The Warrior still remains

STEVE KERR WALKED into the lobby of the Beverly Wilshire with a secret. Win or lose, he'd decided to retire as head coach of the Golden State Warriors. It was a Tuesday morning in mid-April, the day before the team's first postseason play-in game in Los Angeles. When this season ended, his 12-year run with the Golden State Warriors would end, too. In the airy hotel restaurant behind the concierge desk, Kerr gave his name and room number, 516 -- "Johnny Bench Joe Montana" -- and a hostess showed us to a table by the window. He looked around and lowered his voice.

"I think it's over," he said, almost mouthing the words. His sweatsuit separated him from the businessmen eating breakfast in suits and ties nearby. He put the odds at 95 percent. In the last few days he'd grown more certain. The waiter took his order, the California Breakfast. Normally he's cheerful as a sunrise but this morning he seemed melancholy. He was tired at the end of a disappointing season and mourning the fraying connections. A great basketball team stands on a shared feeling more than strategy or scouting. The team lives as long as the feeling lives and when it's gone, not only is it impossible to recapture, it's hard to even remember.

The waiter brought Kerr's eggs. Sitting in yet another hotel breakfast room at the end of yet another long season, he sifted through memories. Like the night Klay Thompson scored 37 points in a quarter, his teammates delirious at the sight of it, Steph Curry running up and down the sidelines as the crowd got louder and louder. "It felt like we were in the presence of God," Steve said, and when I asked why sometimes players reach a flow state, he said it was more than optimized mechanics.