Irrational Fandom and the Beauty of Sports
A heartbreaking end to my favorite season as an Indiana Pacers fan.
The Indiana Pacers celebrate Tyrese Haliburton’s Game 1 Clutch shot over the New York Knicks.
At their core, professional sports seem silly. Adults play games we learned as kids, though the kid grew to be a world-class athlete who now gets paid millions of dollars to play a game we played in PE class.
Strip away the gameplay in sports, and in a world that suffers from war, famine, and insane wealth disparity, sports should not be a blip on the radar of things we care about.
But here we are, eyes glued to the TV, hands gripped to our seats, vacation money rerouted to airlines, Ticketmaster, and a hotel room to watch one single game in the NBA Finals.
It's Monday morning, June 23, and the Indiana Pacers are hours removed from the most heartbreaking loss in franchise history. The Oklahoma City Thunder took home the 2025 NBA Championship after a Game 7 victory that may well begin a dynasty for the franchise.
The Thunder were the favorites to play in the Finals all year, pre-season through the playoffs. With the reigning MVP, an all-NBA wing, and a young 7-foot defensive powerhouse led by last year's Coach of the Year, the Thunder were a championship-level team without a trophy.
Everything on paper pointed toward the Thunder winning the 2025 Championship. Vegas odds had them as the overwhelming favorites to come out of the NBA Western Conference. Everything on paper pointed the way it went, but if you've ever played sports, you know that championships aren't won on paper.
So, if all signs pointed toward a Thunder championship, why was last night's loss the most heartbreaking in the Pacers' franchise history?
It's not just the game loss, not even the championship loss.
It's the loss of a team, 1-15, that will never play together again.
It's the loss of hope that we fans held on to shot after shot after shot after shot.
It's the loss of an NBA championship for Herb Simon and Nancy Leonard, two of the few who've built this franchise for decades without winning the ultimate prize.
It's the loss of Tyrese Haliburton, who, after straining a calf in Game 5 of the NBA Finals, chose to suit up for the series, risking maybe the worst injury in professional basketball, and after a hot start to the biggest game of his life, he cruelly tears his achilles before falling to the floor, repeatedly smashing his fist into the ground in tears.
Everyone watching the game knew his night was over.
The tears signaled a year of rehab ahead.
The pounding on the floor signaled a year of his prime, gone.
Fans saw Victor Oladipo and Paul George, but this time, we saw the best chance we've ever had to win an NBA Championship torn away by the unfairness of injuries.
This silly game sure has broken me once or twice.
Earlier, I said, "strip away the gameplay… (and) sports should not be a blip on the radar of things we care about."
But the thing with sports is there is so much more than X’s and O’s.
You've got storylines and histories, cities against cities.
Adversity, personal failures, blunders, and triumphs.
You've got athletes who were born to play their sport and underdogs who miraculously made the team.
You've got greatness and comebacks, awards and heartbreak.
From the Olympics to Rec League Youth Sports, we see life on the court in a way that's difficult to process but easy to feel.
When a player gets knocked to the ground, we're reminded of betrayal in our lives.
When an athlete is carted off the court, we're reminded of the business we had to shut down during the pandemic.
When a player gets cut from the team, we're reminded of the severance check we received after being laid off; a sign from the company that they think they’re better off without me.
But when we see athletes hoisting a Championship trophy, we're inspired to keep pushing, keep trying, keep fighting for the goals we know are still possible.
But also, when we see our favorite player lying on the ground in pain, the underdog fighting with everything he's got, and the player with all the potential in the world refusing to surrender, it makes the incoming loss sting deeper as it’s a cold reminder that doing the right thing isn't always rewarded.
Sometimes life is just cruel.
Sometimes, your opponent is just better.
Sometimes, what we thought was destiny was our familiarity with scripted movies.
But the beauty of sports lies in it all.
Overcoming odds, defying all that should be possible.
The breakthrough after failure, defying logic, and all reason.
The power of perseverance, showing up day after day, never knowing if the work will be worth it until one day it is.
The possibility that one day I could leave my legacy as the best to ever do it, writing my name in the history books to be remembered when this season of our lives is over.
Sports aren't just sports; they're a mirror to our lives.
Someone has to win, though the opposite is also true.
Odds exist for a reason, though, at night, I lay in my backyard, looking at the sky, expecting the same view but hoping to see something magical.
Fandom isn't rational.
It's hope and belief in a future that may or may not come to fruition.
Through our collective belief comes shared community, whether through family or once strangers, we journey through irrational hope and two-hour basketball games together.
I've been a Pacers fan for thirty years; irrational hope is my specialty.
From era to era, I've thought, "This is the year," only to have my hopes smashed by GOATS, generational duos, a brawl, and career-altering injuries to our franchise players. Still, next year, like every year before, I'll show up, cheering for the same franchise I've cheered for nearly my whole life.
And it's not because I have ties to the franchise.
It's not even because I know any of the players.
Pascal Siakam could walk past me and have no idea who I am, so why am I so invested in this team?
People love stories; we're storytellers and story seekers.
It's why someone could put on an episode of The Voice, and after hearing a tearful backstory of an upcoming singer I didn’t know two seconds ago, I am now fully invested in their success on the show.
This has been the most fun year I've had as a Pacers fan.
Before the season even began, I got to cheer for Tyrese Haliburton as he earned a Gold Medal with Team USA.
During a rough stretch of the season in November, I randomly met Herb Simon on a Santa Barbara street.
In December, our family saw a Pacers victory in Sacramento, where my girls met Obi Toppin and got autographs from Tyrese and Benedict Mathurin.
Our family spent a weekend in San Francisco in February, enjoying NBA All-Star festivities and making memories.
In April, Tyrese Haliburton started the most insane clutch run in NBA playoff history, culminating in our first finals appearance in 25 years and the first in my daughters’ lives.
And to top it off, my family surprised me with a trip to Indianapolis for my first NBA Finals game, where I witnessed a Pacers victory in a moment I'll never forget.
The ending may have been heartbreaking and will go down as one of the NBA's all-time "what if" moments, but as I sit here, I feel gratitude.
Gratitude for a family that loves me and my Pacers quirkiness.
Gratitude for my girls who've picked up my Pacers fandom and made it more meaningful.
Gratitude for an organization that would send my girls swag bags full of jerseys and shirts upon hearing that they're big fans.
Gratitude to Tyrese Haliburton, who selflessly put his career on the line to give the fans something we've desperately wanted our entire lives.
Gratitude to a team that went toe-to-toe with one of the best teams in NBA history, taking the Thunder to Game 7 of the NBA Finals, inspiring us all the way.
Fandom is irrational, but there lies its beauty.
There are 30 NBA teams, and only one can win the Championship each season.
The odds are stacked against us, yet we'll still invest our money in plane rides, tickets, and merchandise to commemorate core memories with the people we love.
To the untrained eye, sports may seem silly, but on that court lies every analogy for life you could ever dream of.
Through triumph and heartbreak, we live in hope and possibility, odds and analytics be damned.
I want to see the Pacers hoisting the Larry O’Brien trophy one day. I specifically wanted to see this 24-25 Indiana Pacers team celebrate a championship to become the league’s greatest comeback story.
I wanted to cheer with my 11-year-old pup, Pacer, and my family, who mean the world to me.
But as my daughter just told me as I finished this piece:
"There's always next year."
Here are a few of my favorite memories from the 24-25 Indiana Pacers season. Thanks for reading, and Go Pacers!
