The Power of Friendship, Game 7

Maybe the real NBA Finals were the friends we made along the way

This is one of the more entertaining series of basketball of the past decade, full stop. And now, we come to a Game 7 that feels like the only way such a series could have ended.

After shockingly routing OKC in Game 6, the Pacers will now head to OKC to into a winner-take-all scenario, one that, in any other year, would feel like it would heavily favor OKC. The Paycom Center is notorious for being one of the toughest crowds as an away team, yet the Pacers have exceeded away expectations for this entire playoff run. It’s a Game 7 of dichotomies, and one that, barring another shocking blowout, could be the most defining one of the decade in a few different ways.

Today, I don’t plan on diving too deep into stats here. This is a vibes piece, not an analytical one that I usually put together. Only a Pacers/OKC Game 7 is worthy of a Finals piece strictly fueled off of vibes. With the occasion in mind, I’ve decided to make this piece free for all — I never do this otherwise and rarely plan on doing so, so enjoy it!

Maybe the real NBA Finals were the friends we made along the way?

Throughout both of their runs to this point, Indiana and OKC have been fueled, both historically and presently, by some of the best chemistry that you’ve ever seen.

The Pacers, helmed by Friend In Chief Tyrese Haliburton, thrive when nobody takes too much control of any individual aspect of the game. Sure, Haliburton can pass like no other and, as we’ve seen time and time again, may be having the most clutch playoff run ever, but almost everyone else can dish the ball out, too.

Andrew Nembhard — a player who was once declared as one that would “struggle to create for himself” — has thrown just about everything at every team he’s faced, ranging from no-look passes to dribble drives that would make Allen Iverson smile, playing a largely tertiary role with the ability to up that number at any time.

Pascal Siakam, too, is doing a bit of everything. The Cameroonian may be in the running for the most underrated and underappreciated player of the past decade, a run in which he has made two NBA Finals, won an NBA title, has made three All-Star teams, and has made All-NBA twice, never dipping below 20 points per game since 2019-20. The gall to spin into traffic like a Beyblade with ADHD is admirable and, by all accounts, shouldn’t work based on its frequency, nor should his ability to handle the ball like he does at 6’8”. Like this entire team, however, external limitations don’t seem to apply.

Who on Indiana’s roster can you say doesn’t bring the energy every night? Myles Turner will switch from building with Lego blocks to building with a separate kind of blocks, one that sends your shot careening into the stands at a speed that would get a ticket in a school zone. Obi Toppin has made his career out of both athleticism and a high motor, the latter of which could power a car that would definitely be getting a ticket in the aforementioned school zone. Aaron Nesmith? Once cast by the wayside by the Celtics just after they had made their own Finals run, he’s taken on new life as a flamethrower you can rely on, and one that occasionally turns up the heat even further when you need him most.

Go down the roster list, and you can’t find anyone who doesn’t bring the energy night after night. T.J. McConnell? No better Haliburton insurance than him. Bennedict Mathurin? Cleaned up his shot selection for the betterment of the team. Rick Carlisle? While he may be the only guy not running up and down the floor — barring he times that he’s pacing around the referees — even he’s brought an intensity that few other coaches have matched during this year’s playoffs.

This is a team that, by and large, has been powered by a lack of power, at least in the sense that no one player dominates the court day in and day out. Instead, they’ve been powered by friendship in such a way that would make your average movie scriptwriter cringe due to the cliché of it all. Cliché or not, Indiana’s on the brink of doing something that was once (and twice, and three times…) seen as impossible.

Oklahoma, on the other hand, knew what they had. That doesn’t mean that they knew it would happen.

Throughout the regular season, people (including myself) wondered whether or not OKC’s age would come back to bite them. They’re too young, too inexperienced, have a lack of battle scars on their backs.

Yeah, but have you seen their post-game interviewer get mobbed with towels?

