6/4/2014 The Legacy of Game 6

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NBA
The Legacy of Game 6
A shot for the ages. A collapse for the ages. One year later, the Heat and Spurs are back
in the NBA Finals to do it all again.
BY BILL SIMMONS ON JUNE 4, 2014
You know when people are witnessing something historic, then claim they never realized the
importance until after the fact? With Game 6 of the 2013 NBA Finals, you knew. You knew the entire
time. The first 47 minutes and 31.8 seconds had already earned Game 6 a lifetime of NBA TV replays.
But what happened next? Thats what made it stupendous.
With Miami trailing by five points, LeBron James launched a desperation 3 from the top of the key,
maybe two steps to the left, and sent the ball sailing over the rim. Actually, it was worse than that it
bounced off the bottom of the backboard like a freaking Super Ball. I watched the trajectory from our
makeshift television set across the court, crammed behind San Antonios basket, so I could tell right
away it was off. That shot couldnt have been a bigger brick; LeBron should have just fired that thing
with a T-shirt cannon. It also couldnt have been a better break for Miami. One of the most famous
sequences in NBA history was officially in motion.
Waiting for the rebound in front of Miamis basket, four different Spurs had boxed out three Heat
players in a perfect square. Any basketball camp could show their alignment to campers with the note,
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This is how you box out as a group. If any Spur secured the rebound, San Antonio would bring home the
title the fifth for Duncan and Popovich, and probably the sweetest one too. But none of them
expected the basketball to carom that quickly.
The ball found Kawhi Leonard first. Hed been brilliant all series, playing a stretch 4 and bothering
LeBron despite battling ongoing discomfort in his left knee. The teams doctors declared that
Leonards knee needed rest, but San Antonio needed Leonards athleticism too much. He played
through pain for the entire playoffs. Later that summer, Erik Spoelstra told me that Miami charted
Leonards rebounds during those seven games somehow, he caught every rebound that touched his
fingers except for two. This was one of the two. Famous for his gargantuan hands, Leonard couldnt
swing those oversize mitts up fast enough.
As Leonard fumbled for a second chance, Dwyane Wade soared in and tipped the ball away, looking like
a cornerback breaking up a touchdown catch. The basketball popped up perfectly, as if an invisible
referee threw everyone a jump ball. Leonard, Manu Ginobili and Boris Diaw pursued, all arriving from
different directions, all of them practically colliding in air. Had Popovich never removed Duncan for
Diaw for that defensive possession, its difficult to imagine Duncan the third-best playoff rebounder
ever at the time, trailing only Chamberlain and Russell not grabbing the biggest board of San
Antonios season. But Miami trotted out five shooters and Popovich well, Popovich overthought this
one.
Duncan and his nearly 16,000 career rebounds watched from afar. His three teammates tipped the ball
toward Miamis bench, right to Ray Allen, who immediately turned into Justin Bieber after five joints
and 10 cups of sizzurp. The man lost all of his coordination. He whipped his left arm for the loose
basketball, botched the catch and somehow redirected the ball backward toward San Antonios bench.
LeBrons brick had morphed into basketballs version of the magic bullet. The same rebound had
changed direction four times. Half the players on the court had already touched it.
Mike Miller touched it before everyone else he inbounded the ball to LeBron, then floated toward the
foul line for a possible rebound, failed to sneak past the doughier Diaw, watched the basketball get
redirected three times, then chased down the loose ball after Allens rebounding spasm. Meanwhile,
LeBron had remained behind the 3-point line, drifting near Miamis bench, waiting for a second
chance. Miller quickly shoveled the ball his way. LeBron buried it. Two-point game.
The entire sequence took 8.1 seconds. Seven players touched the ball. Leonard, Miller and LeBron
touched it twice. Incredibly, Miami was still alive. Timeout, San Antonio.
I dont remember much about Game 6. But I absolutely remember standing there in a medicated haze,
thinking to myself, Wait a second they arent gonna screw this up, are they?
After I joined ESPNs studio crew last season, my biggest fear was getting sick during the Finals. My
immune system stinks. Throw me on enough airplanes and Im probably catching something. I had
stayed healthy for eight straight months, with everything falling apart after Game 5 of the Finals. We
landed in Miami and I holed up in my hotel room, the thermostat jacked as high as it could go, trying to
sweat out whatever evil bronchitis demon had possessed me.
