Courtesy NBA

Clippers playoff games are hell. There's no shame or humility to these Clippers fans, because almost none of them were around when the Clippers were being shamefully humbled. They were Lakers fans, or Celtics fans, or Bulls fans, or they didn't really get into basketball until they took a job with William Morris and they got access to the company's luxury box. They're Showtime—but not like the Lakers, like the premium cable channel. They're more Hollywood Boulevard than Hollywood. Tinseltown's B-team stalks the court side seats—orange, defiantly buff 50-year-old men towing orange, astonishingly small 20-year-old women. I attended the game at Staples Center tonight. At halftime, a group of drunk rich white kids showed up in the seats next to me. They had just gotten to the game. One of the kids dabbed when DeAndre Jordan hit a free throw. That's the scene off-court at Staples Center.

The scene on the court at Staples Center was similarly gruesome for a Blazer fan. The Clippers set out to lock down Damian Lillard and CJ McCollum, and let the other three players on the court for Portland beat them. The Clipper's plan worked. Lillard broke out for 21 points, below his season average but still respectable, but McCollum managed only 9 points on 3-11 shooting. The backcourt was frustrated, but the front court was frustrating. It honestly looked like a wizard stole Mason Plumlee's ability to play basketball and is keeping it in an orb somewhere. Either the Blazers need to track down and perform an incantation on that orb, or they need to start hitting three point shots. Actually, they probably need to do both.

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Chris Paul is too good—he's a screaming toddler on the court, but a screaming toddler born to powerful gods. Blake Griffin is too locked in. He's gone from punching friends to punching the clock. JJ Redick is too... fucking JJ Redick. The Blazers need to play perfect, not all series, but just long enough to spin the Clippers dynamism into chaos. They're tall towers with shallow foundations. They don't like each other and they've collapsed before.

I hope they collapse again—and if they do, I promise not to dab.