Most Americans believe we lost the Battle of the Alamo, because educators hate America. They are wrong.
The following is a collection of accounts revealing what really happened that fateful day in 1836, and the men that made it happen.
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Antonio Borgnini, PF
22 MIN | 3-8 FG | 4-4 FT | 3 REB | 1 AST | 0 STL | 1 BLK | 2 TO | 10 PTS | +19
b. 1807, Italy. Not a soul knew of the Roman’s story, short of his name and birthplace. His gait was awkward, as were his abilities in hopscotch, in which he would partake apropos of nothing at all. Mysteriously, Colonel Woodson chose to place Borgnini in the vanguard on the Western Wall, where he was last seen aiming his rifle backwards, before abandoning it and running, arms flailing, into the charging army, who out of sheer confusion did not slay him. He was found the next morning, three leagues from said post, hair tussled and a strange smile about his face, clothes in tatters. He would later return to this native country to become King of Rome, a position which he manned for two weeks, before the city was sacked, its defenses having abandoned their posts after not being paid an honest wage. |
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Carlton Anthony, SF
39 MIN | 10-20 FG | 5-5 FT | 12 REB | 4 AST | 1 STL | 1 BLK | 3 TO | 27 PTS | +10
b. 1806, New York. Expert rifleman, first served his country during the Second War with Britain, aged six years, as was the custom. Conducted himself honorably, and found his conscription retained in perpetuity. Came to Texas on furlough to make money in the dirt farming trade. However he would enter into contests of sport on week-ends, and was known to bag dozens of quails in a Saturday session. Having successfully recovered from a severe sickness, sustained after eating raw barking squirrel, Anthony’s valiant heroics were second only to Emmanuel Shumpert’s, and consisted of entire regiments done in by rifle fire and a most deft manning of the cannonade from various perches about the highest façade. His shot was quick, his aim true, his temperment even. A hero’s hero if ever there was one, although it was recommended that his beard be trimmed, so as not to appear as patches of sticker burs. |
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Thaddeus Chandler, C
22 MIN | 2-5 FG | 0-0 FT | 6 REB | 0 AST | 0 STL | 1 BLK | 0 TO | 4 PTS | +5
b. South Carolina, 1805. A close aid of Colonel Jim Bowie, who imparted upon Chandler skills of both battle and charm. Sadly, a bout of tricks with the Bowie knife the night before the engagement had ended with Chandler’s leg being stabbed rather deeply with the knife, which he left there for lack of adequate medical supplies. This injury severely hampered his services, although many would acknowledge his rousing pre-battle speech, in which Chandler marked a line in the sand and asked all who would heed their Patriot’s duty to cross it. All but one did. Jebediah Smith was eventually dragged across, having consumed too much agave root. |
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Benodictus Udrih, PG
32 MIN | 4-9 FG | 2-2 FT | 2 REB | 7 AST | 1 STL | 0 BLK | 2 TO | 10 PTS | +7
b. 1804, Ilyrian Provinces. Born to a rocksmith, arrived in Boston upon a dolphining vessel. Would make a considerable fortune fashioning sturdy boots that left the wearer virtually immobile, though sound of footing. This put him into favor with the Army, who admired the Cossack’s ingenuity, and brought him West. Had to be awoken from a deep slumber during the first hours of engagement, but came to and quickly served a most notable purpose. Eventually felled five Mexicans, all of whom he filleted with a bayonet taken from one of the dead, a feat which earned him the nickname “Appache of the Slavs.” He also tended to many wounded, using the mysterious salve with which his Caesarian hair was made so pointed. |
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Emmanuel Shumpert, SG
31 MIN | 10-13 FG | 1-1 FT | 6 REB | 1 AST | 3 STL | 0 BLK | 2 TO | 27 PTS | +10
b. 1813, Western Territory. Poet by education and soldier by inclination. Came to Texas during the Great Beef Migration of 1830. Was known as a sporadically brilliant marksman, though uneven of temper, which had put him into ill repute with commanding officers. Prior to battle, Colonel Woodson, his chief rival, attempted to give him leave, but Shumpert refused. His heroics will be taught alongside Heracles, though the facts of the matter have not hitherto been fully noted: After consuming a strange cactus brew, Shumpert, by now wild-eyed and foaming at the mouth, proceeded to fell ninescore soldiers in less than an hour, feasting on the corpses, bone and all, when a wench from a nearby tavern retrieved him, and brough him under shelter for calming and proper congratulations. He would proceed to run successfully four years later for THE PRESIDENCY OF THE UNITED STATES. |
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Amir the Jew, PF
24 MIN | 4-6 FG | 3-4 FT | 3 REB | 0 AST | 0 STL | 2 BLK | 2 TO | 11 PTS | -15
b. Palestine, 1805. A giant among the Hebrews, would parlay a successful career as a rabbi to an American passage. Arrived in the port of New York in 1832, where he learned of a great Canaanite desert far to the west. He then went to Ohio, and noted that the landscape was worse than that of Juda, its people considerably cruder and worse-smelling, and continued West. His arrival in Texas was met with much wonderment, for many of the soldiers and the citizens had never encountered such a Jew. His lack of understanding of the basic rudiments of defense rendered Amir relatively superfluous, but his stature, stationed as it was without much movement, gave the enemies pause. He miraculously avoided even the slightest wound, a feat that Kenneth Martin took as divine providence, and the two would enjoy much smoked herring afterwards. |
