OKLAHOMA CITY — Tyrese Haliburton, judging by his play, was predetermined to pick a fight with history. He showed up to Game 7 with malice in his spirit for any idea he doesn’t belong in the annals of basketball history. He opened the scoring for the Indiana Pacers with two deep 3s. He missed his third attempt and stepped back even further and drilled another one the next time.
And as he roared at the sea of blue inside Paycom Center, with noticeable patches of Pacers gold, his intentions were clear. This was a heist. Haliburton showed up to take what many thought didn’t belong to him. He was on the porch of history. Opened the screen door of legendary.
Then, as if fate didn’t appreciate his audacity, as if the basketball gods ruled agony must precede glory, his right Achilles snapped.
“In this moment, my heart dropped for him,” Oklahoma City Thunder point guard Shai Gilgeous-Alexander said. “I couldn’t imagine playing the biggest game of my life and something like that happening.
“It’s not fair. But competition isn’t fair sometimes.”
Nothing about this felt fair. Haliburton earned a right to take down this season’s giant. He deserved a chance for one last heroic ending.
But on a simple action, sport flexed its sovereignty, even its mercilessness.
Haliburton caught a pass at the top and made a basic step backward with his right foot as he started to go left to evade the approaching defender. But as he planted, the tendon ruptured violently enough to see the vibration.
“He started screaming,” Pacers guard Ben Sheppard said, “and it’s just terrible when someone like that goes down. We know he’s going to come back better than ever. We’re just praying for him.”
With five minutes left in the first quarter and his Pacers even with the mighty Thunder, Haliburton was denied entry into the hallowed hall of Game 7 legends. He lay on the hardwood floor, tears in his eyes, agony unfurling from his soul. He wailed as he pounded his open right hand on the door of history.
His cries were inaudible as he yelled, “No! No! No!” Most couldn’t hear the smack of his hand on the hardwood. But the visual was loud enough. Such determination, thwarted so coldly. A beautiful arrogance humbled so emphatically.
Basketball is brutal. Game 7s deal only in extremes. Triumph or tragedy. Hallelujah or heartbreak.
Haliburton’s fate came before the final horn.
He knew immediately what happened. Not only is most of the basketball fandom well-versed in detecting a torn Achilles, but also he’d been battling a strained calf since Game 5. He spent this week managing the injury, including a 23-minute stint in Game 6. He played with this risk, that he could blow out his Achilles and flush next season down the drain with it.
But Haliburton’s resolve outweighed the risk. He counted the cost and still pursued greatness with peril possible. He wanted to shower himself, his family, his Pacers, in the effulgence of Game 7 glory. He’s been called overrated. He’s been declared below a superstar. He’s been expected to be on vacation for the last two months.
As the adopted son of the Hoosier state, by decree of its historic love for the game, and as the beneficiary of the burden Reggie Miller once carried, Haliburton went for it. He wanted it badly, for every Pacer that ever wanted it, and for every hooper who didn’t fit the traditional mold, and for every player willing to play the antagonist.
“The pain he puts in every day, every night, I don’t think there’s (anybody) else in the world that wanted it more than he did,” said veteran James Johnson, the 38-year-old Pacers protector who helped Haliburton to the locker room. “I’ve been on plenty of teams, and I’ve seen guys sidelined because of that same injury, and he wouldn’t let that stop him from helping us.”
But Haliburton left the court a sympathetic hero, carried off by his teammates, his right foot dangling in the air as the arena began to realize the seriousness of his injury. A towel draped over Haliburton’s head, which hung as low as his spirit.
He entered the arena bent on making his name immortal. He left the arena having succumbed to his mere mortality. The volatility of humanity on display.
“You don’t want to see nobody get hurt, but — I don’t know — we needed Ty out there,” Pacers forward Obi Toppin said. “For him to go down, (in) a game like that, that s— sucked the soul out of us. I ain’t gonna say out of everybody, but I don’t feel like I played good because I was thinking about it the whole day and I felt like it was my fault.”
That this was predictable only makes his sacrifice more valiant. Achilles tears are regretfully trending. Haliburton became the third player to suffer the injury in these playoffs.
The Pacers carried on valiantly. Their relentlessness put a scare in the Thunder.
But moving forward, Indiana loses the face of its franchise for next season, which severely hampers its chances of getting back to this stage. Perhaps that made Haliburton’s decision to play too risky. The price for his choice is two chances at a ring, even if the next one is predisposed to a litany of attacks. This NBA Finals stage is guaranteed to no one.
That’s part of what made his pain palpable. As much as possible, we know Tyrese Haliburton. We know the pleasure he gets from disrupting the order of things. He may have two voices but one clear mission: To put his name where they said it shouldn’t go.
Haliburton is an important figure in this league. His jovial spirit, his authenticity, his willingness to engage, his appreciation for the theater of it all are gifts to the league.
Haliburton is the face of one of the NBA’s most stubbornly lovable underdogs ever. The Pacers embody the very parity the league desires. The suspense of uncertainty. The thrill of novelty.
Haliburton is the quality control for a new era of superstars. As LeBron James and Stephen Curry fade from the top, and a new crop vie for the crown, he’s there to test their mettle, to measure their quality. He’ll expose who isn’t ready. He’ll take down whoever isn’t worthy.
He was so close to upsetting the story arc of the Thunder, the NBA’s newest darlings. He was on the porch, prepared to kick in the door.
But when it was over, and the Pacers’ magical season was done, Haliburton found himself standing outside a different door. With crutches helping hold him up, and a boot on his right foot, he waited for his teammates. One by one, he greeted them, each player hugging their star, outside the locker room. Where defeat would settle in. Where an uncertain future would start taking shape.
When the last player went through, Haliburton turned and went to join them in the struggle. As fate would have it, that door, he could walk right through.
(Photo of Tyrese Haliburton: Kyle Terada / Imagn Images)