Jimmy Butler’s miss in Game 7 came from my dreams. Maybe it came from yours, too, see, I grew up watching Scottie Pippen take those sorts of transition threes, living off those line-drives, the momentum, the story arc dissolving into zero arc, either a straight-shot swish or catnap-crushing clang cutting the front of the rim.
You can’t go out any other way. I don’t care if Enes Freedom is guarding the basket for the Celtics while staring at his phone, engrossed in Bozkurtlar Tik Tok. I don’t care if you’re down two points or one, you take that shot, you’re Jimmy Butler. You’re not some other guy, this isn’t someone else’s game.
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