Bright lights, big Oklahoma City

Yes, true as Tyronn Lue, this Finals screams of the 2001 NBA Finals, and that summer.

Allen Iverson and the Sixers step over the Lakers in Game 1, skinny ties come back, Conan hosts SNL, you are the weakest link, all that shit. Massive underdog from the East waltzes into home-court advantage after scrapping past the team with the NBA's best record.

Then that team, the "best record"-team, wins four straight, takes the title.

Four consecutive victories from Goliath. Not particularly compelling but for the efforts and showcase of clear superiority.

To look forward to that is to look forward to the deadening NBA reminder, that the best team always wins, and all they need is more than one game. Many of us chose Game 1 as Indiana's best chance at a victory in this series, this as-stated one-sided competition. The reminder complains that all the Pacers did on Thursday was play up to script, right down to the heroic ending.

The script sez the Thunder won't let any lead actors get anywhere near view of the camera for the rest of the series.

The Pacers are clutch? There won't be any clutch moments. The Pacers come back from big deficits? Yeah, against the East. And that's when the Oklahoma City Thunder rolls its eyes and walks to the free throw line.

That treatment presumes the Pacers aren't the better team, and that we're undervaluing the equivalency of a mid-to-late-to-latest season push. The problem with the Philadelphia connection was this famous graphic:

George Lynch and Aaron McKie could not lift for jumpers in the 2001 NBA Finals, their pain was obvious. Same with Eric Snow: Philadelphia didn't want him lifting for any jumpers even in great health, and the Sixer starting point guard couldn't run. Iverson's elbow blew up like a beautifully-yeasted Italian loaf every time he took his famous sleeve off.

That's the entire starting lineup, working through two-to-four-to-six-to-eight week injuries, and the Sixers limped like it. (Matt Geiger was more loathed than injured.)

The Pacers don't look anything like this. The injury report is clean save for setbacks to Jarace Walker (playing on Wednesday?) and Tony Bradley (working his way back?), a major accomplishment. No NBA team runs anywhere near the miles Indiana does, this team is tired and beat up and at the moment it does not matter.

These two Finals participants are in pain, it is not a normal thing to play one-nighters for six months before settling in on an eight-week postseason. Yet luck abounds, as does the sort of fortune which favors the prepared. Behind these players are massive and earnest staffs, trays full of smoothies and resistance bands to dangle from, players pick the color (of the bands, not the smoothies, all smoothies are green).

Don't hate the Pacers because they're healthy, Tyrese Haliburton croaked as much at the podium after Game 1. They're not the ones who traded for Damian Lillard's long miles, they didn't hire Thibs. They hired Rick Carlisle, who seems intent on creating the freshest team in NBA history: Rick played ten guys in the first, third and fourth quarters in Game 1. Nine players in the third.

Rick, more and more famously as spring turns to summer, also coached the 2011 Mavericks. Those Mavs, infamously, had four playoff rounds picked against them yet still made their way through Portland, the champion Lakers, the anticipated Thunder, then those Heat.

Those Mavs, sorry Brian Cardinal, went nine-deep, not ten. Still, nine is a ton for this league, these playoffs, these eyes, watching ancient Peja Stojakovic take up minutes so that Dirk Nowitzki and Shawn Marion may thrive down the stretch.

Contrary to these Pacers (who appear as fit as anyone to return to the NBA Finals in the wake of intrigue in Cleveland and New York, injuries in Boston and Milwaukee), the 2011 Mavericks were determinably last-legged. Each of the participants save Dirk knew their time was up, and played like it, shared and gave and dug.

Carlisle has a group of twentysomethings performing the same way, a remarkable achievement, I just remarked upon it, a group of Pacers so dogged they'll inspire an MVP to dive for a loose ball, and certain hits from two different opponents. The Pacers are a collection of older sorts. Not "souls." I'm not going to write "old souls."

GAME 2 PREVIEW

Hits next. Also, Knicks, something on TNT, something else on the Thunder, something less weird about the Thunder for another website. Wrote about the Pistons at Katie's website!

SPOTLIGHT ON OKC

How lit? The rest of the world is starting to learn about this Jesus guy, and not because the Thunder ask us to pray before each game.

No, this Jesus guy.

He's there at every game, checking texts from the family or staring straight ahead to spot miraculous Signs from Dad.

Then again, this guy is there at every, every every game.

It did not feel like an NBA Finals game on Thursday night, outside of the NBA Finals game on Thursday night. For that I am forever grateful. What a wonderfully unhurried welcome.

