Check out Andre Roberson at 1:46.
Expertly trained government-certified lipreaders (like me) will quickly be able to tell what he’s saying, but for those of you who aren’t gifted in the art of soundless speech decipherization: “Come on coach.”
I can understand his frustration. If I was busy making Kawhi Leonard’s MVP candidacy look like a pathetic joke, I wouldn’t want to get taken out of the game until the final buzzer sounded, preferring to remain in so that I could see the disappointment written all over his stupid cornrowed face. I’d walk up to him and shake his hand and say “good game” and stuff, pretending to be all nice, but he and I would both know the reality of the situation: his team has been eliminated by my actions, and he is, officially, my own personal bitchslave, now and forever.
Instead, Billy Donovan robbed Roberson of that satisfaction, and he has to be content with his almost-career-high performance in an elimination game while matched up against one of the elite players in the league. Oh well.