You cant call in sick for television. You dont have a choice; you have to keep going. Just keep sucking
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cough drops, popping Advils and staying hydrated and hope you dont cough up a lung on live TV. And
so I wore my best suit and one of my favorite ties. They caked my face with makeup. They used drops to
save my reddened eyes. You wouldnt have known I was ill, even if I felt like I was heading for my own
funeral. Right down to how my body had been prepared. And thats how I watched one of the greatest
basketball games ever in a foggy haze. I remember Duncan dropped 25 points in the first half,
torching Miami like he was 25 years old again. I remember discussing him at halftime, wondering if
wed remember it as the Duncan Game his unexpected last chapter, the night that could cement his
legacy as his generations defining player. I dont remember much else.
But the fourth quarter? I remember a bunch of things. I remember Duncan fading as LeBron ascended
to an ungodly level. Stretch Bo Jackson to 6-foot-8, give him T-Macs streaky jump shot, Jordans
competitiveness, Pippens defensive prowess and Birds brain, and that was LeBron dominating both
ends for nine solid minutes. He fought off a slightly better San Antonio team, by himself and then,
just as unexpectedly, he remembered he was human and ran out of gas. Thats when Tony Parker made
a couple of Tony Parker plays, and before we blinked, San Antonios bench was celebrating and Miami
had bungled the series.
During that now-fateful timeout with San Antonio up five, Jalen Rose and I watched NBA officials
wheel the Larry OBrien Trophy into the runway to our right. It couldnt have been farther than 15 feet
from us. We watched security guards assume positions around the court, and we watched Heat
employees hastily sticking up yellow rope around the courtside seats. Like they were cordoning off a
homicide scene. Even after LeBrons second-gasp 3, I still thought we were going home. Some Heat
fans had already trickled out. We watched them leave in disbelief. How could the Basketball Gods
reward that?
After Miller fouled Leonard with 19.4 seconds left, he strolled impassively to the free throw line, with
Miamis rejuvenated crowd suffocating him with boos and screams. I remember thinking, Forget about
making these free throws I wonder if this kid is hitting the rim. Leonard sized up those freebies, the
clatter bouncing off him, a Spurs collapse suddenly in play. How many current players could have
nailed these specific free throws? Maybe 10 total? Leonard clanged the first one. Mayhem. He made
the second one, and by the way, I will always respect Kawhi for making that second one. Three-point
game.
After Miamis timeout, we watched in disbelief as Pop removed Duncan for the ensuing defensive
possession. How can you keep the power forward GOAT off the floor twice? Jalen and I were flipping
out. What was Pop thinking? As we were venting, they started playing basketball again. Chalmers
dumped it to LeBron, who missed another 3 near Miamis bench. The ball caromed to the right side,
with Bosh securing it right before Ginobili bounced off him. (For what its worth, that was a GREAT
rebound by Bosh.) As Ginobili tumbled to the ground, Allen furiously retreated toward the right
corner. None of the Spurs was close enough to him. And Bosh was tossing the ball his way.
Now
I watched Ray Allen play for my favorite team for five years. He goes to the same spots and does the
same things the same ways not just for weeks, or months, but for years and years and years. Hes the
closest thing we have to an NBA robot. He treats 3-pointers like tennis players treat their serves,
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golfers treat their swings and pitchers treat their delivery quick jump, quick release, perfect form,
line drive, bang. Every shot looks the same. Watch Ray long enough and you instinctively realize when
hes heating up, when hes shooting from a spot he likes, and when hes thrust into a situation that
even if it seems chaotic happens to be perfect for Ray Allen and Ray Allen only.
With seven seconds left in Game 6, suddenly, we were in one of those situations. And I knew just from
watching him backpedal those first two steps.
True story: When Ray practices 3s from different parts of the court, sometimes he blindfolds himself
so he cant see the 3-point line. His complicated shooting routine unfolds hours before games like,
HOURS before games sometimes with cheerleaders practicing and arena employees turning the
lights on and off. He practices footwork as diligently as a ballerina, partly because hes a perfectionist,
partly out of basketball OCD, and partly because he always wants to be prepared for anything. And you
know whats really crazy? Ray Allen is enough of a lovable weirdo that he practiced this specific shot.
In fact, hes been practicing it since his Milwaukee days.
Five seconds left, down three, rebound, Im in the corner, I have to backpedal as fast as I can whats
next?
