Ask me what a coyote has to do with a spur, and my answer will be, “I haven’t the slightest idea.” In this scenario, it was no matter, because the San Antonio Spurs’ mascot, The Coyote, donned the cape and cowl and bravely ventured onto the court to capture a bat in the middle of Saturday’s game.
That’s right. A gangly wing-ed beast non-humanoid not named Victor Wembanyama took center stage at Frost Bank Center in San Antonio.
Fairly efficient work here by Coyote Batman to only cause about a minute-long stoppage in game play:
I feel like Spurs fans could’ve actually used a longer break from the action. Watching this f*cking eyesore pathetic excuse for a team with an absolute cheeks roster other than Wemby try to compete with the Western Conference co-leading Timberwolves couldn’t be easy.
Like most things to do with this franchise, Ginobili is a relic of a bygone era of glory, but in this particular instance, I’m totally fine with San Antonio relishing its past in a nostalgic fog of ennui.
That’s because once upon a time, before Coyote Batman was doing his thing, it fell on the classy, professional basketball players like Ginobili to take care of the Spurs’ apparent perpetual bat problem.
The reflexes on this man. That’s arguably as quick as Ginobili ever moved on a basketball court. He always seemed to slo-mo Euro step his way into the lane more than blow by dudes. Whatever, I’m not here to talk smack about Ginobili. Dude is a four-time NBA champion and a key cog in the Spurs’ dynasty, not to mention an A-plus one-man bat pest control team.
Maybe this is the universe trying to remind me to respect my elders, not sh*t on the Spurs and pretend like the past decade-ish of Gregg Popovich’s otherwise-legendary tenure as Spurs coach never happened. Alas, I can’t do that.
What I can do is applaud the real MVP of the 2023-24 San Antonio Spurs, Coyote Batman. That’s what a real hero on the hardwood looks like. They even had the Adam West Batman theme song playing in the background. Incredible stuff.
Most people who experience the Spurs bats for the first time ask: “everyone just sits around and watches a mascot dressed in a batman costume chase it?”
The answer is yes. You’d want an experienced professional handling this, wouldn’t you?
If only Wemby’s teammates could do their jobs as proficiently. Or if only Popovich and R.C. Buford didn’t rest on their laurels so aggressively hard that they might have decent players around the rookie phenom to make the team, you know, somewhat relevant.
Guess I wasn’t done going off on the Spurs. Oops. Sorry that I’m not sorry. Wasting any season of Wemby’s feels like a crime against humanity and a slight to the basketball gods who gifted him to you in the first place. That’s all.