Outside of Indiana (and possibly not even then), no team has more fun than OKC does. Photobombs in the post-game, barking like dogs off the bench, musing about the nuances of being bald; this team has just about everything you’d want in a team everybody loves. Except, of course, not everybody does.

The way in which this team plays, despite their chemistry, rubs many the wrong way. Shai Gilgeous-Alexander earned his MVP award off the back of drawing fouls in the most Harden-esque way possible, taking advantage of the rules to get free points that both slow the game down and provide ample rest for the rest of the roster. Jalen Williams can be the Scottie Pippen to SGA’s Jordan in the sense that he’s taken this rule-bending to heart as well. Lou Dort, built like a football player, often plays like one, shoving players to the ground as the referees seemingly swallow their whistles. All of these things, in a vacuum, may be true, though it’s worth wondering whether or not we would be complaining if they weren’t winning off the back of one of the most potent defenses and offenses we’ve ever seen.

Complaining about teams doing the things OKC does while winning is nothing new, even if I, like many, feel like the foul-drawing issue is one that is certainly problematic. The difference is this: Have you ever seen a team have as much fun playing the way they do as OKC does?

This is not a rebuke or approval of the way OKC plays, but it is a wonder that we’ve been able to witness a team that, regardless of play, has brought some level of joy back to the game of basketball in an era where there’s just too much negativity. While they’re often the favorites, they act like the underdogs, much in a similar manner to how the Pacers do.

It’s poetic, actually, that both teams would face off in a Game 7 when you take into account what it means for each franchise. OKC’s fans, by extension, could be defined as Seattle Supersonics fans, feeling as though their team was ripped away from them and transplanted from a metro powerhouse to the land of cattle.

Piggybacking off of a championship that was rightfully earned by the Supersonics but taken on as OKC Thunder history, OKC still needs a reason to justify its own existence. Its history demands that it pay the toll, and until they win a title, it’s tough to say that they have the funds. Winning Game 7 would be a way to lift the emotional weight of what was essentially a thievery of the Supersonics’ history, at least as much as is possible without the Supersonics actually returning.

Indiana’s history could be no more different. There is no stealing of heritage in Indiana, considering that the entire heritage is basketball. No state has been more prolific in supporting the sport than the one that is literally known as The Basketball State, yet no state has also had such a large gap between what they feel they deserve versus what they actually receive.

Yes, the college game has history in the area, but the Pacers have won zero NBA championships, and the only way you can make a case that they’ve ever been a championship team is if you look to the ABA, where they won three titles.

Assuming you do not take into account a league that was effectively swallowed up whole, the Pacers have yet to join the upper echelon of The Basketball State’s legend. Existing as a basketball team in such a saturated geographic region does not qualify you for this upper echelon; results matter, and the hive mind nature of the state’s love for the sport couldn’t be more reflected than it is in the Pacers’ roster itself.

It should feel like a blessing that we get to watch the NBA’s rendition of an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. The Pacers will watch you hyperventilate and smile from ear to ear while they do. They’ll wear you down, watching every muscle in your body begin to cramp up as you realize that you can’t handle the speed at which they play. When opponents aren’t getting to the line, they’re, quite literally, undergoing a Pacer Test, one that seems to beep way too quickly for you to actually get to the end of the court.

OKC, like its city’s weather, prefers to be a bit more destructive than to kill you by a thousand cuts. The Paycom Center quickly becomes a tornado of sounds, sights, and, above all else, an MVP player and his Scottie Pippen throwing the basketball equivalent of Ford F-150s at you. If you get caught up in the storm, you’re likely helpless, simply watching as you continue to make contact with OKC’s roster and hear the air siren of the referee whistle as a result. They will barrel through you in a way that no other team does, bending the laws of basketball physics to get to the line, get a bucket, or both.

The question for Game 7 isn’t necessarily about who wants it more, though some will say that it surely is. The question for Game 7 is who is best able to lift their teammates up, reject what’s expected of them, and play like the underdog. For both teams, this is quite natural. Therefore, no matter what happens, this NBA championship is one defined by friendship.