A Dream Too Tired To Come True
When It Began
It was a Friday night in mid-November, 18 days into the NBA’s regular season. The Indiana Pacers were seconds away from a statement win against the Detroit Pistons, the defending champs. No love was lost between the two teams; they’d met each other in May that year in the Eastern Conference Finals in a six-game series that sent the Pistons back to the Finals and the Pacers home. That was the first Finals appearance for the Pistons since the Bad Boy Pistons era. This was the sixth time the Pacers made the conference finals and the fifth time they were eliminated.
It was the second time the two teams had met in the playoffs. Indiana was the one seed and had won the regular season series against Detroit 3-1.
This night at the Palace at Auburn Hills was the first time the Pacers and Pistons played each other since the playoffs. Indiana had started the season 6-2, and Detroit was 4-3. The season was young, but this had the makings of a statement game. At one point, the Pacers built a twenty-point lead, and the Pistons cut into that lead in the second half after trailing by 16 when the second quarter ended.
Then, a series of events changed the trajectory of two storied franchises founded in the Hoosier state.
Anywhere’s Better Than Here
The Motor City’s team began operating in a different city with a different name. From their creation in 1937 until 1948, they were known as the Fort Wayne Zollner Pistons—a nickname honoring owner Fred Zollner and the products of his Fort Wayne foundries.
In 1941, they joined the National Basketball League, which merged with the Basketball Association of America in 1948 to create the National Basketball Association. That was the year the Pistons dropped Zollner from their name.
Nine years later, they moved to Detroit, where they have remained, apart from nearly two decades spent playing at The Palace of Auburn Hills, a suburb of Detroit.
Bent Out of Shape
Rip Hamilton and Lindsey Hunter started off the final quarter of the game by sinking consecutive threes and further eating into the lead. Back-to-back field goals from Stephen Jackson had the game at Indiana 93, Detroit 79 with 3:52 remaining.
With less than a minute to go, Ron Artest (known today as Metta Sandiford-Artest fouled Ben Wallace from behind. The Pacers were leading 97-82. In retaliation for the swipe against the back of his head during the layup attempt, Wallace shoved Artest in the face. Both teams tried to separate the players.
While the officials discussed fouls and ejections, Artest lay down on the scorer’s table, following advice to remove himself from a situation and calm down.
Wallace threw a towel at Artest, leading him to stand up, but was held back by coaches. Then John Green, a fan in the stands, threw a cup of Diet Coke at Artest; it struck him in the chest.
Artest went into the stands and confronted the fan he thought was responsible. Pacers broadcaster Mark Boyle attempted to hold back Artest but got knocked to the ground. He was stepped on and received an injury to the head and five broken vertebrae.
Jackson struck a fan who had thrown another drink at Artest. Other Pacers and Pistons personnel entered the stands to stop the fight. Fans tossed more things at the players.
More spectators got involved as Artest left the stand. Several Pacers punched the fans that were confronting them. Some even came onto the court, and things got more hectic.
Eventually, officials called the game, awarding the win to Indiana. The Pacers were booed as they headed to the visitor’s locker room. One fan threw a folding chair that nearly struck Jermaine O’Neal.
In the Pacers’ locker room, things were tense at first, and after things had calmed, Artest said to Jackson, "Jack, you think we going to get in trouble?"
Artest was suspended for the rest of the season. Jackson sat out 30 games, and O’Neal was given 25 games, which was reduced to fifteen on appeal. The most significant suspension handed out to the Pistons was six games for Ben Wallace.
The Pacers’ title aspirations were dead on arrival and began a long period of irrelevance and a damaged relationship with fans and Indianapolis. Some viewed them as “thugs,” and incidents after the Brawl, like the shooting at the strip club in October 2006, did not help dispel that image.
The Pacers still managed to make it to the playoffs, where they lost in six games to the Pistons in the second round—a sad ending to Reggie Miller’s 18 seasons in Indiana. The Pistons went on to lose to the San Antonio Spurs in seven.
My Little Problem
From 2003 to 2008, the Pistons went to six straight conference finals. It was their last moment of relevance. In the 15 years since, they’ve struggled for direction, and while they returned to the playoffs, they were never a threat for a deep run.
From 2006 to 2011, the Pacers were irrelevant. In the season after the Brawl and Reggie’s retirement, they traded Artest to the Sacramento Kings, and drafted Danny Granger, who would prove to be one of the only positive developments during that era.
