A First-Hand Account of the NBA Finals
- Brennan Valladares
- Jun 16, 2025
- 23 min read
Thirteen years ago, I became a fan of the Oklahoma City Thunder.
We were on vacation in St. Pete Beach, Florida. I was in my parent’s bedroom watching the 2012 NBA Finals. All I knew at that point was that I didn’t want LeBron James to win, so my routing interests lay with this young Thunder team. Even though they were dismissed in five games, Kevin Durant immediately became my favorite player. Four years later, the Thunder were on the brink of another championship berth but blew a 3-1 lead. I remember telling some of my high school classmates that my perfect day would be centered around seeing the Warriors and Thunder duke it out in Oracle Arena. While I never got to experience that, it drove me to see my favorite team in person if it ever made it back to that stage. Nothing is guaranteed though, and the experience I documented below was nine years in the making. Once OKC dismissed Minnesota in five games, I immediately started planning to go broke to see the Thunder in the Finals. Thankfully, my parents wanted to help get me there, so my only expense was my ticket.
As you’ll read, I truly cannot believe that I got to be a part of something as special as seeing my favorite team in the NBA Finals. So, thank you to the Thunder, my parents and everything else that went right to allow me to create this lifetime memory. Here is my experience of Game 4 of the 2025 NBA Finals, through reflections, random scribbles, photos and videos:
It’s early Friday morning, June 13. Well, 7 a.m. isn’t necessarily the crack of dawn, but I know I want to get a run in before me and my dad go out for breakfast in downtown Indiana.
My body isn’t feeling the best, as that I got less than six hours of sleep the night before. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue, but I have been trying to get my body right after some Achilles issues, so sleep is more important than ever. This week was the first time I did a speed workout in nearly six months. I probably went too hard, but I figured it was good to push it to the limit to see where I’m at.
I was worried I was going to have to run outside in a new city for my easy run, but thankfully the hotel has a gym. It was recently renovated too. Nice facility.
I do my dynamic warmup in what I think is the designated area for that, but I’m not too sure. It’s just a little nook on the right when you walk into the gym. It’s sectioned off by these fabric panels hanging from the ceiling, making it what I think is about a 15x7 area. Total guess but what does that matter?
After I’m warmed up, I head to the treadmills. They’re positioned right by a panel of windows. I hop on one in between two women, keeping one in between each of us. As I start up the treadmill, it starts making a clicking noise, immediately flushing my face with red. I try to play it off as if it is normal, but it really doesn’t sound too good. It’s not like I’m trying to run a sub-five-minute mile, but it sure filled the once-quiet gym with an obnoxious rattling noise.
Once I get over my embarrassment, I finally take in the view. Right across from me is Lucas Oil Stadium. How cool is that? I take my phone out and attempt to do a nice push in on the signage, but iPhones aren’t necessarily cinematic equipment.
My run this morning is an easy effort, but it doesn’t feel like that once I get off the treadmill. Both of my calves, specifically around my soleus muscles, are hurting. That’s not a good sign. I do some post-run stretching and just attempt to walk it off.
After I’m cleaned up, we walk down to Café Patachou. It’s a breakfast place I found doing minimal research. It had good reviews on Tripadvisor and was only a five-minute walk from our hotel. I order the Croissant French Toast with one egg and some bacon. I immediately regretted only getting one egg, but my goodness was the French Toast delicious.
After we’re done eating, we decide to scout out our route to the arena. My dad and I both figured we’d walk to the game instead of dealing with the headache of city traffic. Gainbridge Fieldhouse is only about five minutes from our hotel, which translates to an 11-minute walk. Once there, we explore the outside area. That alone was an experience:
I was hoping Pat McAfee would be outside for his show like he was for Game 6 of the Eastern Conference Finals. Unfortunately, he was inside the arena. Maybe another time I’ll get to catch one of his live shows.
