by Steven Adams
With a minute to go and a one-point lead, I scrambled for a loose ball, ended up at the top of the key and had a decision to make. I could hold it up, kick it back out for someone else to take the shot, or I could take it myself. My instinct in those situations had been to give the ball to someone else for a better shot, but in that moment I backed myself and drove. Draymond fouled me, and I was off to the free-throw line. The Warriors were probably happy about it because I had shot four from seven that game and only 60 percent from the line all season. I wasn’t exactly a safe bet for two points. I breathed, ignored the pain in my hand, and swished both: 103–100.
Oracle Arena in Oakland, usually one of the loudest crowds in the country, was eerily quiet in that final minute as their team was forced to foul in search of a comeback. It didn’t work. We had beaten the supposedly unstoppable Warriors on their home turf to draw first blood in the conference finals. It was a huge upset, but no one in our team was surprised.
Game two at Golden State
Nobody outside of Oklahoma seriously expected us to win game one. We didn’t mind. In fact, we used it as fuel. There’s nothing like a dismissive audience to get you fired up. But we knew the Warriors had shot uncharacteristically and wouldn’t shoot that poorly all series. So we still had a lot of homework to do to try to figure how to shut down a squad full of shooting weapons.
Draymond hit a three at the start of the game and took the opportunity to get in my face about it. It didn’t bother me. I know players trash talk to get a reaction, but that’s something I don’t do. I don’t even bother trying to think of clever things to say to trash-talkers, so 99 percent of the time I say nothing. The first time I played against Kevin Garnett, arguably the most prolific trash-talker in the league, I was warned that he could talk a good game. He certainly could talk, but I’d heard variations of it all before. When I had had enough, I looked at him and said, “Sorry, no English.” He stopped talking to me after that but must have been confused when I spoke English to all my teammates.
After my painful game two days earlier, I hoped to go as long as possible without the pain in my right hand flaring up again. But within five minutes it was back. I just had to get used to it. Moments later, I found myself reluctantly giving a Warrior a piggyback as he came down for a rebound. All his weight landed on my lower back and I folded in half before dropping to the floor. It felt like something in my back was out of place and I just had to get out of there. There is nothing worse than walking down the tunnel to the locker rooms when you can hear the game still being played behind you.
The medical team did some quick prods before I managed to get back on the court. It seemed to have been just a weird movement. I’d find out if it was something worse after the game.
The first kick to my nuts was actually the fourth time I ended up on the floor that game. Running back on transition defense, Draymond came down the length of the court and went up for a floater. As he went up, his knee went straight to my groin. It was a natural movement, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. I went to the ground because that’s the first instinct when you know you’ve been kicked in the groin. But it wasn’t the worst kick I had received, and it certainly wasn’t the most pain I had felt that game, so I didn’t think much of it.
What was more painful was the fact that by the time we got going in the fourth quarter we were down 20 points. We were just being outplayed. The one consolation—if you could even call it that—was that we knew we weren’t playing our best. Coach Donovan started playing the bench with eight minutes still to go, that’s how early we conceded. We didn’t deserve to win that game and we tried to put it behind us as we flew home for game three.
Game three at Oklahoma City
The first kick was more to my shaft, but the second was straight in the balls. A direct hit right to my little fellas. If my stomach hadn’t been shriveling up inside me, I might have been more impressed with the accuracy.
We were loving being back home in front of our fans and ready to give them a big win. It started well, for me at least. My hand was feeling steadier and I wasn’t about to waste the pain-free minutes. I found myself guarding Steph Curry on the perimeter, which meant I was very far away from where I was supposed to be. I’m pretty quick on defense, but point guards are point guards for a reason and they should all be able to beat a center off the dribble. I saw Curry set up for a shot and jumped. If it turned out to be a fake, I could live with it. But I couldn’t live with him shooting yet another three in my face. It wasn’t a fake and I got a rare perimeter block on the reigning MVP. That play was a huge boost to keep hustling for touches on defense and not let anything get by.
Down the other end I got a putback basket and was well in the game. Soon I got to use the quick spin I had been working on with MB. I’d usually like to be firmly set before whipping it out, but playoff basketball forces everyone to step up. I drove to the hoop, spun, and drew the foul. All good stuff.
It wasn’t just me who was playing with an extra level of intensity, everyone was on form and we led throughout the whole game, running transition like only we knew how. The Warriors fought back to a tied game more than once, but we always managed to push the lead back out with more fast break points. Then halfway through the second quarter the kick happened.
Draymond caught the ball at the top of the key and tried to drive past me to the basket. I cut him off, managed to knock the ball out of his hands and next thing I knew I felt a shoe connect with my nutsack. It didn’t hurt in the moment it happened, but I sank to my knees in preparation for the onslaught. I was running on adrenaline, which helped a lot, but Draymond’s got power in his legs, I’ll give him that.
