Part of following the Nets all year long has meant that while I could decide to live my life, the Brooklyn Nets also exist, and continue playing games regardless of my personal schedule. Were I not bound to this column, I could act like a normal person, spend a day in Westchester with my wife and daughter, and merely catch up with the scores on my phone in the small refractory moments of relief after she had passed out for her daily nap. But seeing the score would mean knowing the outcome. And once you know the outcome, can you really enjoy watching to see how it all shook out? Or will you just use it as an excuse to lay on the FFWD button in an attempt to get this over with.

And then at 5:30 pm, I get the text from a friend and longtime reader.

Well, damn.

Well, damn can mean anything. It could mean a 40 point blowout, or a buzzer beater. I told him that I was DVRing the game and don’t know what happens, and he said he’d just checked the final score. But now it was burrowed into my mind.

When I was in college, I had a friend who was kind of an idiot, but a good guy. A drummer who had gotten over a whole rave phase, and had battled with addictions to ecstasy and ketamine. The kind of guy who had a tongue stud and mentioned that he used to let guys go down on him for money, even though let’s face it, he’s the guy with the tongue stud. I don’t know if any of these details are pertinent to the story, but they do paint a picture, do they not? Anyway, he’d just watched the classic M. Night Shyamalan movie Unbreakable, and before I saw it, he’d assured me that he wouldn’t ruin the movie, but that the twist ending was fucking sick, man. This was before everybody picked up on the fact that MNS was prone to twist endings, but knowing that there would be one, I was able to suss out that the comic book expert who frequently described all villains as having looked pretty much exactly as him, was really the secret bad guy. Knowing there was a twist ending, ruined the ending. I never told him I figured it out. The guy got oddly emotional over the slightest shit, and I didn’t want it to accidentally become a thing. Have you ever had a guy with chest glitter poke you in the ribs and accuse you of not being a real friend? I have. I got to give it up to him though, the guy was a pretty mean drummer.

Anyway, I got home having successfully tuned out any radio banter that might have mentioned the results of the game, parallel parked into a space that I should not have been able to fit into, put my daughter to bed, and watched the game with my dad, who came down for Easter to check out the new apartment. Did you all watch the game? It was pretty intense.

The Nets decided to dedicate roughly 25% of their plays to guys attempting to lob Jarrett Allen alley oops. Sometimes they went down. Other times they did not. After a while it kind of got to be predictable, but Jarrett Allen really doesn’t have many offensive moves so it’s kind of the only way to feed the 7 footer. There was no Ed Davis. Rodions Kurucs was said to be available off the bench, but I never saw him. Instead I saw an odd amount of action from Jared Dudley (No offense meant. I really, really like Jared Dudley), DeMarre Carroll, Rondae Hollis-Jefferson, and of course my favorite, Treveon Graham. It’s not ideal if your goal is to even a series, but the Nets stayed in it. A part of me hoped that “Well, damn.” meant that the Nets had blown them out of the goddamn water, but as enough time passed, I knew that wouldn’t be the case. I feared that Philly might blow them out of the water, but again, those fears subsided.

Then in the 3rd quarter there was a fiiiiiiiight. Sort of. I mean, punches weren’t actually thrown. But people got shoved. I know. Serious business. How did we get here?

Well noted piece of trash Joel Embiid threw down a pretty hard foul on Jarrett Allen, a guy he’d previously elbowed in the goddamn mouth and was unable to get through apologizing to through the media without laughing. You know, as one does. Anyway, if it were anybody else, doing it to anybody else, I would have argued that he was committing a hard foul while making a play on the ball. But given that Embiid is a noted shithawk, Jared Dudley took exception and bumped him. After the play was blown dead. Fuuuuuuuck. Then Jimmy Butler crashed into him, a bunch of guys fell down, and fouls were assessed. Embiid got the usual Flagarant 1, Jimmy Butler and Jared Dudley got ejected. All in all, that’s a pretty good trade as far as Brooklyn should be concerned. For all I knew that’s what “Well, damn.” could have meant.

But in my heart I knew that it wasn’t. The Nets never used the Butler-free stretch to stake out any real advantage. They hovered about 6 points in front, letting Philly lurk. I knew something was going to happen. And in my heart, I knew how it would end. With a dagger. And as Philly inbounded the ball with 25 seconds, down one, I knew something bad was coming. A quick three put the Nets down two with 18 to play. The Nets were a team built for a three. “Well, damn.” did not mean they were going to OT. It meant that it was going down right now. Would they fire off a three to win the game and even the series?

They would not. Jarrett Allen got the ball way too far away from the rim to do anything good, turned the ball over with four seconds to go, and the Nets lost the game.

After the game, Embiid and Butler laughed at Jared Dudley in the press conference, with Joel calling him a nobody. See, there’s the reality to confronting a bully. Sometimes you take a stand only to get savaged anyway. Sometimes all the fight and heart and want and grit doesn’t mean a damn thing when faced with talent and physicality. Even if that means that the bad guys win.

Well, damn.

The Brooklyn Nets trail the Philadelphia 76ers 3-1 in the first round of the Eastern Conference playoffs.