After we finish surveying the outer perimeter, we head into the team store. Normally, I’m not a merchandise guy, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so I have to grab some memorabilia. There is a long line waiting to be checked out that cuts through the center of the shop. We work around that for a little before I settle on my first item: a white retro-themed Finals t-shirt. It has the two team names at the top in a comic book typeface, with the classic NBA Finals logo on a basketball between the two teams' logos. It was about the only thing that wasn’t fully Pacers affiliated, so that was an easy choice. I keep looking and then my eye catches a basket full of gold-edition Wilson basketballs. That will be the perfect piece to add to my small but ever-growing basketball collection. I pick it up and see it’s a size seven. I initially thought that was too small to use, but then I realized I would never be dribbling this basketball. If I ever make it on TV or become a famous podcaster, it’ll be proudly displayed in the background just like (insert hoops talking head).
My dad reminds me that we should get something for my brother. A good call seeing as that he couldn’t make the trip. We grab him the same Finals shirt, which reminds me I should get something for my girlfriend. She’s not a basketball fan, but she loves “merch”, so I begrudgingly grab her a black Pacers-themed shirt. Boomer, the Pacers’ mascot, is front and center in a race car, which is perfect because she seemingly finds the mascots to be the most appealing thing about sports.
After we had our definite purchases, I scanned the Fever section. A Caitlin Clark jersey would be a great addition to my collection, but I’m in the middle of trying to cut down on my wardrobe. The Fever are actually in town for a Saturday matinee against the undefeated New York Liberty (no longer!). A great weekend of hoops in Indiana. The only thing I almost buy is a Fever/WNBA hoodie, but I ask myself how much wear I would get out of it. Once I decide that I wouldn’t give it the justice it deserved, I walk to the back of the line to begin the march toward the register.
After we complete our transactions, it begins pouring outside. Apple’s weather app didn’t project rain until 9 p.m., my dad’s Samsung said 10:30 a.m. and the local news station said 12:30 p.m. 11:30 a.m. was the right guess, folks. And I had so wittingly left my raincoat in the hotel room, so it was a nice 11-minute speed walk back to the hotel. My dad says, “Walking in the rain is one of my favorite activities.”
Interesting.
“Once you’re wet, you’re wet,” he says.
That I can agree with.
We’re back in the hotel with a little over seven hours until the arena doors open up. We decide that we should go check out the Centre Mall. This time, I’ll bring my rain jacket because I am currently on my second to last shirt and last pair of shorts. I’ll save my straight-fit khakis for tonight and will just blow dry my Patagonia shorts for our next excursion. They’re waterproof but it’s uncomfortable to walk around in the humidity with damp shorts. So, I stand in the bathroom blow drying them before we head out.
Once we exit the hotel lobby, the sticky air hits us and almost makes us take off our rain gear. There is still an overcast, but no dark clouds are threatening to let loose, so we walk at a slower pace. We approach what we think is the entrance into the mall, but realize it is just the parking garage. Confused, we walk back outside and turn the corner. I don’t even take two steps around the bend before almost running into WNBA legend Candace Parker. I noticed her immediately, but we passed each other so fast that all I could get out was “Hey, it’s Canda…,” with my words trailing off. My dad laughed at me for being so starstruck, but I had never been that close to someone that famous. I didn’t know what to say. What would I have even said?
After ruminating on that experience and it somehow getting more and more embarrassing, we realize that the mall is closed. We head to the local Burlington Coat Factory down the street. My dad needs a new shirt since his other one got soaked. I look around myself but refrain from buying anything. Shopping is fun, but buyer’s remorse isn’t. We leave the store and head off to a Loughmiller’s (that’s lock-miller) Pub and Eatery for some pregame grub. I order the Southwest Nachos, and my dad gets the chili. As we’re wrapping up our meals, the bartender asks us if we are going to the game. “Yes,” we say in unison.
“Are you Pacers fans or OKC fans,” the bartender says.
“OKC,” I respond.
“Ah, well it’s a heck of a series,” he says. “I hope your day up until 8:30 is good. After that, I hope it isn’t,” he says with a smile.
We head back to the hotel to wait for game time. I want to begin writing this article, but the midday crash is hitting me hard. With Jurassic World Dominion playing in the background, I decide to take a nap. My timer is set for 45 minutes, but deep down I know I’m not getting up until it’s time to leave.