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Torrence Murry, SG
15 MIN | 2-3 FG | 0-0 FT | 2 REB | 2 AST | 2 STL | 0 BLK | 0 TO | 5 PTS | 0
b. Kentucky, 1813. Here was a vagabond who had never found his station, until a regiment passing his home caught his eye. He joined post haste, and found the opportunity to fight for his country most exciting indeed. With no formal training, he was subjected to the more menial tasks – the washing of the spittoons, the shoveling over of the latrines, the cleaning of the syphilis wounds – until a bout of sickness on the eastern cannonade made his presence necessary. Served admirably, though his nerves weren’t quite still. Upon winning the battle, he chose to forgo the penultimate letter in his surname, so as to not to share but a single vowel with that Torquemadian butcher, Santa Anna. |
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Timothy Hardaway II, SG
12 MIN | 0-1 FG | 3-4 FT | 1 REB | 1 AST | 0 STL | 0 BLK | 0 TO | 3 PTS | -7
b. Spanish Florida, 1814. The son of a wealthy donkey manure salesmen, he followed in his father’s footsteps before a higher calling took heed, though few existed in those lands. Arrived by way of circular travel around the Floridian peninsula and up through New Orleans, where he cultivated a reputation for firing his rifle at the most inappropriate times — in Church, while bedded, at the post office — accurate though he often was. His hatred of Santa Anna, whose exploits had enraged Hardaway so, compelled the later to San Antonio, where his services where heroic, though minimal. Pushed many scaling ladders off the walls, bludgeoning the enemies with the butts of abandoned rifles. |
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Jebediah Richard Smith, SG
29 MIN | 2-5 FG | 0-0 FT | 5 REB | 3 AST | 0 STL | 0 BLK | 2 TO | 4 PTS | -5
b. 1809, New Jersey. Was cited regularly for misconduct in the city of New York, and spent many days in incarceration thereby. Became notorious for his escapades upon the Mississippi River, where he practiced games of prestidigitation. Was known to cavort with Colonel Crockett over whiskey of considerable potency, and ended the night before battle clutching a copper spittoon, into which he evacuated his excesses. He appeared only sporadically during the battle itself, once stumbling over an oaken barrel and onto an enemy’s bayonet. He would survive, however, having been thoroughly attended to by a most accommodating Spanish nurse who, among other friendly gestures took to lighting his pipe. |
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Colonel Matthias Woodson
b. Mars, 1881. Woodson’s inclusion in this account is merely anecdotal, for we had seldom come across someone of such strange behaviors and decision-making from a commanding officer. When pressed, none of the surviving heroes could quite ascertain what Woodson was actually tasked with doing. Some claimed to see him turning the canons backwards, and then sitting astride them, humming strange fugues. Others recall him with a blindfold over his head, chewing on dried-over corn husks. Still others attested that Woodson was commanding entire regiments to switch their stations, although no officer heraldry could be seen. One account in particular, however, astounded us to no end: That of Woodson removing the uniform of a fallen enemy and placing it upon his own body. When recognized and asked by a nearby officer why he had done so, Woodson’s reply was at once mysterious and frightening: “The Mexicans are big, man.” |
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Four Things We Saw
- Everyone knew what San Antonio’s strategy would be: Use Tony Parker to put the Knicks into as man pick and rolls as possible, and otherwise exploit mismatches at any given opportunity. The approach worked in spurts, with the Spurs getting hot from deep early (they connected on seven of their first nine threes) before cooling off during the middle two periods. But Parker was mostly quiet for the rest of the game. I’d like to think Shumps D had something to do with it.
- The Spurs entered the game boasting the league’s best bench – 43 points per game, which is pretty nuts. The Knicks would hold Bonner, Mills, and the rest to 34. Which doesn’t seem like a big deal, but if one more of San Antonio’s reserves had gotten even a little warm, we might’ve been looking at an entirely different ballgame.
- Marco Belinelli scored a career-high 32 points on 12-16 shooting (including 6-9 from deep). If there was one player I’d pick to go off, knowing that we’d win in the end, it would definitely be Belinelli. I don’t know why. It just makes sense.
- But this wasn’t about the Spurs. It was about the Knicks. It was about a team that had no business getting off the bus, let alone winning this game. But they did, and the way they did it made all of us – a dreadful end to 2013 behind us and with a team rancid in makeup and reeling in spirit – finally find some sliver of light at the end of this otherwise cold, cavernous tunnel. The ball moved when it needed to; Melo took over when he had to; and Iman Shumpert – perhaps the most dispirited of our destitute team – looked like the All-Star we all thought might be en route at the end of last season. This was about a team that kept its cool, a team that executed with a frequency seldom seen, a team that withstood every absurd punch that a tremendous team could land. It was about a group of guys looking like they cared, like they were actually having fun. It was about us screaming at the television for all the right reasons. It was about beating a better team and being the better team, and not beating ourselves. It was tremendous and it was terrifying. I loved every second of it.
- I also loved every second of this, which I think I watched somewhere between 500 and 1000 times as a kid. Pretty morbid, I know.