They returned to the playoffs in the spring of 2011 after four seasons of mediocrity. Not good enough to make the playoffs but not bad enough to get a high draft pick.
That started a new era of hope and excitement about the team, and while it never reached the heights of the 90s (Peyton Manning had turned Indy into a football town), it was an improvement on the post-Brawl status quo.
But that era was effectively ended by LeBron James and Paul George snapping his leg during a Team USA scrimmage. The door was shut on championship aspirations, and it remains shut, though there were moments when it seemed the franchise was on the cusp of contending, as in the first season after Paul George forced his way out of Indiana. That dream was again deferred when Victor Oladipo had an injury that ended his 2018-2019 season.
The Pacers are a model of consistency and a victim of it. They only missed the playoffs once in a stretch from the 89-90 season for the 05-06 season. They won at least 32 games a season for 32 years. All impressive stats, but not conducive to landing high draft picks and star players. They were often counted out but always seemed to defy expectations.
The Last
The Replacements were unraveling onstage. It was not an unusual occurrence in a career that blazed a trail of empty bottles, vomit, ashtray floors, dirty clothes, and filthy jokes in venues across the U.S.
This time was different: The Replacements were falling apart one final time.
“It’s the fucking last time you’ll ever hear it,” bassist Tommy Stinson told the crowd during a performance of “Hootenanny,” the final song the band played to a crowd of 50,000 gathered in Grant Park for Taste of Chicago.
The only guarantee with a Replacements show is that you wouldn’t know which version of the band would show up: the one capable of transcendental, life-affirming shows and the one that devolved into out-of-tune, flubbed cover songs and ending abruptly. When you paid to see The Replacements, you got your money’s worth and a show you’d never forget, for good or bad.
By that point, The ‘Mats, as they were fondly nicknamed, were functionally over. Their last album, All Shook Down, was initially intended to be Paul Westerberg’s solo debut. While the three other Replacements play on it, the album is full of guest musicians. Longtime drummer Chris Mars left the band, frustrated by Westerberg rejecting his songs.
That final show took place in Chicago on July 4, 1991. A bootleg recording of it was called It Ain't Over 'Til the Fat Roadie Plays due to each band member leaving the stage and getting replaced by a member of the stage crew.
Yet, despite that and half the original band being replaced by this point (Steve Foley was behind the kit after the departure of Mars. Slim Dunlap had replaced the mercurial Bob Stinson in 1987, shortly after the recording of Pleased To Meet Me).
And what a show to go out on! New life was breathed into songs from All Shook Down being played live and some classics from the band’s back pages but missing some classics from Let It Be, Tim, and Pleased To Meet Me.
It was the last time the band played live together until 2013 at Riotfest Toronto in August of that year. Stinson, Westerberg, and Mars had reunited the previous year to record Songs for Slim, an EP to benefit former bandmate Dunlap following his stroke.
The band played several festivals and a hometown gig at Midway Stadium, then home of the St. Paul Saints, a minor league baseball team.
“I get in trouble whenever I try to write like I’m the life of the party, which I do sometimes. My own personality isn’t like that. The people who relate best to my songs are the ones who see themselves over in the corner. However much they’d like to, they can’t quite get into the swing of things.” — Paul Westerberg
The incidents outlined above illustrate the parallels between the Pacers and Placemats. The highest of highs went hand-in-hand with the lowest of lows, snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. As good as The Replacements were, they never had the success of peers like R.E.M. or the bands they inspired like Wilco or The Goo Goo Dolls. The reunion happened just over a decade after they called it quits. In the interim, Chris Mars pursued his art, and Paul Westerberg and Tommy Stinson continued to make music.
The Pacers have never won an NBA championship, but won three titles in the ABA. They are one of the more successful NBA franchises never to win it all. In the last 25 years, every team in the Central Division has made it to at least one Finals, and every team but the Pacers has won at least one title. They are born to runner-up. When it comes to the ladder of success, they take one step and miss the whole first rung.
Bad luck seems to plague them, whether that’s consistently peaking when a generational talent plays in their division (Michael Jordan, LeBron James). Or having star players go down with career-altering injuries (Paul George, Victor Oladipo). All teams deal with lousy timing and injuries, but not every team has a franchise-altering moment like Malice At The Palace. As a Pacers fan, it’s hard not to feel cursed.