I wake up in a little bit of a sweat. The beds are well cushioned, but for whatever reason the blankets and comforters had me overheating. My dad is trying to make plans for us to go to Del Frisco’s Double Eagle Steak House, but I’m too groggy from my nap to have a strong opinion on where to go eat. Honestly, those nachos had me full I was hoping to just get to the arena and eat there whenever I got the craving. Turns out that basketball jerseys and cowboy getups weren’t welcomed at Del Frisco’s, so that plan ended before we even had reservations.
I get up to get ready. My outfit is simple: Russel Westbrook jersey, Uniqlo white AIRism T-shirt, those straight-fit khakis and my Old Skool white leather Vans. The jersey has sentimental value beyond the fact that Westbrook is arguably OKC’s greatest player. Once he was traded after the 2019 season, I decided I was going to retire his jersey. I had my uncle craft a makeshift jersey case, and I pinned it up during my freshman year of college. That yellow-painted, wooden box was its home for the last five years. There was no better time to bring it out than this occasion.
Around 5:45 p.m., I call to ask when fans are going to be allowed into the arena. The lady on the other end said the doors would open at 7 p.m. Perfect, we’ll head out of our room in an hour. My dad starts getting ready himself. He’s dressed in full denim, sandwiched between midwestern staples, a cowboy hat and boots. Is Indiana the Midwest?
We head out of the door and the city is unsurprisingly buzzing with life. It was dead when we got here Thursday night. Now, you can’t walk three feet without bumping into somebody.
As we are walking toward the arena, I’m not getting as much attention as I thought I would. Before heading out, I thought I would at least get some boos. Instead, all that I get is a stranger saying, “At least it’s a Westbrook jersey. As a Nuggets fan, I got to respect the choice.” I give him a “yeah,” before continuing the walk. I couldn’t tell if he was a Pacers fan or not. He did just say he was a Nuggets fan so …
On our way, we pass some OKC fans. Everything that needs to be said between me and them is communicated with our eyes and a subtle head nod. We know what this game means. Stay cool, calm and collected.
My dad is the one who tries talking to some of the other OKC fans, mainly the ones surrounded by that rival blue and yellow. “Mismatch” he jokingly yells. They laugh and keep on moving. As do we, until we reach the corner of Maryland and S Pennsylvania Street. We stop at the crosswalk and look down to our right. The front of Gainbridge is flooded yellow. “This is it,” I think to myself, pounding my fists together in excitement.
As the great migration begins into the arena, the Pacers’ faithful begin to announce their presence.
A small OKC contingent tries to match it, but ….
As we approach security, I overhear a fan saying Indiana is known for three things: Basketball, Methamphetamine, and Farming.
Have truer words been said? I’ll need to check that second one.
Once we get into the arena, it’s better than I could imagine. The main entryway is packed. Fans are scattered all across, but the largest concentration is to the left behind ESPN’s NBA Countdown set. Fans are cheering and jeering as Malika Andrews, Stephen A. Smith, Bob Meyers, and Kendrick Perkins are all preparing to go live. It’s surreal seeing these people I’ve watched all season on TV right in front of me. I initially wanted to try to sneak down to the court for some player autographs, but I think I’ll hang out here for a little.
As my dad circles the set looking for the optimal viewing spot, I run into YouTuber Elliot Choy. I started watching him back in 2018 when he was still at Vanderbilt. He was one of the first people to get me excited about starting my college life the following year. He’s originally from Indiana, so I wonder if he’ll be cheering for the Pacers. I didn’t ask and instead settled for the awkward and finger-tip-only handshake accompanied by “awesome to meet you.” Again, I’m not used to meeting famous people, especially those who have made an impact on my life.
