From a text written in antiquity:
BOOK XXXI
I have reached the end of the Super Wars; and this gives me a feeling of great satisfaction, as if I myself had shared in the winnings and accolades. I have in these many years attempted to account the entire history of the Golden State, its fledgling beginnings at the wolf’s teat, its rapid rise, and its steadiness at the world’s helm. Therefore, it would ill become me to show exhaustion in the separate sections of this great undertaking.
And yet the several championships since the First Super War in 2015 to the last, in recent memory, have taken up many podcasts and blogs as the 73 years from the foundation of the league to the consulship of Stephen Curry and his initial hostilities against Cleveland and that city’s former king to the years even beyond Curry’s absence when his brood continued to march under his watery banners; and when this fact dawns on me, I feel like someone who has been introduced to the shallow ripples of some mighty torrent, or an ever-advancing sea. I picture myself being led toward vaster win counts and higher shooting percentages, to open spaces that are always more open than previously imagined, to the end of time itself. And, when exploration on the brink appears impossible, the expansion of the empire’s power prompts me to proceed.
As the old world waned, the Golden State intervened in San Antonio. The departure of past leaders left a void, and Kawhi of the big hands could not wield the emptiness. His aim was to break up the Golden State confederacy by victories in the field, and perhaps no commander could have come closer to victory against such a flawless opponent. Yet his army’s chances stood on a cracked foundation, and while he would continue to limp into battle, his military, archaic and unallied, never stood so much of a chance as it did in the outset of the Super Wars.
Thus, having dispensed with their Western enemies, the Golden State turned East, to the rising sun and a vast sum of weaker opponents.
The peace with Cleveland was not a peace — it was a slaughter. The Machiavellian Prince slew LeBron and established a kingdom to the north, among the remnants of past empires. The Golden State sent its armies and crushed this kingdom too, even as it minted itself anew. In the years that would follow, challenges arose from Washington and Milwaukee, but they too failed to breech the city where the bridge men counted their coin and boycotted power.
In the coming years, no one came so close to tearing down the gates as LeBron had atop his elephants, Tristan and Love. But those moments were in the early years of the Super Wars, before the world bowed to the Golden State. Never again would the future be in question. Instead, the future would always be written, as fate, too, fell under the ownership of the men in blue and gold.
Now the Warriors found their hands free, as a result of razing Cleveland’s youthful stores and tormenting the mature Giannis. They were, however, angered by the perceived threat on the already once-broken plains. And, as they always did, they bought lesser kings with vast quantities of digital coin and promises of a winning culture. When Paul George joined their ranks, the plains became twice-broken. Hence, Westbrook became a running joke: West-broken. The Golden State prided itself on its humor and acumen, but even more so its ability to absorb former rivals into the realms of its kingdom.
James Harden, also known as the Bearded King, declared war on the Golden State, calling for reinforcements from the City of Angels. Chris Paul arrived, but their fate was the same as the Clevelanders, San Antonians, and Oklahomans. And, as his brethren before him, the Bearded King accepted a demotion in order to be part of the winning, stranding Chris Paul and his banana boat navy alone on treacherous waters with no partners for commerce.
When LeBron’s son found his way to Cleveland, some senators of the empire argued the Super Wars had started anew. But they were wrong. Guided by the aging King and the shadows of his former glory, the young Junior prepared to attack the Golden State at two points: its aging guards. Yet they seized the initiative, wizened by many previous battles and a constant stream of new allies and dealt the would-be-king’s armies a devastating defeat. And soon all roads led to the Chase Center, which stood in place of the old Oracle, as if no other destination had ever existed.
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Whenever a potential Spartacus or Jesus of Nazareth arose, the Golden State offered him a throne beside the likes of Stephen, Klay, Draymond, and Kevin. They were the mightiest and strongest of men, much stronger than those we have today, so strong that greatness flocked to them like moths around a flame—and the whole world burned in their might, too in awe to feel the heat. We should be so lucky.
Note: Some sentences are adapted from the Penguin Classics edition of Livy’s Rome and the Mediterranean.
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