If only for one possession, with a few off-kilter setup dribbles, Tyrese Haliburton had the game in his hand. Singular. Just one hand—his right. Why leave things to chance by introducing the left? Five dribbles, each one followed by a chopped-and-screwed hesitation and stride variation. Finally, with the game on the line, Haliburton was in flow with the rest of the Pacers’ offensive superorganism. There has been nothing more imposing, nothing more iconic, nothing more magical in these playoffs than Tyrese Haliburton with his bizarre dribbling suites and the clock slouching toward zero. And in Game 1 of the NBA Finals, the man did it again, exorcising a miracle from what felt like an eternal struggle against the relentless Thunder defense. But Indiana did what it always does: Bend without breaking, then go for the kill before the opponent has a chance to realize what has happened.
Once again, in the most charmed run in recent memory, Haliburton led the Pacers back from the brink of collapse in a 111-110 instant classic, Indiana’s fifth comeback win from at least a 15-point deficit in these playoffs, the most by a team in a single postseason since 1998, according to the NBA. It was Haliburton’s fourth last-second shot in these playoffs, one for every series the Pacers have played.
“Basketball is fun, man,” Haliburton told ESPN’s Lisa Salters after the game. “Winning is fun.”
Isn’t it?
The Pacers have landed the first blow in a series that has lived up to its billing as one for the true heads. These Finals have already proved to be as much a coaching battle as anything. Indiana’s Rick Carlisle won his first and only NBA championship as a coach in 2011, back when he was the object of 11-year-old Tyrese Haliburton’s hatred after Carlisle’s Mavs vanquished LeBron James, Haliburton’s favorite player. Carlisle has gone through countless metamorphoses as a leader over the ensuing decade and a half, his micromanaging tendencies eroding over time. And it’s shaped him for this moment, as he’s embraced an offensive paradigm at basketball’s vanguard, and with Game 1 in the balance ceded complete control to his superstar point guard—without calling a timeout—to take the wheel and take his team home.
More on Game 1
It was fitting that Haliburton’s pull-up middie was over the outstretched arms of Cason Wallace, who represented the initial gambit of the NBA Finals. Roughly 30 minutes before tip-off, head coach Mark Daigneault made a change in the Thunder starting lineup, with Wallace, one of OKC’s many backcourt hellhounds, entering the starting five in place of glass-eating big man Isaiah Hartenstein. (It wasn’t completely out of the blue; that five-man unit went 6-0 as a starting lineup in the regular season.) Instantly, there was a sense that the Thunder were gearing up to ride the wave. Wallace offered another ballhandling outlet for OKC amid the pressure that has become a hallmark of Indiana’s defense. On the other end, he allowed for a defense that could go five-out as fluently as the Thunder offense. For much of the postseason, the double-big lineup of Chet Holmgren and Hartenstein laid the foundation to the Thunder’s defensive architecture; they didn’t share the floor for even a second in Game 1.
For much of the game, it seemed like Daigneault’s gambit had unlocked the gates to basketball hell. And hell’s kitchen was cooking. For a stretch of less than four minutes in the first quarter, Obi Toppin was seeing ghosts, turning the ball over three times in that span: a lost ball turnover from an unconfident dribble, ripped away by Hartenstein; and two panicked jump passes along the baseline over outstretched Thunder hands that flew into the backcourt and out of bounds. “You can’t dribble into a crowd against this team,” Carlisle told his frazzled team in a first-half huddle. “You can’t throw a tight jump pass against this team. You have to make the adjustment.” Those are anomalies of Indiana’s style that define the team. In the first half, it all seemed a little silly.
The Pacers had more turnovers than made field goals in the first quarter, turning the ball over more times in the opening frame than they did in three prior postseason games during this run. By halftime, the Pacers were on pace to tie the Finals record for most turnovers committed in a game, set by the Golden State Warriors 50 years ago.
The Pacers play basketball at a velocity that few teams can match, but the Thunder are one such team—and you can see the psychophysical toll their defense presents. The Pacers could practically luxuriate in a Karl-Anthony Towns drop coverage. Not so much in the evershifting, four-dimensional bear trap that is the Thunder defense. The passing windows for Indiana had been open and clear all postseason long. But against the Thunder you can’t even dip the ball below your waist without putting a possession in peril. The Thunder don’t just cause turnovers, they cause anxiety. “We don’t feel like we’re trying to stop you from scoring,” Alex Caruso told The New York Times before the series. “We feel like we’re influencing you to give us the ball.”
But the Pacers never stopped moving, never stopped pushing, never stopped driving with the intent of finding the perfect skip passes. There is faith in that endless motion, like loosening a tightened muscle. They righted the ship after the break, committing only five turnovers in the second half. For all of Toppin’s early blunders, he finished the game with 17 points, hitting pivotal, tide-stemming shots when the team needed them most. Toppin was one of six Pacers that scored in double-figures; Indiana is the first team to win a Finals game without a single 20-point scorer in more than a decade. Indiana’s egalitarian attack managed to eclipse Shai Gilgeous-Alexander’s sterling 38-point performance and an all-time defensive game from Lu Dort, who probably gave Austin Rivers flashbacks with his maniacal effort.
There is also something to be said about the Pacers’ resilience, and how resilience begets resilience. It’s one thing to know you can do it, but after five such experiences, it might as well become a button to push. Game after game, moment after moment throughout this season, the Pacers have reanimated themselves in the nick of time, leaving just enough room for a miracle to be cultivated. Anxiety wears away once you start operating in the present, once you stop second-guessing. Instead of dissipating outright, it switched sides, washing over the OKC crowd. The Thunder blinked. Next thing they knew, it was over. The Thunder’s jaws of victory, clamped shut in defeat.
Of course, the Thunder know how to respond after succumbing to a miracle. The last time they lost at home (also in a Game 1, also in dramatic, last-second fashion), they responded by beating the Nuggets by 43 in Game 2 of the Western Conference semifinals. But if Game 1 of this series was any indication, the NBA Finals will live up to its billing as a dazzling glimpse into the future of the league. The Thunder may be basketball’s latest inevitability, but the Pacers are the living embodiment of basketball’s inherent magic.