My dad is on the far right of the set. I walk over to him, and he pushes me to try and get me in line with the crowd shot. It’s funny because it feels like I’m a little kid and he’s trying to make this experience as memorable as possible. I couldn’t get up close enough to be in view, but the effort was there. After that segment was done, Andrews made her way down to the crowd for autographs and pictures. No security, just her interacting with the people. Once again, my dad tries to get me involved, but it’s weird asking someone I don’t know to take a photo. It’s even worse when she’s three feet from us and could most definitely hear my dad saying, “Go on, Brennan, get a picture.” Even if I wanted to, my feelings of awkwardness made me choose otherwise.
My dad asks if I want to go find some food. I’m too amped up about the game to be hungry though, so I tell him to go look and I’ll meet up with him a little later. As I’m hanging around the set, a drunken Pacers fan stumbles over to where I’m standing. He starts yelling at Stephen A. all types of nonsense: “F---- you, Stephen A.,” “Your hairline is f----- up, Stephen A.,” “Stephen A. has a small d----." What made it weirder was that every time he said something along those lines, he turned to those standing by and said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” Then, he would hurl another insult. Eventually, I tell him to lay off, which is not like me at all. His response: “F---- you, man. I should hit you, man.I love you, man." I just turn and ignore him after that. I won’t let one fan ruin my experience or perception of Pacers fans.
I meet up with my dad so he can have the event worker scan me into the concourse area. I walk past another event worker handing out programs and towels. My knee-jerk reaction is to decline the Pacers propaganda, but then I realize I’m at the NBA Finals. Why wouldn’t I take them?
Before getting to our seats, we stop at a concession stand so I can get water. As we are in line, Paris Lawson -- broadcast and digital reporter for the Oklahoma City Thunder -- walks by. I feel as though I have had enough practice by now to say hi, so I do.
“Paris Lawson, right?” I ask.
“Yes,” she kindly responds.
“Oh, man, it’s so awesome to meet you. Is Nick (Gallo, her coworker) here?” I ask.
“Yeah, but he’s around. He’s always doing stuff,” Lawson says.
“Ah well, I love your guys’ work,” I say.
“Thanks! Enjoy the game.”
That wasn’t that bad.
Right before we get up to the register, I notice an OKC-Indiana Finals ice sculpture on the left of the stand. Pretty masterful work. I get my water, and we begin heading to our seats. We learn that we are on floor five, so we have to take the elevator up. Once the doors open, the usher seated on the bar-like stool greets us. He asks what floor and punches the button to our level. A fan tells the usher he hopes he can catch some of the game. The usher laughingly responds “Nope.” Being trapped in the elevator doesn’t sound like a fun way to spend your night, but I suppose he knew what he signed up for.
Once we get to our floor, the search for Section 209 begins. We find it and begin looking for our seats. It’s a daunting climb up about 20 rows. We are all the way up in the nosebleeds, which makes me feel even more disoriented. I once had a dream that I was watching a hockey game from this high up. Only the seats were perpendicular to the ice. This wasn’t quite as bad. I think I’ve found our seats until a group of four approaches me. They say they have seats 11-14, but we are 13 and 14. I tell them I might be in the wrong section until they realize they are in 208. Classic mistake.
Once my dad and I settle into our seats, I take my phone out and begin taking as many photos and videos as I can. I had originally planned for this to be a video essay, but I forgot to charge my phone during my nap, so I only had about a 10% charge. I was starting to get stressed about how I would document this experience but soon settled myself by deciding to just write about it.
One of the first pictures I take reminds me of those memes from the NCAA Tournament games held in football arenas. The 0.5 zoom makes it even funnier that anybody would even commentate on an official’s call (Don't worry, there were plenty of complaints.):
The boos poured down when the Thunder came out. You can imagine what happened when the home team hit the hardwood.
Right before the national anthem, I spot a PG-13 OKC jersey three rows below me. Man, wasn’t he something special that 2019 season? Third in MVP and Defensive Player of the Year Voting? 28 a night? When you start thinking about it, Damian Lillard jumpstarted this whole thing. Nice shot Dame Dolla.
After a saxophonist kills the national anthem, a hype video is run on the jumbotron. A swell of emotion takes over the crowd as some of the biggest moments in Pacers’ history are relived. There’s extra buzz when Reggie Miller flashes the choke sign. Even though I want the Thunder to win, basketball is my true love. I’m come over with a sense of inspiration and joy seeing how much this city loves their team. Basketball connects people.
