Last night, the Minnesota Timberwolves were supposed to play the San Antonio Spurs in Mexico City for a regular season matchup. However, the game ended up getting postponed when smoke mysteriously started filling the arena.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AyUrup9d4yA

While it was too bad that the teams weren’t able to play a fascinating matchup in a foreign market to help to continue the NBA’s globalization push, I feel like there is more to this story than meets the eye. What caused this strange, seemingly Snoop-Dogg-Conjured cloud of smoke? Was it actually a “short-circuit in the room of generators” as the arena management team would have us believe? Or was there something else afoot?

Here are some of the best theories I have for what really caused the smoky haze to form over the court in Mexico City.

Theory #1: Manu Ginobili bought a cheap Mexican weave to try to cover his bald spot and, having been made out of highly flammable fibers and illegal chemicals, it spontaneously combusted.

Manu ignored the one cardinal rule of visiting Mexico City that all the travel brochures and TV specials advise against: don’t ever try to solve your male-pattern baldness problems in a wig shop hidden deep within the bowels of the Barrio. It cost him. While, for one brief and shining moment, he looked like Fabio with a left jump shot, his scalp and his team paid the price.

Theory #2: Both teams were on a plane that crashed on a mysterious island that was inhabited by Others, underground scientists, and smoke monsters that like to ruin our chances at a decent mid-week NBA matchup.

Fortunately for these Lost players, they will probably have another chance to play the game in this reality, another one, or against themselves in the year 1977. Confused yet? Me, too. (*Author’s note: What the hell was going on when those guys were writing Lost?)

Theory #3: After whiffing on a team high-five, a violent beard-on-beard-on-beard collision occurred at center court involving Kevin Love, Nikola Pekovic, and Ricky Rubio’s faces. The resulting stubble-friction caused a napalm like explosion of heat and flame that ignited into a furnace blast. (*Author’s note: as displayed below in this highly scientific recreation)

It’s a widely held belief that the Minnesota Timberwolves might be the most bearded team of the last 15-20 years. While this puts them at the top of the league with 2.5 memes per 100 possessions, it also leaves them susceptible to the occasional beard-fire. It comes with the territory, Minnesota fans. I’m sure we can all agree that one postponed game and some emphysema scarred lungs are totally worth it.

Theory #4 Someone left the upstairs window cracked at the stadium.

The air quality in Mexico City is, how shall I put this, not so good. In fact, it’s essentially the same quality as putting on one of those bong gas masks and filling that bad boy up to the eye-holes with a dumpster fire. I’m guessing someone just forgot to close that damn upstairs window again and a draft blew in some crisp, December air.

Theory #5: The T-Wolves signed Lamar Odom to a 5 day deal, “just to see how things might play out.”

Shockingly, Lamar showed up to the game with a fat baggie of Mexican grass, his old Jailblazer attitude, and more paid-for-by-the-pound candy than anyone on the Timberwolves’ staff had ever seen. After being detained at the border (*Author’s note: because he’s Lamar Odom and he probably gets “randomly searched” every time he leaves Khloe Kardashian’s driveway let alone any time he tries to pass through a US Customs checkpoint) Lamar didn’t have as much time to blaze some of his newfound Mexican sticky icky and decided to have a couple quick puffs near the court. He should’ve puff, puff, passed, but, as usual, he found himself hogging.

Theory #6: A furious Gregg Popovich super-heated a sideline reporter to critical mass with laser beams that shot from his eyes, melting his soul and creating a human supernova.

We can all agree on two things: 1) Gregg Popovich is most likely an alien sent down from outer space to win 50 games a year with an ever-revolving cast of foreigners and Tim Duncan. And 2) He hates doing interviews with sideline reporters. He makes Bill Belichick and Bo Pelini seem like gushing tweenagers sharing their deepest secrets with their BFFs at a slumber party while making friendship bracelets. When asked for the 5 trillionth time how he was planning on managing Tim Duncan’s minutes during a short rest week, Popovich was no longer able to contain his inner Voltronian death rays and they shot from his eyes in a moment of extraterrestrial weakness. Sorry he’s not sorry, earthlings. Enjoy your lungfuls of human ash, arena staff.

So what really happened that fateful night in Mexico City? We may never know. The cover up is dark and deep. But we do know this: we’re onto you, David Stern. And we will be watching.

FIN