Sure enough, a moment later the pain moved straight to my stomach, making me want to throw up. I didn’t see the replay when it first showed on the big screen because I was hunched over trying to breathe and to not cry. But I heard the crowd’s reaction. I had never heard booing quite like it. While I was working on not moving too much or standing up, I could hear a chant starting. It took me a few moments to figure out that 18,000 rarked-up fans were yelling “Kick him out! Kick him out!” The refs reviewed the play for quite a while, which gave me enough time to put my insides back together and check that I was still a man.
Eventually, they ruled it a Flagrant 1 technical foul, which meant I had to shoot free throws with my midsection feeling like it was trying to swallow itself. Somehow, I made both and went straight to the bench. I ended up with three fouls before the half and sat out for a long stretch of the game. It worked, though, because the Warriors had underestimated Dre’s offensive assets and he came out on form that night. So did Dion Waiters.
In the final stretches of the half, I watched our team completely dominate the defending champions and it was beautiful. All second half we were swinging at the knees, enjoying the atmosphere and actually having fun. I almost forgot my balls were still hurting. After taking a hiding in Oakland, we took back the advantage, winning game three just as convincingly, 133–105.
People loved talking about me getting kicked in the nuts twice. The reporters asked about it after the game. There wasn’t much to say. We won and that’s all that mattered. Draymond said it was accidental and I had no reason to believe any non-psychopath would deliberately kick another man there. The play was reviewed again the following day and the call was upgraded to a Flagrant 2. Had it been called on the floor, Draymond would have been automatically ejected. Instead he copped a $25,000 fine and was cleared to play in game four.
A lot of fans thought he should have been suspended. I wanted him to be suspended simply because it meant I wouldn’t have to go against him for a game. Only an idiot would say they didn’t want Draymond Green on their team. Being able to defend every position is something not many players can do, and he’s one of them. That made him a nuisance for us while trying to run our systems, so of course I wanted to see him sit out a game. But otherwise I didn’t care. He kicked me, it hurt, so what? It’s just ba
sketball. There were, and are, more important things to worry about than figuring out what really happened.
In saying that, if he’d done the same thing to one of my teammates, I might have had a completely different reaction. I can handle people taking cheap shots at me all day long because I truly don’t care. When guys got ejected or suspended for going at me in my rookie season, we were all good the next time I saw them. But if you go after one of my Thunder brothers, I’ll remember, and I’ll be keeping an eye out. I’m like Arya Stark with her list on Game of Thrones. Except I’m also Khal Drogo. It’s a weird hybrid but I make it work. I’m sure every one of my teammates would be exactly the same in that respect, so even though I wasn’t bothered by the whole thing, I knew they’d be mad. But we all knew better than to get distracted by petty feuds being blown up in the media and we just concentrated on game four.
Game four at Oklahoma City
In the very first possession of the game, Draymond fouled me with a hack on my bad hand. The pain and trembling came back, and I knew it was going to be a long game. Four minutes in and I continued my own battering by rolling my right ankle on a rebound attempt. I made my way back to the locker room to get it looked at while our second unit got on court and kept building the lead. When I returned 10 minutes later, we had a 12-point lead. I subbed back in, albeit a bit gingerly, and got back into the groove by sinking a jump hook with my first touch of the ball.
One quarter can change the whole game. In game four, outscoring the Warriors 42–27 in the second quarter changed the game. Good defense leads to good offense and we were playing our best defense. Nothing new, just plain hustle and scrambling for every loose ball. It helped that the Warriors were missing open layups and free throws that they didn’t usually miss.
We still had the momentum from our big win in game three, and we used it to get another big win in game four. People didn’t know what to say. It was the first time all season that the Warriors had lost back-to-back games, and everyone was wondering if maybe they were unraveling. We knew not to take our series advantage for granted, but a 3–1 lead was a bloody good position to be in.
We may have won game four, but the real winner that day was “Lil Stache Bro.” The “Stache Brothers” were me and Enes. Back in November I told Enes we should get rid of our beards and just rock some mos for a while. He didn’t like the idea at first, but I kept nagging him and he finally agreed. Pretty soon people were calling us the “Stache Brothers” and that’s when Enes really got into it. He got us T-shirts with our faces on them and we had a caricature done like we were a romantic couple. It was cute. A grooming company even sent us product to keep our upper lips looking fresh. We were both silly and didn’t take ourselves too seriously—and the fans loved having something new to put on their signs. Then someone took it to the next level and introduced a “Lil Stache Bro.”
A Thunder fan brought their toddler daughter to the game and dressed her up like me. She had her hair done the same and a little mustache. She even had the tattoos on her arm. It was some of the best cosplay I’d ever seen. I never thought I’d be flattered by being compared to a little girl, but she looked fly as hell. In fact, she looked way cooler with a mustache than either of us did, but I’m not bitter about it.
Game five at Golden State
We were one game away from going to the finals. Forty-eight minutes of basketball and we could be conference champions, playing for the championship against the Cavaliers or the Toronto Raptors. We knew the Warriors would come out and throw everything at us. They had home advantage again and a whole new atmosphere to work with.
We had been told we weren’t great at closing out games during the regular season, and we had proved everyone wrong so far during the playoffs. It was just a matter of closing out one last game. It would be the biggest upset in years, but it wouldn’t be the NBA without a few upsets.
