Men's Health June 4, 2026 0 Comments

Inside the NBA Finals: Why Victor Wembanyama’s Obsession Could Change Basketball Forever—And What It Means for Your Game

Victor Wembanyama isn’t just your average basketball prodigy — no, this 7’4″ French phenom is straight-up otherworldly, an alien in the truest sense. Watching him on the court feels like witnessing a carefully crafted wish come to life: a lock-down paint defender who drains stepback threes with Steph Curry-like precision and redirects passes with an almost supernatural flair. But here’s the real kicker — how does a guy with such an unearthly skill set fit into a Spurs team that, until recently, nobody pegged to be anywhere near the NBA Finals, let alone this early? With the Spurs defying all expectations, surging from a predicted 16th place finish to NBA Finals contenders in just Wembanyama’s third season, one can’t help but wonder — is this just talent, or something a little more like magic? As fans clamor for glory, fueled by obsession and hope, and Wemby himself finds solace in a horror flick about obsession, the NBA Finals are shaping up to be more than just a game; it’s a fascinating dance between dreams made real and the price they might exact. Curious to dive deeper into this surreal journey? LEARN MORE

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VICTOR WEMBANYAMA IS a sicko. The 22-year-old, 7’4″ French phenom is—as rightly described by his nickname—an alien. Everything about his basketball ability strains belief. The way he locks down the paint, shoots stepback threes like he’s Steph Curry, and changes the trajectory of a pass is nothing short of otherworldly. So much of his skill set is atypical for his frame that there are moments in which his preternatural ability seems like it could only be possible if someone had wished him into being. He, frequently, seems not of this reality.

I thought about so many of these competing ideas as I headed down to San Antonio in the early part of this week to attend game 1 of the NBA Finals. This Spurs team was not supposed to be here, and certainly not this early. To wit: ESPN’s preseason ranking had the Texas team placed sixteenth of thirty, with a projected win total of 41.8 and a 7.1 percent chance to make the playoffs. Anchored by Wemby, with breakout seasons by Stephon Castle and Dylan Harper to go along with the steady presences of De’Aaron Fox and Devin Vassell, the team finished the regular season with 62 wins before going on to beat Oklahoma City, the defending NBA champions, and clinch an NBA Finals berth. To be this far ahead of schedule, during Wemby’s third year in the NBA, also feels like something wished into reality.

Moments before boarding my flight, the news broke that Wemby, in the midst of prepping for the Finals, rented out a movie theater to take his teammates to see director Curry Barker’s new movie, Obsession. The film orients itself around a simple, yet rich idea: Bear (Michael Johnston) loves his friend Nikki (Inde Navarrette), but is too afraid to ask her out. Instead, he wishes for her to love him back on a magic stick he finds at a local shop called the One Wish Willow. The situation quickly becomes a Monkey’s Paw-esque situation, as Bear gets more than he bargained for with his wish. Nikki becomes, as hinted at by its title, completely obsessed with Bear to the point where she can’t even function without him or let him live his life without her. It’s a simple idea, executed to haunting perfection. The notion of Wembanyama deciding to see a horror movie, let alone this one, as a calm-down after the stress of defeating the Thunder is absolutely in line with his sicko mentality. There are many horror fans, myself included, who looked at this news and declared—either through social media or to their group chats—“he just like me fr.”

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Victor Wembanyama during game 1 of the 2026 NBA Finals.

What if, however, we presuppose a deeper meaning to Wemby’s logic for screening the movie? To get this far requires a level of commitment or determination to the craft that is obsessive. But the very notion that someone could be so singularly minded about achieving something that they’re willing to devote themself to it is very much in line with how Wemby approaches the sport. Fandom, in so many ways, comes at the intersection of delusion and hope. There are fans on both the Knicks’ and Spurs’ sides who would easily snap a One Wish Willow and deal with the consequences if it translated into a guaranteed championship win.

I thought about all of this as I watched game 1 unfold at the Frost Bank arena on Wednesday night. There are a lot of fulfilled wishes (so to speak) lingering in the air for both fan bases. The Knicks are trying to win their first title since 1973 (!), in their first Finals appearance since 1999. If you were to ask a Knicks fan, they’d probably say at some point or another that they felt cursed, with the odds forever stacked against them.