Seeing the Thunder in Oklahoma City is always a delightful oddity, you'd never guess that there is a major league contest happening a few hundred feet away, but there it is. And, to the left, there's that giant building. And they want to build another, over twice the size!

Certainly more police per few hundred feet than I've seen in my entire life, and I used to live a few hundred feet from that big police station on Belmont and Western.

More obvious, showy police presence than the protection surrounding the Lakers' arena after the 2010 Finals win. Do not try to invade the 2025 NBA Finals, I implore you. They have so many tanks here.

The Thunder arena is small, loud, bright, accurately represented by the television broadcast. For a while now the team shows a decibel meter on the scoreboard, similar to the free app I have on my phone. The Game 1 cheering did eclipse 100 decibels, I double-checked with my app, but so what: I'm topping that at home with a 15-watt Vox with an eight-inch speaker, no pedals, single-coil pickups.

Game 1 was my third game in this place and the buzz was as strong in the first two, which says more about the Thunder's regular season atmosphere than it did about Thursday night's celebration of basketball. Oklahoma City is somewhere to go out of one's way to come to. Maybe don't drive from Indiana, maybe rent a car at the Dallas airport and poke your way up.

No bad seats and I should know, I was in the fourth-to-last row. Sat directly in front of two rows of Thunder fans and right next to that small group of Pacers fans you heard on the TV. Indiana's travelin' crew was about three-rows long, 14-seats deep, I wanted to ask any of them if they'd driven to OKC but they were too busy losing their ho-ly crap minds.

Could you imagine? I can't, I'm a Bulls fan.

It was fun to see Shams clasp hands with the Pacers' Flamingo Guy, Pacers Flamingo Guy had his flamingo in his non-clasping hand. It was fun watching international media, shuttling between the two-most middle class NBA towns available, briefly forgetting about this ultra-American atmosphere and settling into an amazing basketball game.

Getting to NBA games is a hassle, attendees can tell they're a few miles away from the arena because that's where the line starts. The Thunder arena is plopped right in the middle of that city yet you'd never know, even with a Finals goin' on, that this area is about to host a major league sporting event. Not for the effort, Thunder banners are everywhere, but because the burgh is so darn small.

But adorable, loud even in January and February, cheerful. Forty-buck Finals parking – major league – but directly next to the Myriad Botanical Gardens, chirps and scratchy legs and all sorts of bug and bird bleating awaited me after Game 1 as I made my way to the only car in the lot, mine. Four tires, zero hubcaps.

The heat is hot but far less offensive than my swampy swing through Orlando's Finals in 2009, and that's when we were trying bangs. The Pacer postgame podium is in a room, unlike the home team's open expanse, limiting air flow and movement. After Game 1 a woman's voice with a French accent squeaked in English over how hot it was in here, then Pascal Siakam walked in (fresh from a shower and 35 minutes against the Thunder) wearing a hat and hearty, long-sleeved sweatshirt, not a single bead of sweat.

Someday they're gonna look up the ascension of "vibe" in our vocabulary and we're all going to be embarrassed with our verbal Pet Rock. But beaming vibes were bountiful in every part of that building after Game 1. The home team and all its handlers understand what business they require attending to over the rest of the Finals. The Pacers know they have more than a chance, and us impartial observers can't get over how fun the basketball is.

NEW SUBSCRIBERS

Thank you so much.

OLD SUBSCRIBERS

Thank you so much.

TIPPERS

Thank you so much. Also, each of your comments are wittier than anything in this email.

THE FINALS LOGO

I didn't look for it, but it soon became conspicuous in its absence. Gold is tacky, to be sure, but it's only a decal. And it is nice to be reminded of an utterly ineffective Dem pol in any scenario, let alone the Oklahoma City-to-Indianapolis shuffle. It'll be back.

The Finals are fun for the oddity of seeing a team from each NBA conference play against each other. The Pacers and Thunder meet up twice per year, sure, but the uniforms aren't familiar to each other. We'll be bored by their contrasts by Game 4, but for now enjoy the Super Bowl'ish fun of watching two franchises who only kinda know each other.

It is like baseball before interleague competition, when it was odd to watch Padres and Tigers or A's and Reds uniforms combat in the World Series.

Still is.

FREEBIES

First hotel featured green tea bags in the lobby, none of these places ever do, that was nice. Free bottle of cream rinse in the bathroom.

Second hotel gave out free willies, an extra something ain't right under your door when the lights go out.

