From the scene of the canceled Spurs-Lakers game

Thanks to the generosity of friends, I had tickets to both of the Spurs games in Los Angeles scheduled for Saturday and Monday. I was very much looking forward to seeing the greatly improved Spurs team, led by Victor Wembanyama and the other Spurs youngsters. I would even bite my tongue and root for Chris Paul.

As I do every year when the Spurs come to town, I planned to write about my experience at the game (this year “games” in plural). I normally include pictures of fellow Spurs fans in Spurs uniforms and hats and folks wearing Duncan and Parker jerseys. This year, I was expecting to see many Wembanyama jerseys, barely fitting all the letters in his name onto the back of a normal sized person. I probably would have included a short section about the process of choosing which of my many Manu Ginobili shirts I wore to Staples Center, a.k.a. Crypto — whatever. Unfortunately, hell on earth intervened.

Tuesday morning was very windy. My office looks west from Century City, towards the ocean, with Pacific Palisades about five miles away. At about 10 a.m., I saw a small amount of smoke coming from a canyon. By noon, the smoke was much more visible, and had darkened from a light grey to a darker grey, and brown. Mid-afternoon, the amount of smoke made it obvious that this was a serious fire. Then, after sunset, as it became dark, this was my view:

Pacific Palisades was burning.

The days since Tuesday have been surreal. Smoke everywhere across the LA basin from several different fires. Red sunrises. Warnings not to go outside into the unhealthy air. The local news covered nothing but the fires. Sporting events were cancelled, first the Lakers - Hornets game Thursday night, then the Rams Monday night playoff game moved to Arizona, and Saturday’s Lakers - Spurs game.

Each day, we learned of someone else who lost their home, First, a partner at my law firm. Then, the brother of another partner. A basketball buddy in Altadena who had just brought his newborn son home.

On a Zoom call Thursday morning, as we were recounting people we knew who had lost their homes, the last guy on the call joined in and announced that he was on his way into the Palisades to confirm that he too was one of the suddenly unhoused. He and his family are staying in a hotel. I asked where he would be living in February. He did not know. I sent him contact information for a house for rent on my street — many people have probably already called that number. Where will we find housing for 5,000+ families?

My son Pablo, who I have mentioned here before, has a family of five staying in his apartment — a young couple, and their three children, the youngest one-year old. Pablo does not know how long his friends will be staying with him.

I have no idea how all the lost houses can be rebuilt. There are not enough contractors and architects and people who approve building permits. There may not be enough wood and other construction materials. And will the insurers who issued policies have enough money to satisfy the billions of dollars in claims?

There has been some good news. I just heard from another basketball buddy that, contrary to all expectations, his Palisades house survived. The place we play our weekly games, Palisades High, was widely reported to have burnt down. But then a good friend/fellow hooper at a local television station sent one of the news team members on his bicycle to Pali High. His video showed that Pali High, while damaged, is largely intact, including the gym:

Steve Kerr, a Pali High alumni, announced in a news conference that he lost his house and that his high school was gone. Through a friend, I was able to send him this video, which I hope gave him some relief. Small victories, but that is all we have at the moment.

In an effort to clear my mind a bit, this morning I rode my bike to the outdoor court near my house to get some shooting in. The court was covered in ash.