The Pacers and Replacements were part of my life before I really knew what they were. In Chuck Klosterman’s Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, there’s a throwaway reference to them in an essay about soccer.
“I mean, these little guys didn’t want to spend two months chasing a stupid leather sphere through the stupid green grass in stupid right field; they just wanted to do something that kept them under the radar until they got to tenth grade when they could quit pretending they cared about sports and start listening to Replacements cassettes.” — Chuck Klosterman, Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs
I remember seeing that name in a review of The Open Season soundtrack because Paul Westerberg wrote it. I knew about the film Can’t Hardly Wait but had no idea about the song until I got to college.
I first listened to The Replacements 15 years ago. Rhino was reissuing their Twin/Tone albums. I started with Let It Be at the recommendation of a fellow message board poster.
Some songs I took to immediately. Others took more time. My first year at IU was disappointing. I had certain expectations about college that weren’t met; I thought I’d meet more people like me. I eventually did, but that first year was challenging.
When I drove home, I listened to Let It Be, and songs like “Sixteen Blue,” “Answering Machine,” and “Unsatisfied” all spoke to what I was feeling. I’ve been chasing that melancholy ever since.
My love for The ‘Mats continued to grow during undergrad, and I bonded with people who loved that silly little group of drinkers with a band problem. In grad school, a viewing of Color Me Obsessed made me reach out to an old friend and I sent my Cousin Franky his own copy after learning he was a fan. We bonded over sports and music. He was a Knicks fan but never gave me guff for my Pacers fandom.
I was lucky to see The Replacements twice on their reunion tour, first at Riot Fest Chicago in 2013 and then at their hometown show in St. Paul. They did two encores and closed with “Unsatisfied.” I was there with friends, and I ran into another friend who happened to be sitting near us. It felt like a triumph and vindication of the band. Finally, they were given their due.
I had no idea of the Pacers’ existence before I moved to Kokomo, Indiana, in 1995. I knew many basketball stars then, like Michael Jordan, Shaquille O’Neal, Penny Hardaway, Grant Hill, and Charles Barkley. They appeared on my cereal boxes or in commercials or cast such a large shadow over the league they were impossible to avoid.
I was a Bulls fan then because I was still in single digits, my favorite color was red, and I was born just outside Chicago. Michael Jordan was the best player on the planet, so naturally, I looked up to him. Later, I realized I wasn’t a Bulls fan but an MJ fan.
When my dad said he was going to a Bulls game sometime during that first three-peat, I was crushed that I wasn’t being brought along. I’d become aware of the Bulls because of him. He had a set of salt shakers in the shape of the Bulls logo.
When my parents split up, I remember reading a book on the 72-win season while my mom and aunt did some surveillance on my dad’s office and the house of the woman he was cheating on my mother with.
When my brother and I played NBA Hangtime, our create-a-player characters wore Chicago scarlet. Mine a green alien; his a pirate.
My first ever NBA game was Bulls/Pacers at Market Square Arena on Nov. 28, 1997. No Scottie Pippen, but I saw them during The Last Dance season. At the time, I was dismayed that the Pacers won. When they squared off in the ECF, I rooted for Chicago; I wanted to see Jordan win another.
I remember seeing Knicks/Pacers playoff games sometime between 1998-2000. I remember my mom cheering for the Pacers and booing the Knicks. It was not the last time she turned on a team from her hometown.
Where my dad was a front-runner (he was also a 49ers fan), my mom was more likely to root for the underdog, to cheer for the team near her.
And while my Bulls fandom was an early moment of front running, I came to embrace the underdogs, the perpetual runner-ups, the bridesmaids.
You find solitude and camaraderie with other uncool people when you're a loser. The Pacers became that for me. I rooted for them in the 2000 NBA Finals because I thought it would be nice if the local team won a championship.
Following Jordan's retirement, I mostly lost interest in hoops. I was more into football, music, and my extracurricular school activities.
The Brawl killed my interest for a time; it was disappointing to hear about. It was also the NBA’s dead-ball era, and games were slow, low-scoring, and ugly. Rules
My interest in hoops was reawakened in college. Indiana University was once a blue-chip program but had fallen on hard times after the firing of Bob Knight and the scandal with Kelvin Sampson. But then, slowly but surely, Tom Crean started building something. I started going to games with my friends. It was a fun experience, even if the team was miserable.
