This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Down 2-0 in the NBA Finals, the Cleveland Cavaliers were supposed to disappear into that good night and hand the highly favored Golden State Warriors their second consecutive title. Stats nerds were suggesting the best the Cavs could muster was not to be swept.
Then, down 3-1, it became a recurring reality of sorts for the Cleveland faithful. It’s over. No NBA team has ever come back from that deficit in the Finals and won it all. And yet, a good road win in San Francisco and a fantastic game six home win made the series tied at three.
One of the greatest NBA Finals ever? Sure. Greatest game? A subject of debate, unless you’re from Cleveland. It was the greatest game in most of our lives.
The game was close throughout—the largest lead for either team topped out around seven. The last few minutes were odd in that no one was able to score consecutive baskets to pull away from the tie, or score at all, for that matter. That is, until LeBron James blocked a layup from Andre Iguodala. Only then were the Cleveland faithful were able to take a breath. And then Kyrie Irving hit the three over Steph Curry.
What is this feeling? Hope? Get it out of your mind. Just watch.
With ten seconds to go, as LeBron was about to complete what would have been an iconic dunk to seal the win, he was cleanly fouled by Draymond Green and landed hard on his wrist.
Oh no.
Cleveland fans watched LeBron writhe in agony and thought of all of the ways our three point lead was about to evaporate before our very eyes. This is how we Clevelanders think. Everything bad—and most of our recent sports history is bad—has to have a name. What will they call this? “The Wrist?”
It looked painful, but LeBron was able to complete one of his two free throws and bring the lead to four.
The Warriors called a timeout, which gave one of the best three point shooting teams time for a game plan against a cursed Cleveland team with one foul to give.
Good inbound defense and a few frenzied passes later, Cleveland used the foul, bleeding about half of the time off of the clock.
Trying again, Steph Curry shot a cautiously contested three and…bricked it. Marreese Speights diligently took the rebound and ran to the corner for a three point attempt with a second and a half left, and before it could even hit the rim (since there was no foul) the Cavaliers rushed the court as the buzzer sounded. Cleveland 93, Golden State 89.
We won.
Most sports fans jump for joy or scream or shout when their team wins a closely contested game. Or a playoff game. Or the NBA Finals.
Not me. I sat there, mouth agape watching the television like a mute. I suspect I was not alone among the Cleveland faithful. That feeling? Shock.
We won? The curse is over? LeBron did it?
Yes.
I don’t care what sportswriters call this game, or this series. Since it’s Cleveland, it has to have a name. Call it whatever you want, but for once, we won.
And boy does it feel pretty darn good.
