If you really want to understand the mindset of a great competitor, watch him in the moments right before the game begins. Not during the ritual dances and handshakes, but right before tipoff, after all the media moments, the electrifying video on the Jumbotron, the flamethrowers and strobe lights. Watch his transformation, from pregame entertainer to cold-blooded assassin.

View photos Never mind the pregame dances, Russell Westbrook is locked in. (AP) More

No emotion. Whatever he’s feeling – if he’s feeling anything at all – stays under the surface; no ripples, no waves … a silent storm moving in, threatening and dark. He’s not worried about his opponent. He has nothing to worry about. He’s not thinking about what he’s going to do, he’s not thinking at all. He just does it.

You have no idea what’s coming now, until the game starts, he explodes into action, and it’s too late to do anything but wonder what the hell just happened.

That was Kevin Durant and Russell Westbrook in Game 4, as they dominated the Golden State Warriors. As their games got hotter, their expressions grew colder. No whooping or hollering, no towel waving, no drama. One steady emotion, no highs or lows. You kicked our butts and disrespected us all season? No problem. We got this.

In this NBA postseason, where it’s difficult to tell the superheroes from the underdogs, mental edge is now everything. If you’re seriously working on ways to intimidate the other guy by getting in his head, you’re too late: he’s already in yours. And once you’ve allowed the enemy to set up shop in your head, you’ve given up some very valuable real estate that’s extremely hard to take back.

When you’re totally focused on what you have to do, you’re not thinking about the other guy. You want him to fear you? Do it with your performance, and you don’t have to say a single word. Because you never know if the things you say or do to motivate yourself and your team end up motivating your opponent instead.

Did Kyle Lowry show mental weakness with his spontaneous trip to the locker room in Game 2, or did he do whatever was necessary for him to regain control and win the next two games at home? When Draymond Green’s shoe connected with Steven Adams’ shorts, who ultimately paid the price (OK, other than Adams)? Did it intimidate the Thunder or cause an unmanageable distraction for the Warriors? When Kevin Love sat during the fourth quarter of Games 3 and 4, when Steph Curry and Klay Thompson can’t make their shots, when a team falls behind by 30-plus points, that’s not about skill; no one forgot how to play basketball over the weekend. It’s about control, pressure, mental toughness.

Pressure makes diamonds, but it can also bust pipes. When Kobe Bryant texts Draymond to say, “If making history was easy, why bother?” how does that affect him, knowing one of the all-time greats is watching and waiting to see what he does? Not everyone responds the same way: It can elevate your game, or drive you to madness.

Does the pressure of playing home or away help or hurt? Everyone likes to believe that teams get energy and an emotional lift by playing at home in front of their own fans, but that energy can drive the visiting team as well. Great teams aren’t intimidated by it; they want to silence that crowd. Winning at home feels great, but winning in the other guys’ house shows ultimate competitive dominance.

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