The Final Score: The Indiana Pacers and the charm of exasperation

Of the four remaining teams in the NBA Playoffs, no team radiates exasperation better than the Indiana Pacers. When the Oklahoma City Thunder trail the San Antonio Spurs by fifteen, Thunder players are likely stoic figures on the bench. When Indiana trails Miami by fifteen, the Pacers either look like they’re watching the last scene from the Red Wedding episode of Game of Thrones or kamukha nila yung mga pasahero sa Caticlan na five times nang na-delay yung flight pauwi ng Manila.

Here we go again.

Ayoko na.

Get us out of here.

Hopeless na ‘to. Hopeless.

During such moments, sullen players on the Pacers’ bench are meme generators. They’re gifts from Photoshop heaven. Witty caption na lang kailangan. It’s the way Lance Stephenson broods. We can almost see smoke coming out of his ears. Stay away. It’s the way Roy Hibbert mopes, cue high-definition close up on Hibbert resting his gigantic chin on his gigantic hands. It’s the way Hibbert sighs every fifteen seconds with eyes sadder than a Nicholas Sparks novel. You want to give him a hug but you’ll probably need a fire truck ladder to do so.

[Related: Heat take 3-1 Eastern Conference Finals lead as James, Bosh too much for Pacers]

If you’re having the time of your life mocking the Pacers, I can’t blame you. During the 2014 NBA Playoffs, they have mastered the art of madness. They’ll play like top seeds in the East in one game and play like the Milwaukee Bucks the next. Up and down. Left and right. Urong-sulong. Ano ba talaga? Baka nga madness is their modus operandi?

I think Lance just winked at us.

Yet if you find Indiana’s infuriating brand of imperfection strangely attractive, believe it or not, I would understand. Inadequacy can be appealing. It’s more than just rooting for an underdog, albeit an underdog with the number one seed in the conference. It’s rooting for a team that overachieves and underachieves in a span of 72 hours. It’s humanity in its frailest form. Hindi sila robot. They’re as human as human can be. They’re always an 8-0 Heat run away from a meltdown. They’re always a LeBron James crazy highlight away from buckling completely.

I felt that way about the brutal-ball Knicks teams of the early nineties. They didn’t play like the 2014 Spurs. No one described the Knicks’ style as beautiful. They actually made the term ugly-ball quite popular. Think of it this way: they competed in drag races using square wheels. Pat Riley was the chief technical officer. Patrick Ewing was their lead driver. They didn’t win games by using dizzying ball movement or flying on the fast break. They pushed opponents into submission by wearing them down. They won because, whatever unholy effort it required, they made square wheels work.

I loved that Knicks team. I wanted to see them beat Michael Jordan. Gasp. Good luck with that. I liked that the Knicks struggled even when they were playing well. Hingalo all day. Kapit sa patalim all day. The “Charles Smith Play” from game five of the 1993 Eastern Conference Finals, for me, captures the essence of those Knicks teams.



I still remember that play like it happened this morning. Ewing drives and stumbles. Perfect. Somehow, he manages to toss the ball to Smith. Unbelievably, the Knicks still have possession. Suwerte! Smith goes up for a shot near the basket. The Bulls’ Horace Grant blocks it. Smith somehow gets the ball back. He goes up for a shot again. Jordan, however, slaps the ball away. Still, God wants Smith to get the ball back. Smith goes up for another shot. Scottie Pippen blocks him from behind. Ano ba yan?!!! Smith, thanks to the answered prayers of Knicks fans, gets the ball again. He goes up for a fourth time. Pippen blocks him again. Boom. Palpal.

This is how Marv Albert captured the moment: “Ewing for Smith. Smith. Stripped. Smith. Stopped. Smith. Stopped again by Pippen. What a play by Scottie Pippen!”

Four lay-up attempts in the critical moments of a big game by a 6’10” power forward lead to nothing. Nothing. The Knicks, who once led the Bulls two games to none, lose the game and eventually lose the series. Galing. But that’s how I became a fan of that Knicks team bannered by Smith, Ewing, John Starks, Charles Oakley, Anthony Mason, Hubert Davis and co. forever. I cheered for them not because they won. I cheered for them because of the way they could almost win.

Stephenson would’ve been picture-perfect for that Knicks team. Riley would’ve been crazy enough to put him on Jordan. Stephenson would’ve bumped Jordan. He would’ve been talking in Jordan’s ear all game. Gagawin niya talaga yun. He would’ve said Jordan’s “trash talking” was a sign of weakness. He would’ve said he thought he was getting under Jordan’s skin. Haaay. He totally would have.

And then Jordan would’ve scored 200 points in the next game.

Falling short has its allure. The vanquished, well the Pacers haven’t been vanquished yet, but trailing 3-1 to the Heat is like waiting for the boarding announcement before you eventually walk into the plane, have a certain appeal. Hindi awa. More like empathy. That we understand how hard it is to win. That we understand how hard it is to stay excellent all the time.

The Pacers don’t have LeBron James. They don’t have Kevin Durant and Russell Westbrook. They don’t have Gregg Popovich and the Spurs’ Big Three. But they have Lance. And there’s a Lance Stephenson in all of us. There’s a Charles Smith in all of us. There’s a Roy Hibbert in all of us. We all need a hug every now and then. We are only human. We, therefore, understand madness. - AMD, GMA News