I’m so distracted by the energy of the building that I miss the starting lineups. Both teams line up for tipoff.
I still can’t believe I’m here.
(This is where my in-game scribbling began. I used my phone for as long as I could before I asked my dad if he could grab me a pen and paper when he went out for food. Hopefully it's coherent. If not, enjoy the ebbs and flows of my emotions just like this meme. If it's neither coherent or enjoyable, well then I don't know what to tell you.)
Mark Daigneault decided to go double-big to start the game. Lu Dort and Chet Holmgren get things going for OKC. It’s an early 4-0 lead.
Indiana has come out on fire. A 20-8 burst forces an OKC timeout. The Pacers are 7 for 10 from the field. Insane. The crowd is energizing this team.
13-4 run for OKC. Jalen Williams is performing once again. He hits both free throws to give him 10 early points. Hopefully, Shai Gilgeous-Alexander gets going. He’s only taken three shots by the time he is subbed out with 5:06 left in the first.
Whoop down goes Haliburton. The crowd exclaims, causing me to look up from my phone. Tyrese Haliburton is on the ground next to Dort. What even happened? (I just rewatched this play as I am writing this. What’s all the commotion about? It was a little love tap to the neck area. I’m just kidding.)
J-Dub really came to play. He’s attacking the basket and got a big-time putback in traffic off his own miss. He’s got 12 points.
Spicy P Slam! Man is Pascal Siakam a playoff-type of player. The replay shows just how unique yet perfectly crafted he is for this Pacers team. He seals off Aaron Wiggins just inside the 3-point line before catching a perfect entry pass for the two-handed flush.
AC with the pickpocket. Alex Caruso gets the steal on Haliburton. The crowd is furious over the no-call. Yes, Caruso got away with one there.
35-34 Indiana after one.
Multiple aspiring beer chuggers get cut off on the jumbotron. Let them live!
40-38 zone buster IND: On the side out for the Pacers, Rick Carlisle quickly recognizes the Thunder are in a zone. He frantically calls out his counter. T.J. McConnell inbounds to Andrew Nembhard. Siakam flashes to the middle before Nembhard returns the ball to McConnell on the left wing. Siakam fills the near-side corner and misfires on a 3-pointer. It’s the little things.
There’s SGA. Step back, leaning left, straight net. 43-42 Indiana.
Man, do the fans love TJ. Can you blame them? He just took SGA off the bounce and scored.
“Ref, you suck” chants break out after the flagrant foul drawn by Caruso. C’mon, we’re better than that.
Dub came to play. Shook that foul off like it was nothing. He makes both free throws, giving him 14 first-half points.
Obi Toppin almost checked in with his warmup on. The moment really sucks you in, doesn’t it?
Has it been said before? Tyrese Haliburton is a wizard with the basketball.
Indy 12-4 run to close the half. Hali with the and one. Tough. 60-57 Indiana after two.
Indiana has such an organic offense.
I really underrated Indiana’s defense, especially Nembhard. Is he one of the best point-of-attack defenders in the league?
Oh look, it's the Toronto Raptors superfan. He was chopping it up with TJ McConnell and Benedict Mathurin at halftime. What a guy.
I feel the tightness of the magnitude of this game. I'm clenched.
Indiana's offense doesn't highlight OKC's defense. The ball movement. The player movement. The quick-hitting actions. There aren’t many possessions with one-sided attacks. Can the Thunder defense move faster than the Pacers’ offense?
The air conditioning is blowing right on my neck. It's making my tightness worse.
I see a fellow OKC fan amidst the sea of yellow. He’s just as stressed as I am. He's looking down through the top of his glasses, chin tucked to his chest, beer in one hand, the other tied behind his back. The focus, the lack of outward emotion. I feel the same internal chaos, buddy.
Obi Toppin is making his shots. Just went back-to-back from 3. It feels like an Indiana run is starting. Timeout OKC. The crowd’s excitement is sending shockwaves through the building. My whole body is vibrating from how loud it is.
