Anunoby.

The other issue for the Knicks is that the Spurs finally had their offensive breakout once they went on the road. Game 1 was San Antonio's worst offensive performance of the postseason, and third worst in the entire season. Game 2 was the Spurs' third worst offensive performance of the postseason. In Game 3, they were excellent and balanced. Victor Wembanyama shrunk the degree of difficulty on his attempts to great effect.

It wasn't just Wembanyama, though. Stephon Castle was aggressive and hot early, and hit an all-time shot on a bail-out once the Spurs' clutch offense went sour. (Stephon Castle, a real New Yorker?)