the long wait ends in thunder and prayer

by someone who cannot dunk.

there’s a kind of electricity in the bones
when june comes calling and the ball still bounces.
this isn’t boston.
this isn’t denver.
this is oklahoma city,
this is indiana.
this is proof that chaos still dances in the alleyways of the NBA.

they told us the script was already written.
they said the networks needed a coast.
they said youth would crumble under playoff pressure.
but hell, here we are—
the Pacers and Thunder,
two teams that weren’t supposed to
be holding the curtain ropes for game 1 of the Finals.

tonight, they snap them open.

Shai Gilgeous-Alexander moves like he’s heard all your doubts
and decided to make music with them.
31.2 points per game in the playoffs,
hitting those middies like he’s writing a love letter
to forgotten ways of scoring.
he’s the type of guy who walks past the three-point line
just to remind you he doesn’t need it.

and then there’s Jalen Williams—
a poet with a headband
and a nose for the rim.
Chet Holmgren,
all limbs and learned patience,
finally looking like the ghost of basketball future.
OKC’s average age is 23.9,
and they’re playing like they don’t know they’re too young for this.

on the other side:
indiana—
a goddamn fast break of a team.
Rick Carlisle’s mad lab of movement and misdirection.
Tyrese Haliburton,
he’s got the eyes of a gambler and the passing of a priest.
flashes the ball like a magician who also files taxes.
Pacers are putting up 123.4 points per 100 possessions
in these playoffs—
like they're allergic to halfcourt sets and allergic to stopping.

Pascal Siakam, that old soul from Toronto,
brings post moves and playoff scars.
Aaron Nesmith’s hitting corner threes like he’s
trying to pay off some unspoken debt.
and Obi Toppin—hell, even he’s flying again.

it’s not supposed to look like this.
a Finals with no Curry, no LeBron, no Tatum, no Joker.
but thank god for it.
this is the kind of basketball that smells like fresh pavement
and sounds like busted speakers in the back of a civic
driving too fast down memory lane.

two franchises who never got the ring—
who’ve watched their heroes walk away
before the job was done.
Reggie couldn’t do it.
Durant jumped ship.
Paul George tried both jerseys and failed both cities.

and now they meet.
in a series that feels like
a barfight in a jazz club.
fluid chaos.
beautiful bruises.
seven games (maybe) to crown a king
no one expected.

game 1 tips tonight.
the odds don’t matter.
the experts don’t matter.
the only thing that matters
is the sound of that ball
leaving the ref’s hand
and history crashing in behind it.

but if i had to bet
(and of course i did—i’m human):

Thunder 117, Pacers 109
SGA with 34-6-7,
a couple of midrange daggers that freeze time in Oklahoma.
Jalen Williams adds 22 with paint-knife cuts and soft touch.
Chet wakes up slow but ends with 12 boards and 4 blocks,
his length haunting Indiana’s rim runners.

Haliburton puts on a show—26 and 11 dimes,
but struggles in the fourth when Dort puts him in a chokehold.
Siakam hits his spots, 20 points,
but it won’t be enough when the crowd turns to thunder
and every miss feels heavier than the last drink on a lonely night.

—

we waited for the wrong teams to lose.
but the right ones won.
and here we are.