Not Caring About the Playoffs Is Weird and I Don't Like It
AU on falling asleep during the most exciting weekend of the NBA season.
The last week has been full of the kind of events that, historically, have heralded the beginning of the NBA playoffs. The start of Passover, and the countdown to Easter. Weekends One and Two of Coachella. Cold and allergy season. Bryce Harper's first time of the season getting thrown out at second trying to stretch a single to a double for no reason. The weather ever so gradually heating up from "not even Jack Reacher could pull me out of warm comfy bed" to "hmm maybe I actually can get away with taking off my hoodie before sleep tonight." Even the return of the Zach Lowe playoff preview podcast! All signs clearly pointed to the NBA postseason being as imminent as April showers bringing May flowers.
And yet, I woke up on Wednesday morning completely oblivious to the fact that the first two NBA play-in games apparently happened the night before. Even as those clips of Steve Kerr wearing that Harvard sweater and shit-talking the president started going viral that day, I failed to make the connection that the location he was talking from was a post-game podium, following a Game 83 against the Memphis Grizzlies. I had sorta forgotten that the play-in tournament -- now in its sixth season -- was even a thing, and I'd figured that someone would just tap me on the shoulder when it was time for Playoffs Weekend One so I could half-heartedly root for whoever The Celtics and Jimmy Butler (on Golden State now, right?) were playing against.
I've never been this checked out before to start the NBA postseason and I do not care for it. And of course, I 100% blame the Sixers.
Well, really maybe only 80-90%. It's been hard for me to gauge whether this NBA season has actually been a joyless trudge through a regular season no one liked to get to a postseason no one was looking forward to, or if that was me being pissy because the team I followed was set to finish about 30 games under their predicted wins total for the season. But I've talked to enough IRL people who agreed that this season just didn't have the juice -- and I read that Howard Beck article about how watching the last six months has been like getting through a 37-track new Morgan Wallen album -- so I guess it's not just me or the Sixers; the league and Adam Silver probably do have to shoulder at least some of the blame for putting out a kinda stinky product this year.
But even the biggest fireworks-display smokeshow of an NBA season probably wouldn't have kept my attention at the end of this particular run. Once all our Big Three were limping around the court and we were falling behind by 50 to the putrid Chicago Bulls, I was already well into Any Other Team's Joy Just Brings Me Further Misery territory. Whose playoff run am I supposed to get invested in at that point anyway? The defending-champ Celtics? The Donovan-Mitchell-and-Jarrett-Allen Cavaliers? The Thunder team who might very well steal the No. 7 pick in this summer's draft away from us next month? Rooting for the Sixers has long since poisoned me against all of these teams anyway. Rather than doing the advanced math to determine which of them I hate the least, easier to just tune out altogether.
It's a bummer, though. I used to really love this time of the year. For the Sixers in particular, of course -- though a bunch of those seasons, it was as much knot-in-the-stomach dread as it was first-day-of-summer excitement -- but also just for everyone. The Hawks unexpectedly taking the top-seeded Celtics to seven games, or the declining Mavs showing up one last time to give the Spurs everything they could handle. Even just a couple seasons ago, that Warriors-Kings first-round series was a pretty classic "overachieving up-and-comers vs. underachieving dynasty" opening showdown. I could still find it in my heart to get invested in that one. Now the darkness is a little too all-consuming; if the same thing happens with the Rockets and Warriors this year I'll probably watch a game-and-a-half's worth total and mostly just root for both teams to humiliate themselves.
I did tune into the end of the Heat-Hawks game last night, which was decently entertaining. Not that I could maintain a consistent rooting interest between Heat Culture and the team with Trae Young and Georges Niang -- so close on that last mini-hook, Georges -- but I did get a little bit of That Old Feeling from all the back-and-forth. Mostly, though, I was just stunned by how unfamiliar I was with the current state of the two teams in question. Davion Mitchell is on the Heat? Onyeka Okongwu is shooting (and making) threes now? Where's Clint Capela anyway? Goddamn does Andrew Wiggins look weird in a Miami jersey. In the very back of my mind, I'd still been thinking of myself as a Real Hooper, but it was disturbing to be confronted with the NBA Casual that I'd truly become.
I'd like to think I could come back someday. Maybe if the Sixers get good again, or at least get far enough removed from the Process era that any time I look at any other corner of the league I'm not automatically reminded of the last decade's many crushing disappointments. Maybe if I lose my job or my girlfriend or both and I'm just so desperate for anything that reminds me of simpler times that I end up treating any seven-game first-rounder like it's 2009 Celtics-Bulls. Maybe if the stories of Victor Wembanyama or Cooper Flagg get interesting enough that I actually come to care about seeing how their narrative arcs unfold. Until then, though, I guess it'll just be second-screening games while watching something else, then falling asleep during the third quarter and forgetting to DV-R the rest (it was probably a blowout anyway). Go Phils.
Andrew Unterberger writes for The Rights To Ricky Sanchez, as part of the 'If Not, Pick Will Convey as Two Second-Rounders' section of the site. You can follow Andrew on Twitter @AUGetoffmygold and can also read him at Billboard.
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