Meanwhile, the Spurs, as I mentioned, are far ahead of schedule in a season that feels as if it was conjured by a One Wish Willow (or, perhaps, a magic Corgi). I know I certainly hoped I’d get to see Wemby in the Finals at some point during his career. But the notion of it happening this soon and the fact I’d get to attend makes me wonder if I found a Willow of my own somewhere. The excitement lingered in the air—or perhaps that was the city’s humidity that crept in post-rain—but the city was humming. Spurs flags fluttered in the wind or were affixed to the sides of buildings. The bar I visited on Tuesday night featured a substantial number of Spurs hats and shirts. The hotel concierges were decked out in Spurs fiesta shirts as my wife and I headed to Frost Bank on Wednesday. As we got closer to Frost Bank, that momentum burst forth; fans were yelling in the parking lot. A father and his young son (who couldn’t have been more than just a few years old, if anything, when the Spurs won in 2014) fist bumped after walking through security.

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Inde Navarette and Michael Johnston in Obsession.

Inside, there was a sea of teal, orange, and pink—a cadre of free Fiesta-colored shirts provided to (and highly encouraged to wear) by the organization. As we rounded the 100 level, the Spurs Jackals, a group of mega fans personally recruited by Wemby to mimic the energy of European football leagues, put on quite a show, hollering and banging drums. One, dressed like an alien, was particularly vocal. Merchandise lines stretched on, seemingly forever. As we eventually took our seats, the crowd noise swelled, exploding with energy at the start of the game, matched only by the sea of Fiesta colors which added more vibrancy to the environment. Sitting near the top of the arena didn’t matter; being in the building was so electric that it felt like I was courtside.
But as we see with Bear and Nikki in Obsession, getting what you want isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. Might the result of that wish result in a Finals appearance, only to get bounced by this Knicks team? After a great game that ebbed and flowed just like you’d want the Finals to, the Spurs seemingly fell apart in the final moments. If you were to look at the box score, Wemby’s 26 points, 12 rebounds, 2 assists, and 3 blocks read like a good stat line. But he should have been more dominant, especially in those final four minutes or so. The cherry on top of a less than stellar performance was a turnover off his foot—a moment that felt unbelievably deflating in the arena, ultimately signaling a Knicks victory.
That New York crowd, which traveled well for this first game, certainly thinks they’ve got this in the bag; a hearty group of fans exited the 200 level last night to chants of “Knicks in Four” before they somehow got hold of a Spurs cap and started stomping on it. The resulting energy manifested a Sidetalk-esque circle of filming and, uh, eager shouting. Despite this particular group, the majority of Knicks fans I encountered on the way were good sports and looked forward to a long, competitive series. The loss didn’t curb my enthusiasm for what was otherwise an electric atmosphere; it was an amazing night that only needed a Spurs win to become an otherwise perfect grace note.

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Wemby battled with Knicks star Karl-Anthony Towns throughout Game 1 of the Finals.

I’m sure Wemby wishes he played better. In fact, I know he did. “I was bad tonight,” he told the press in his postgame availability. “It’s not more complicated than that.” Defensively, the Alien was much more effective, altering a handful of shots and looking much more dominant in the first half than in the second when he seemingly appeared to stall out, especially on the offensive side. A few big plays down the stretch helped, but otherwise an uncharitable reading (though perhaps not wrong) of his performance might mirror the moment in Obsession when Bear tells Nikki to stand still—and she does, to her detriment, as she literally refuses to move from her spot while he’s at work for the day. It’s a haunting image in a film full of them—and Wemby’s offensive troubles in this game might make for an equally disturbing signpost if the Spurs end up losing this series.

Obsession doesn’t end well. That kind of passion, the movie argues, is so massive that it can’t ultimately sustain itself without dramatic consequences. For the loser of this series, it’s going to feel as heart-wrenching as Obsession’s end. But the thing about Wemby’s sicko nature is that I know he’ll bounce back. I anticipate him, as the Spurs have done all postseason, to answer the bell in a dramatic fashion in the next game. Where this series goes after that is anyone’s guess. But there are all kinds of wishes lingering in the air about who should win this series. And it very well may come down to who is obsessed enough about it to get the job done.

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William Goodman is a freelancer writer, focused on all things pop culture, tech, gadgets, and style. He’s based in Washington, DC and his work can also be found at Robb Report, Complex, and GQ. He’s yet to meet a jacket or cardigan he didn’t love. In his free time, he’s probably on Twitter (@goodmanw) or at the movies.