I had spent three days psychologically preparing myself for the possibility of the Warriors going down 0–2 in the Finals. This would be uncharted territory, and while not a death sentence necessarily, certainly a stiff challenge; but all the omens seemed to be pointing that way.

And at about 8:00 New Orleans time, it was looking like my preparation had been all too necessary — the Dubs were down a dozen and sinking, looking lost on both ends of the floor, scrambling on defense and unable to find shots on offense. I was watching on a smallish screen at a crawfish restaurant, slow-drinking double ryes and chanting my chosen words of self-comfort as despairing texts came in from my friend in Denver, the only fan I know who takes these things harder than I do.

But the W’s battled and scrapped and managed to pull the difference back to 5 at halftime, which seemed like something of a miracle. Then we had to relocate because the restaurant was fixing to close, and by the time we Lyfted to the Bayou Beer Garden and got in front of the screen, the Warriors were ahead by 5. I did a double-take and continued to goggle as the run ballooned to 18–0, turning a 5-point deficit into a 13-point lead.

The Raptors were now the ones looking lost, and the arena full of hopeful Canadians sat in stunned disbelief. My only regret is that I could not actually hear the eerie silence that settled over Toronto in those six glorious minutes.

Mind you, I have nothing against Canada, or Toronto, or even the Raptors per se — it’s not like the Houston Rockets, or the Clippers of old, or the Dallas Cowboys always. But they are the opponent, and so all warm neighborly feelings must be put aside for the nonce; diplomatic relations can be resumed once the series is over.

Which reminds me, His Obamaness was in the audience, which must have helped. He probably didn’t go to the visitors’ locker room at halftime and chant “Yes We Can” with the team, but I’d like to imagine that he did.

But what did actually happen? I’ve been trying to piece it together all day, and especially enjoyed this piece by ESPN’s Jackie McMullen:

The champions cranked into overdrive with such ferocity and cold-blooded efficiency, it was as if the Toronto Raptors were unsuspectingly mugged in a dark alley after midnight.

Never mind that the Golden State Warriors implemented the theft of these NBA Finals under the bright lights of the Scotiabank Arena in front of 19,800 incredulous witnesses wearing red shirts and the stupefied daze of a crowd that just had their wallets swiped. This is what coach Steve Kerr’s team does when it discovers its collective rhythm, feeding off a savage defense that clamps down with impunity, extracts turnovers and transforms them into transition artistry that douses the spirit of even the most resilient opponent.

It seemed that everybody chipped in — Andrew Bogut, Quinn Cook, Jonas Jerebko, and especially DeMarcus “Don’t Call Me Boogie” Cousins, who got the start and responded with 11 points, 10 rebounds, and 6 assists. And of course Old Pro Andre Iguodala, who got his head half taken off on a Marc Gasol screen in the first half, but was a key cog in the big run and then — after the Raptors had clawed it back to within two with seven seconds left in the game — found himself standing all alone behind the three-point line with the ball in his hands.

Watching Andre shoot is always an adventure. He’s quite capable of making them, and also quite capable of missing badly. You’re never quite sure which Andre you’re going to get.

But in this case it was the good Andre. The shot did a little pas-de-deux with the rim before finally dropping in, and that was that. The drunk Warriors fangirl near us who had been finding and taunting the Raptors boosters throughout the second half stepped it up a notch, and the Dub Nation breathed a big sigh of relief, knowing we’d gotten away with one.

Klay Thompson and Kevon Looney had sustained injuries of unknown severity along the way; Steph Curry had fought off flu-like symptoms and struggled mightily to put 23 points on the board; Iguodala was just plain beat up all over; and the status of Kevin Durant remained a question mark. Despite all that the series is tied 1–1, the next game is in Oakland, and today is a good day to be alive.