It was a low-scoring turnover affair to begin. Everybody had those game seven jitters. Luckily for Houston, they were at home.

The shots didn’t click for LA in the first half. We trailed ten at halftime, even though the Rockets looked terrible.

I’m just gonna say it right now: we ran out of gas. Every mother fucking media member can blow us – trust me, they didn’t think we’d beat the Spurs for a second. And absolutely no one has a clue except us just how much work that series and then this without Chris Paul were.

You don’t blow leads because of a stigma, a magic goat, or some gay ass curse. You fuck up when you stop playing good basketball, which is what happened over these last three games. We simply had nothing left in the tank.

We cut it down to three in the third quarter and Doc was rallying us. But, our defense didn’t sustain and it was back to fighting from behind. The lead reached almost 20, then finally, at the end of the game, we re-found our swagger and started killing it.

The Rockets started to crumble. If not for a phanton call on James Harden, maybe we win. The free throw disparity was atrocious, but yeah, NBA: you got your prima donnas. Nicely done.