Obi is looking like a two-way guy after that block and dunk. It’s 86-76 Indiana, the largest lead of the game.
Backbreaking TO the next play? J-Dub doesn’t get across halfcourt in time. It feels like the early signs of a blowout.
Man, I forgot how hungry I was. Thanks, Dad, for the pizza.
Man, am I anxious to see how this game ends?
Not the ideal first possession to start the fourth, but Caruso just hit a Jordan fadeaway. We won’t win this game if that’s our shot diet.
Chet just made it a 3-point game, but it feels like the Thunder are still so far away. 9:28 left. Timeout Indiana. I’m just hoping my phone stays alive for the end. It’s a 10-3 run since the Toppin dunk. Indiana has an 89-86 lead.
Pat McAfee and Stephen A. got beef? Interesting.
Chet gets the putback dunk to make it a one-point game. I’m keeping my celebrations lowkey. Even though I’m in the rafters there’s no need to make enemies.
Caruso with the textbook volleyball block for his fifth steal. He heads to the free-throw line to potentially take the lead. He splits them. We just can’t get over the hump.
Shai drives to the basket, dipping his shoulder again. He’s been doing that all game, and Nembhard has done a good job of getting him off balance. This time though, Nembhard braces for the impact and gets blown through. SGA ties the game at 97.
We’re right there with 4:17 left. Haliburton’s two free throws regain the lead for the Pacers.
Sigh, Dort fouled after not boxing out well enough to get the rebound. Aaron Nesmith makes it a four-point game.
The tightness won’t go away. Every time I want to relax, Indiana gets going.
This experience has been something else, win or lose.
SGA 3! little fist bump.
SGA is answering the call, that’s seven straight for the MVP. He’s up to 29 points. OKC has its first lead of the second half! 104-103 Thunder.
Just doing some breathwork. It’s not really working. The tension is palpable.
Fuck Lu, make a free throw … thank you. 105-103 OKC.
That might be a bail-out call, SGA.
One down. Inhale. Two down. Exhale. 107-103.
Bennedict Mathurin is at the line with 23.8 seconds left.
One miss. No way. Two misses. We might walk out of here alive! No assumptions though, take nothing for granted.
What did I say? We just turned the ball over on the inbounds. Good thing Mathurin choked again at the line, only one make.
I mean what are we doing. Getting trapped in the corner, Dub??
I can now relax, SGA puts OKC up 111-104. I fix my posture and let out an, “Oh man” through an exhale.
Thunder close on a 12-1 run. The series is now 2-2.
My dad and I start heading for the stairs. We walk past some Indiana fans my dad was talking to during the game. I forget what was said, but I remember something about telling them where we are from. My father proudly states he is from Philadelphia. It was funny the whole trip telling people we were from Pennsylvania here to support the Thunder. The older gentleman looks at me kindly and says, “Good game, guys.” Indeed it was.
The Indiana fans are passionate and unforgiving but in a pleasant way. That drunken fan was one of two bad apples that night.
As we make our way down the stairs, I’m almost cut off by that Paul George jersey. He motions me through, allowing me to catch up to my dad. I thank him, to which he responds, “Anything for a fellow OKC fan.” I don’t even know the guy and I felt a connection to him. Sports fandom is funny in that way, isn’t it?
We’re making our way through the concourse area and the conversation is dominated by Scott Foster tirades. He’s known on NBA Twitter as the series extender, but I have to disagree with their accusations. I’m obviously biased, but the Thunder came back and took that game. If you want the numbers, the foul count was 27-26 Indiana, with OKC taking only five more free throws. Does that really swing the game?
The elevators are taking a while to get up to our floor. As we’re waiting, an older woman sees I have the gameday shirt hanging around my neck. Obviously, I wasn’t going to wear it during the game, but she thought I wouldn’t want it all.
“Do you want your t-shirt,” she asks.
“Oh yes, I’m going to keep it,” I respond with a smile.
I didn’t hear what she said, but I could feel her gaze piercing through me, almost as if she was disgusted I would want to hold on to that keepsake.