In the spring of my senior year, I took a sports writing class with Bob Kravitz, who I’d been reading in the Indianapolis Star since I was a kid. That year, the Pacers returned to the playoffs and lost in a competitive series to the Bulls. I was happy to see them have a positive development after the wilderness years following The Brawl.
In grad school, I found a new love for the NBA. I was living far from virtually everyone I knew and feeling incredibly homesick, so I watched Parks & Recreation, which made me yearn for Indiana. When I got to an episode with a Roy Hibbert guest starring, I decided I needed to get back into hoops. It was so cool that an NBA player had agreed to appear on a sitcom set in Indiana.
Roy became my favorite player, and I found myself loving the NBA again; I liked the experience of attending a game.
I was at my most homesick listening to the UK/IU game on the student radio station. Christian Watford hit a buzzer-beater to upset the Wildcats. I thought of my younger friends in Bloomington and what the scene there must have been like.
In my second year of grad school, my Pacers passion only intensified. I followed the games and even went to game 5 of the 2013 Eastern Semi-Finals. It was my first-ever playoff game and my first-ever time at Madison Square Garden. The Pacers lost, but I knew they’d close it out the next game when George Hill returned from injury.
During Game 1 of the ECF, I was with some college friends in Manhattan. I was keeping tabs on the game, and it got close enough that we went into a bar to watch the end. I was outnumbered. The Pacers nearly stole that game; then Roy Hibbert got pulled off the floor and LeBron had no problem getting to the rim. That moment haunts Paul George.
“The moment that I wish I could take back and it still haunts me to this day is the 2013 year in Miami, when we [lost] Game 1. I fucked the play up. I’m guarding [Le]Bron [James] we’re up, a stop and we win the game and it just happened so fast I’m guarding Bron, the ball’s sideout out of bounds. He zippers up fast as hell so I’m like ‘Shit, like I gotta catch up to this’ so I over pursue, he catches it like he read where I was at, spin right off me and he lays it up for the game.”
I was at Game 6 of the ECF and felt like the Pacers were about to upset the Heat and return to the Finals. I was wrong about my Pacers optimism, not for the last time.
Next season, I was in Area 55, Roy Hibbert’s fan section. This meant I got to witness the collapse of a team that had been picked as a title contender before the season started.
But by January, there was enough tape of the Pacers that teams could figure them out. They limped into the playoffs and to a back-to-back conference finals appearance. They lost in six. There was a harbinger of the league's future during that playoff run. Due to Al Horford’s season-ending injury, Pero Antić was starting at center for the Atlanta Hawks. The Macedonian big man could successfully guard Hibbert and made life hell for him on defense because of Antić’s ability to shoot from behind the arc.
While embarrassing for it taking the full seven games for a one-seed to knock off an eight-seed, that embarrassment was mitigated when that Hawks team won 60 games the subsequent season. It was hard being a Pacers fan then and even harder to be a Roy Hibbert fan. I still get angry thinking about how quickly fans turned on him and how vicious the criticism was, particularly from the likes of Gilbert Arenas, who famously brought guns to the locker room over a gambling dispute with teammate Javaris Crittenton.
That summer Paul George broke his leg, and the franchise spent the subsequent seasons in NBA purgatory: good enough to make the playoffs but not good enough to win it all and not bad enough to get a high draft pick and reverse its fortune. That all changed when the Pacers traded for Tyrese Haliburton. He changed the fortunes of the team overnight. Whereas before, the team had the air of a relationship that ends in a murder-suicide, now there is hope.
Perhaps he might inspire Paul George to return to Indiana for some unfinished business, he does have a good rapport with Haliburton after all. A title won by Tyrese Haliburton, Paul George, and Rick Carlisle would bring closure to many regrets and exorcise the demons of The Brawl, the broken leg and always being second best.
Rooting for the underdog is a dispiriting experience; one must learn to enjoy losing. But all that suffering makes the victory that much sweeter. Lakers and Yankees fans will never understand that.
They can barely handle a losing season despite many of them witnessing multiple titles in their lifetime. Maybe the Pacers will finally win a title in my lifetime, maybe they won’t, but if it happens, it will mean so much more than if they had an easier path.
Let the Pacers fans everywhere take heart of hope, for the cross is bending, the midnight is passing, and joy cometh with the morning.