Derek Fisher's performance in Game 3 was inspiring. It inspired me to swear heavily, throw several things I was holding, and weep. That was
Write on the Funny!
But seriously (ugh, sorry), Fisher turned in the kind of late-game superprowess that brings to mind the past exploits of Reggie Miller and Robert Horry. These are the kinds of players who (excluding Miller, to some extent) are not superstars, but who are almost more feared than the Jordans or the Kobes when there are less than three minutes on the clock. They are guys whose value is rarely thought about until they, time and again, come through in the clutch and give their team a spark that is hard to control and nearly impossible to counter. Fisher has the added impact of emotional appeal, best displayed by his fourth quarter entrance after leaving his ill daughter's bed a few years back and his overjoyed post-game interview on Tuesday. Even when
talking about his own clutchness, he plays the role of Moral Orel.
The combination of this good-guy persona and the individual underdog triumph should make me love these players. Yet I often end up rooting against them more intensely than even the players who perform like this all the time. There are two major reasons for this, so far as I can tell.