The Thunder distributed free boxes of popcorn and boxes of candy (Sour Patch Kids, Hot Tamales, traditional M&Ms, peanut M&Ms, Mike & Ike's, lots of ampersands in classic candy, I've noticed recently) to those at the press rows. Each of the seats around me went unoccupied so I grabbed two boxes of free traditionals on either of my arm rests, no peanuts available. Put one inside my blazer's interior pocket and the other inside my blazer's only working side pocket.

So there I was, at all the podium performances, slipping around coaches and players and the world of NBA journalism, sounding like a candy-coated maraca with every swooshing step. It was worth it, nothing was open in Edmond, Oklahoma at whatever in the morning I returned to my lodging.

Kelly had Raisin' Cane's for the first time after Game 1 and, though it was clear a child from southeastern Ohio designed the menu, service was prompt and kind.

OKLAHOMA TRAVELING TIP NO. 1

If you see what you think is someone's lost weekend spilled out and on the floor, don't worry, no need to call a janitor, nobody got sick. Don't even need to step over it.

That's just red dirt. Everywhere. Every step, every stair. Copper-colored mud. All along the roads, the sidewalks, I'm charmed. Mostly because, at first, I thought it was someone's overreaction to Game 1, all over the stairs on the walk back to my room.

Though I've grown to love the Thunder uniforms, the team really missed out on not emphasizing its port-wine hue when Clay (come on) Bennett stole the team from Seattle and moved here. Shoulda elbowed the really red 2007-08 Cleveland Cavaliers out the dang way.

OKLAHOMA TRAVELING TIP NO. 2

Back into parking spots if you have Indiana plates.

BACKING INTO SPOTS

I don't do it as much since the backlash started, and when I do back into spots I don't do it to drive out of spaces faster. My Main Character has nowhere to go.

I do it because my car has a camera for when I back into parking spots, but doesn't have a camera for when I drive into a parking spot.

I didn't get a license until I was 28, I suck at parking frontward, it is way easier NOT to do an ass parking job with a camera helping me.

THIS HOTEL ROOM HAS PALLADIA

The TV channel. Or whatever the channel is called now, the hotel made a point of listing the channel as "(FORMERLY PALLADIA)" on the laminated station list, which makes me think this place housed some impatient Sammy Hagar fans at some point. He's gonna interview Alice Cooper! He's gonna ask Alice about his golf game and they're gonna laugh at jokes that aren't really funny! Sammy won't remove his sunglasses!

This place also has NBA TV, in case I wanted to watch Greg Anthony in a polo shirt.

This hotel also has BuffStreams dot app, in case I want to watch the Dodgers make fools of themselves.

I DID NOT KNOW THE COLLEGE WORLD SERIES WAS IN TOWN

Not until I searched for 'college world series' at 8:24 PM, local, on Friday evening.

I'VE NEVER BEEN TO INDIANAPOLIS MOTOR SPEEDWAY

Never even driven by it, never been in the neighborhood. I just checked and my house is 59.8 miles away from Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE A SPORTSWRITER

Oh, most definitely. You can tell when I'm next to someone who works in television. For them, sweating at work is anathema.

For us, we know what "anathema" kinda means. And we're used to sweating as a form of non-verbal expression. In this conversation, I scream a lot.

THERE IS NOTHING ABOUT YOUR LONG DRIVE IN THIS EMAIL

If I started to talk about the drive, I'd be late for Game 5.

GAME 2 IS THE NEXT GAME

Exactly. We'll talk about the drive as life moves along. Or when someone from a website pays me.

GIVE 'EM SOMETHING

My hotel is on Route 66, though we didn't know it when we booked it.

I'll drive to the Speedway next week. I'm not going to the Banjo Museum.

WHAT DO YOU CALL A BANJO PLAYER WITH A PAGER

An optimist!

DO YOU KNOW WHAT A BANJO IS TUNED TO?

No, tell me.

NO, SERIOUSLY, DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE TUNING IS?

Oh, not a joke, okay.

No. No clue. I played a banjo once when I was in junior high and it felt like deveining a fish with a pair of pliers, and then bluegrass came out.

ARE YOU HUNGRY

Not really but we have to get something for later. I don't want to go to that Wal-Mart because I'm upset at them for being closed late last night.

SO, HIT UP THE FAKE WHOLE FOODS

Time for 12-buck brussels sprouts. Can't go to the Banjo Museum on Raisin' Cane's alone.

WE ARE NOT GOING TO THE BANJO MUSEUM

What if someone pays for the ticket?

ANYMORE FOR ANYMORE

Thanks for reading!