My dad makes the executive decision to take the steps. For whatever reason, he’s in a hurry to get out of the arena. He starts rushing and almost bumping into people.
“We’re not in a rush to get out of here,” I tell him.
He looks at me confused. He says something about how it’s the other people’s fault we’re moving so slow, something about flow dynamics. Did he just make that term up? He starts going on about how people get distracted with texting causing all this foot traffic to build up. A gentleman on the set of stairs below us raises his hand. My dad takes this as an invitation to further explain flow dynamics.
“Oh, I was just acknowledging that I am one of those people who text and walk,” the gentleman in glasses and a black t-shirt says.
We’re moving down closer to an exit out to S Delaware St., the opposite side of where we had entered over three hours ago. Once we’re outside, we rest by a planter box for a breather and to light some cigars.
The previous night, we had visited BURN by Rocky Patel. We smoked two cigars there and grabbed two for Friday night. Maybe it was bad luck to light a cigar after only tying the series up, but damn were they good. We don’t have cutters, but my dad has picks. He tells me to punch a hole in a cruciate form. I was a little confused at first, but he showed me what he meant. The pick has a tab on the end of it. You just poke a hole with the tab facing one way and then turn it 90 degrees the other way for the next punch. Simple.
It's a Vintage 2006 San Andreas and the draw is smooth. I’m new to the cigar world, but it’s nice to not have my tongue on fire after taking a puff. As we’re walking, people are making comments about our fumes of smoke. One particular gentleman happens to be that second bad apple I was talking about.
He is in a Pacers blue and white pinstriped pullover, walking in the opposite direction of us initially. He leans over across my dad on my left and yells, “Yeah, you must be happy with Scott Foster giving you guys that one.”
“SGA is the man,” I reply, thinking it was just some fun postgame banter. It became evident quickly this was personal.
He pushes my dad in the back and walks around to my right. “Fuck SGA,” he says.
I keep moving just trying to ignore him, before he says something that triggers this response from me: “Smoking that Indiana pack.”
It felt cool in the moment and was even better when I let out a nice cloud of smoke, akin to Joe Burrow circa 2019. Revisiting it in writing makes it more cringe than badass.
“Yeah, smoke your cigar you skinny fuck,” he yells, as his friend keeps pushing him away. I just keep smiling and smoking. My dad says it's good he doesn’t have a real attachment to OKC because that could’ve been way worse. I’m glad he doesn't.
We stop in front of the Hudnot Commons, two minutes away from our hotel. We were planning on finishing up our cigars before a woman approached the wall where we were sitting.
“What are we smoking cigars? That’s what we’re doing?” she rhetorically questions. She’s in a black dress with a cowboy hat and boots. She just came from a country concert, invalidating my father's earlier assumptions that the other similarly dressed people were going to the game for OKC.
She spends the next fifteen minutes talking about all kinds of things. From the game to her tumble at the concert to her divorce, to her possibly getting laid that night. It was awkward but made for a good story to round out my experience in Indianapolis. She rambled for so long that my cigar lost its light. After my dad got it burning again, I did my best chain smoker impression and was done with it by the time we got to the front of our hotel. I immediately started feeling nauseous and was just dying to get back to the hotel room.
We take the elevator up to the 15th floor, only for my dad to remember we need a later check out so we can go eat Steak n Shake the next day. So, we head back down, get that sorted and finally make it back to our room. By now, I’m struggling to stay upright, feeling like I’ll be throwing up in the next few minutes. I change my clothes and collapse in my bed. Taken 2 is the movie choice of the night. My dad is asking me if I’d be able to handle being attacked in a foreign country, but I’m too nauseated to even brush my teeth.
“Yes, I’d be able to handle myself” I respond, mustering up the strength to put my retainer in.
After I give my teeth a proper cleaning, I pull out my iPad and start watching some YouTube. I think to myself I should probably start this project now so I can have it out by Monday. I don’t and instead watch some postgame reactions to the Thunder’s win.
“What a night,” I think to myself.
On to Game 5.
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