We don’t know when it’s going to happen.
It could be in an elimination game. It could be the tipping point of an even series or just another punch amid a gentleman’s sweep. It might be a superstar with his back against the wall, or an up-and-comer announcing his arrival. It could be in the second round. It might be the Finals – it’s the best when it’s the Finals.
We don’t know who’s going to do it. It could be LeBron, pushed to the brink, needing that third title more than anybody else needs their first. It could be Durant, because, after all, this is his season. It could be Dirk, or Duncan – for old time’s sake, it could be Dirk and Duncan in the same game. It could be John Wall. How fun would it be if it’s John Wall?
We don’t know how he’s going to do it. Stephen Curry might get so hot he melts the Oracle Center along with every 3 point record in the book. James Harden might get to the rim again and again, like a bearded homing missile. Al Jefferson might make the low post his private pump fake playground, wheeling and spinning into crevasses until even the proud Udonis Haslem yells for help. Maybe three months of midrange constipation are freed as Paul George rains and reigns.
We don’t know when, or who, or how that one game is going to happen. But we know the answer to the question “if”. It’s the NBA playoffs. It will. One random night in the following two months, somebody is going to unleash holy hell upon the game of basketball. In every playoff run, there is at least one of those all-time memorable games, and I can’t wait. I can’t wait to watch it in disbelief, walk away from it with hands on my head and waiting for years of retrospectives to be written about it. I can’t wait to find out which one it is this year.