Nobody in NBA history was better prepared for this moment. Ray moved backward quickly, knowing
he needed six steps he couldnt take five, and he couldnt take seven because, again, Ray Allen is a
brilliant obsessive who practices these things. He had three Spurs sprinting at him, with Tony Parker
arriving in time to throw both hands up like Mini-Hibbert. Allen had to halt his momentum from going
backward, straighten his body, launch off two feet and keep his release as mechanical as ever. Oh, and
he could allow himself only a cursory glance at the floor something that happened in a split second
of a split second, as Allen was gathering the ball, when he quickly looked down to his left.
Its the last point that amazed me the most. The 3-point territory in the corners isnt exactly
cavernous. You have maybe three feet in all. Misjudge it one way and youre touching the line, costing
yourself a point. Misjudge it the other way and youre out of bounds. Every time I play pickup
basketball on an NBA court, Im always startled by the lack of room in those corners. And its not like
these players have tiny feet, either. Maybe its the easiest 3-point shot by percentages, but it also allows
the most room for error. Especially when youre backpedaling at full speed.
And with all of that said I knew that shot was going in.
I would have wagered anything. Even with a 102-degree temperature, even with dried contacts, even
with a lump of phlegm wedged in my throat, even with everything feeling vaguely white and hazy the
same way you feel right before you die, Im guessing I saw the future once Ray started moving
backward. I had watched him nail those shots too many times. Nobody had been better in those
moments. Nobody. I remember yelping when the shot went through. I remember the fans losing their
minds. I remember thinking, Theres no way he didnt step on a line; its impossible, even for Ray,
theres just no way.
They started reviewing the play. We whirled around and studied replays on our undersized monitor.
Unbelievable. Never touched either line. You could compare it to only one other NBA shot: Kareems
walk-off sky hook in Game 6 of the 1974 Finals, which saved Milwaukee at the buzzer in double
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overtime. If Kareem missed it, Boston took the title. If he made it, Milwaukee hosted Game 7. He made
it. One problem: The Celtics flew to Milwaukee and won the title there, anyway.
This time around, Ray Allen saved Miamis season and swung the title. Theres never been a greater
NBA shot. With all due respect to Jordans iconic jumper against the 98 Jazz, Allens shot had similar
clutchness, bigger stakes and a higher degree of difficulty. If you or I caught that pass as we were
backpedaling, then launched a desperation 3 with someone running at us, wed screw up every time.
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Only a few players could dream of making that shot with that footwork Kobe, Durant, Bird, T-Mac,
Reggie Miller, maybe Jamal Crawford with lower stakes but the moment itself made it a different
animal. You wouldnt want anyone else shooting that shot other than Ray Allen. His whole career led to
those three seconds. It really did.
1.
When I played at Staples Center a few months ago, I kept trying Rays shot with Grantlands Dave Jacoby playing
the role of Bosh. Its just about impossible to furiously backpedal and land perfectly between those two lines, much
less launch a coherent 3-pointer. Its a wildly unrealistic ask for normal NBA players, much less normal humans. Ray
Allen is neither.
I love so many things about the NBA, but over everything else, its those moments when you know
youre seeing something special something that will get replayed forever, something that lets you
say, Yeah, I was there, and someone else turns into Will Hunting and screams, Really? You were
there? YOU WERE FUCKING THERE? I was there for Gar Heards miracle heave in Boston, Birds
steal from Isiah and Magics baby sky hook over McHale and Parish. Now, I was there for Rays 3.
Thats four all-timers. Only Rays moment remains hazy. Everything was white and blurry, and then,
there was Ray, and everything got clear for a second. Yeah, I was there.
And heres what happens when youre there: Youre crammed around a basketball court watching
these physical freaks bring out the best in each other, and occasionally, something unbelievable
happens, and it creates this sound that cant even really be described. Its the single best sound,
actually. When Bird dueled Dominique in 1988, Game 7, we made that sound for most of the fourth
quarter. We knew something magical was happening. You attend hundreds and hundreds of games
waiting for that sound to happen. In Game 6, it happened. Rays 3 swung the title and preserved a small
chunk of LeBrons legacy. It shattered a magnificent San Antonio team and kept Miamis three-peat
alive. And it guaranteed that Ray Allen would make the Hall of Fame on the first ballot.
You know what happened next. Parker missed San Antonios last shot in regulation, with a little help
from a barely perceptible shove by LeBron. Miami prevailed in overtime, escaping after Bosh
swallowed up Danny Greens last-second 3 attempt. Our studio show popped on TV after midnight.
