Oklahoma City Thunder center Steven Adams is somehow anchoring the manic intensity of his teammates, providing a baseline of unshakable defense in the Western Conference Finals.
Steven Adams is not changing your baby girl’s diapers. Not anymore.
Steven Adams is thoroughly inside the head of Golden State’s Draymond Green, providing Green a proverbial dose of his own bitter medicine.
Steven Adams is not capable of stopping that incessant hammering noise outside your window.
Steven Adams is an impossibly agile human obstacle, which prompted Green to kick Adams in the nether region. Some claim this was accidental or inadvertent. Either way, it altered the balance of the series by uniting the Thunder faithful in a “Kick Him Out!” chorus, possibly deflating Green’s confidence, forcing the NBA media world to debate Green’s intentions, becoming the controversial sports topic du jour after Game 3.
Steven Adams is not going to return your lost library books.
Steven Adams is a stream of thick mud, arms flailing, clogging up the interior passing of Warriors big men.
Steven Adams is not an antipodean wandering albatross, one of New Zealand’s endangered species.
Steven Adams is a rare, but not endangered, species.
Steven Adams is not a licensed therapist, though he is clearly a young zen-master.
Steven Adams is the youngest of a family of giant, perhaps mythological, New Zealanders.
Steven Adams is not really of this planet, though New Zealand does exist, in an otherworldly sort of way.
Steven Adams is the enigmatic sorcerer of this year’s NBA playoffs.
Steven Adams is not willing to share his secret sorcery recipes, not even the homeopathic one you can make with ingredients from Walgreens’ first aid aisle.
Steven Adams is doing damage to the Warriors’ collective psyche; more damage than stats are able to measure (psychological torture is not yet in the box score).
Steven Adams is not a biscuit dipped in a cup of loose leaf Jasmine tea.
Steven Adams is a damn good biscuit, though.
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