I got hit with two off-ball foul calls within three minutes and had to sit down. I wasn’t in the habit of contesting foul calls at that point in my career, but even I knew that a guy running into me and flopping before the play was even set up was a cheap foul to call. I was annoyed at the ref for calling it, but more annoyed at myself for not anticipating a sneaky move like that.
We led only once the whole game and it was by a single point. But even though the Warriors held the lead for basically the whole game, we were never out of it as in previous contests. Anytime they pushed the lead out, we went on a run and closed the gap.
In the two previous games we had outscored them heavily in the paint, and in game five our paint scoring dropped significantly. I couldn’t help but think if I hadn’t got those two fouls and had to sit out most of the first quarter, I could have changed that.
We never once backed down in that game, despite the series lead we had. They had the desperation, though, and desperation counts for a lot. We took the loss, 120–111, and immediately put it behind us as we headed home.
Game six at Oklahoma City
We were still one game away from the finals. Forget game five. It may as well not have happened. Why dwell on that result when we had game six to win? We were confident. We had home advantage again and hadn’t lost at home that series. Game six was our best shot at closing out the series. Having to go back to Golden State for a game seven decider wouldn’t work in our favor so we knew tonight was the night to finish it.
By game six, both teams know exactly what they need to do; it’s just a matter of executing it consistently. We knew we had to just play our own game on offense and run transition. And on defense it was all about shutting down Curry and Thompson on the perimeter. They had both shot ridiculously well throughout the regular season and so far in the series we’d managed to keep their three-point shooting at a tolerable level. That’s all there was to it.
We had our game plan and we executed our game plan. Everyone was doing exactly what the team needed. Russ was driving through everyone for easy buckets, Dre was swatting shots all over the place, the only thing we weren’t doing was making threes. But it didn’t matter so much because neither were the Warriors. Thompson, known for his three-point shooting, couldn’t get anything to drop. The game was being played within the perimeter and that’s exactly where we had the advantage. Like the Warriors in game five, we led for most of the game.
Chapter three in the supposed feud between Draymond and me unfolded in the second quarter when I dunked on him. It was a standard pick-and-roll and I saw the lane open, so I left the ground to dunk. While I was in the air, he flew in from the side and made contact. I was already in the air and once this body gets moving it’s hard to stop it. I finished the dunk and only noticed afterwards that it was Draymond who was under me. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit satisfied. All the fans who had bravely cursed Draymond for his kicks to my balls were certainly satisfied.
As we went into the locker room at halftime, we weren’t shooting well. But we were hustling and keeping the lead so it wasn’t all bad. We knew that whichever team could get their shot to go would have the advantage for the rest of the game. Twenty-four minutes away from going to the finals.
Straight after halftime the Warriors crept back to within one point and then took the lead. Our home crowd sat down for the first time in the series. Billy didn’t call a timeout and let us handle it ourselves. We got our heads back in the game thanks to Russ being aggressive in the paint and drawing fouls. I followed Russ’s lead and made sure to go up strong in the paint every time. I ended up converting an and-one basket to put us up by eight. After the Warriors’ short burst at the beginning of the quarter, we had gotten our groove back and maintained our eight-point lead going into the fourth.
Twelve minutes away from going to the finals. Our lead held steady for the first six minutes. We were still outplaying them in the paint, but they were hanging on thanks to Thompson making a few quick threes in a row. We were doing everything right. Keeping them out of the paint, not letting them get any second shots, and fru
strating their bigs enough for Bogut and Draymond to give up fouls and push us into the bonus early.
Five minutes away from going to the finals. Up by eight points and having had the lead for most of the game, our winning probability was at 86 percent. If you’re an NBA fan you already know what happened next. Klay Thompson kept shooting. And it felt like he couldn’t miss. The Warriors we’d been expecting from game one, but hadn’t really seen, finally showed up in the fourth quarter of game six. Curry and Thompson were draining threes from all over the court. I was transported back to my first regional game with the Wellington rep team when we lost to Hawke’s Bay. Sometimes a team shoots the lights out and there’s not a whole lot you can do. What we definitely could have done was not crumble in the final three minutes.
With two minutes to go, my lungs felt like shriveled prunes, my legs were barely working, and the game was tied at 101–101. After having authority the whole game, we had three turnovers in one minute and Thompson dropped his eleventh three-pointer, a new playoffs record: 104–101.
With 45 seconds left, Thompson finally missed and we got the rebound, then turned it over a second later. The Warriors won game six. They converted 21 three-pointers from 45 attempts. We converted three from 23 and had five turnovers in the final two minutes. We had choked.
We were still one game away from going to the finals.
Game seven at Golden State
It was quiet in the locker room after game six. The veterans on our team said what they could to keep things positive, but we all knew we had blown our best shot. A 3–1 series lead had turned into a game seven decider, with the Warriors having home advantage. Our one positive note was knowing that we had beaten the Warriors at home in game one, so we’d been there before. But the Warriors had torn away the momentum and that last five minutes had passed a huge advantage from us to them.