The game -- or the vague, facile simulacrum the Utah Jazz just perpetrated in San Antonio -- has been over for two hours and I've been staring at a blank screen, trying to figure out what to write. I am sorely tempted to fill this page with sad gifs, eat my considerable body weight in peanut butter-filled pretzels, and go to bed. Honestly, I'm not ruling that out yet. You may want to scroll down now just to make sure it didn't happen. I won't judge you.
You know what else won't judge you? Peanut butter-filled pretzels.
So the game was really bad and I have almost nothing to say about it.