Wilbon went first, then Magic, then Jalen, then me. I declared that no NBA team had ever come closer
to winning a title without actually winning a title, which I hoped was true. (It was.) We bantered for a
few minutes, then returned a few minutes later and did it again. We filmed a couple more segments,
then we were done. The whole thing wasnt nearly as fulfilling as I expected. In retrospect, I would have
rather written about it.
Instead, I returned to my hotel room, cranked the thermostat to 80 and crashed. I stayed in bed for the
next 36 hours. I lost six pounds. I finished the first half of Season 5 of Breaking Bad. I watched the
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Bruins blow a Stanley Cup game. I launched an antibiotics cycle with help from an NBA doctor. I
ordered room service and barely touched it. I felt like a failure for never writing a Game 6 column. I
took hot shower after hot shower, since it was the only thing that made my head feel better. I wondered
if I would make it to Game 7. I remember every single thing about that dark room.
Around 4 p.m. the following afternoon, the TV adrenaline started kicking in. We were five hours away
from Game 7. I took another hot shower, shaved my face, slipped on a wrinkled suit, knotted a colorful
tie, gnawed on another cough drop. Then I pulled open the curtains to my room, the light blinding me
from every angle. I waited for my eyes to adjust, and when they did, I could see the water and the
buildings lurking in front of me. Downtown Miami was waiting. So was Game 7.
When the Spurs made the 2014 Finals last weekend, Popovich couldnt hide his appreciation for his
players, marveling at their ability to bury such a catastrophic defeat. Most franchises would have been
broken by Game 6. Pops team just moved forward. He mentioned being delighted that they didnt have
a pity party for themselves. Only Pop would come up with that one. Pity party. Meanwhile, Miami
needs four victories to become a team for all time. Youd have to go back to 1987 the rubber match of
the Bird-Magic Finals trilogy for an NBA Finals with more at stake historically for both sides.
The Spurs are favored, barely, thanks to their home-court advantage and a season spent mastering
small ball. With Marco Belinelli and a rejuvenated Ginobili, the Spurs are deeper and craftier than
ever. And a now-healthy Leonard has blossomed into a fantastic two-way player and a worthy foil for
LeBron. The 2014 Spurs are definitely better than the 2013 Spurs. Also helping: The 2014 Heat are
slightly worse than last years team Wade isnt the same anymore, their role players have been
increasingly unreliable, and theres a decent chance that the Eastern Conference was more dreadful
than we thought. If youre picking Miami this series, its because of LeBron and LeBron only. Hes at
the peak of his powers. Thats an excellent reason, by the way.
But theres a karmic element that normal NBA Finals just dont have. San Antonio seeking revenge
against the dastardly Heat team that stole their title? San Antonio earning a second chance after failing
only because of a mind-blowing series of events? If you played the last 28.2 seconds 100 times, San
Antonio would probably win 99 of them. So, why? Why was that the 100th time? Why did that have to
happen to Duncan, of all people?
You might remember that sadness drifting into the final minute of Game 7, right after Duncan missed
what would have been a game-tying bunny over Shane Battier that hes probably made 24,326 times in
his life. Duncan jogged back downcourt in abject disbelief, like someone staggering away from an
accident. Miami called timeout and Duncan sank into a despondent crouch, remaining that way for a
couple of seconds, finally slapping the floor with two open hands.
Everyone in the arena could read Duncans mind. How did we blow this? How? How did that happen?
The great Tim Duncan thought he had squandered his last chance.
And heres how fast things can flip. Back in October 2003, the Red Sox choked away Game 7 in Yankee
Stadium, one of the most demoralizing defeats in franchise history. It felt like something of a final
straw for Boston fans. Wed be thinking about Grady Littles mistake and Aaron Boones homer
forever. The Baseball Gods hated us. It was official. We would live our entire lives, then croak, without
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ever seeing them win the whole thing. Twelve months later, we won the whole thing. Ten years later,
the Boone Game doesnt matter anymore. I never think about it.
If the Spurs beat Miami, Allens 3 stops haunting them and if thats not enough, well remember San
Antonio as the greatest franchise of the post-Jordan era. If the Heat prevail, they move into a different
category historically: four straight Finals, three straight titles, one of the best teams ever. Those are the
stakes. The rematch kicks off Thursday night. Miami and San Antonio, the sequel. You gotta love
sports.
Illustration by Aaron Dana.