I have a good friend — let's just call him Damon — who has coached basketball at several levels in multiple countries. He, like me, thinks that the global game of basketball should move to a FIBA system at pretty much all levels: 24-second shot clock, the same three-point line as the Olympics and World Cup, and more no-nonsense officiating.
Paradoxically, in a group chat with myself and a couple other friends, he's become the token defender of the Thunder. I made my feelings on the NBA's newest villain and Leviathan known in a recent SC column.
Damon's argument is that, yes, the Thunder exploit the rules, but that's the league's problem. If the Kings were doing the same tricks, no one would care. They're not good enough. There's a reason that the most hated teams are also the most dominant.
It's a fair point. As an ESPN article mentioned this week, the complaints about the Thunder are fairly reminiscent of the juggernaut Warriors from 2016-19. Ever since the Bad Boys Pistons, periods of dominance are often met with cries from rivals about the officiating and how dirty certain players are.
If I'm being honest, I'm just glad all this is finally being discussed in the open. Of course, sweeping one of the league's marquee teams with contentious calls and J.J. Redick and LeBron James making a fuss will bring a narrative forward.
Last year, it felt like NBA coverage — except perhaps for Doris Burke — treated the Thunder's proclivity to get calls with kid gloves. It was almost like they needed the fans of OKC to get a championship to break their voodoo from the Kevin Durant/Russell Westbrook years to properly address the elephant in the room.
Well, the Thunder and their style of play aren't going anywhere. This is likely to be the most successful team of the 2020s. Somehow, the emergence of Ajay Mitchell has bolstered an embarrassment of riches. No team is deeper, and only the moribund Nets have comparable future draft capital.
It's no secret that the NBA is a league built on dynasties, and we haven't seen a team make back-to-back trips to the Finals since the 2019 Warriors made five in a row. That seven-year gap between repeat NBA Finals trips has never happened in league history until now.
OKC will never be a premier destination for visiting fans or All-NBA free agent recruitment, but they may bring eyeballs to TVs this spring just on staying power and controversy.
A worthy adversary helps, too.
As of writing time, the Spurs lead the scrappy Wolves three games to two with Game 6 on Thursday. Given that San Antonio has been absolutely dominant in two of their three wins, led the entire second half in Game 3, and nearly scraped by in Game 4 after Victor Wembanyama was ejected, I don't have much concern about the Spurs closing Minnesota out. Still, crazier things have happened.
With that caveat aside, the playoff matchup we've waited for since December is almost here: Spurs/Thunder. I don't think I've looked forward to a playoff series more since the 2022 Finals between the Celtics and Warriors.
Despite the Spurs' success against OKC, the Thunder are going to be healthily favored in the West Finals. The Thunder's air of inevitability and league-wide frustration with them has got me thinking: how hated can the Thunder actually get?
In another paradox, I think the Thunder might have to get by the Spurs this year to move into the Pantheon of despised NBA teams. Three straight one-seeds with only one Finals appearance isn't going to strike the casual fan as a budding dynasty. Back-to-back Finals appearances — with one potentially being against the Knicks — looks like the start of a real historical legacy of wrestling-style heel work.
But to answer the question I posed a paragraph ago, I can't see the 2020s Thunder ever becoming as hated as the 1987-91 Pistons or 2011-14 Heat. OKC would have to do something generation-defining like winning four titles in a row or knocking out five of the next six to think about reaching that level.
But could the Thunder become as villainous as the late 2010s Warriors? I think so, especially if the Thunder continue to be synonymous with flopping on offense, tricks on defense, and random dirty play. As hated as Draymond Green became, his ability to frustrate was always mediated by Steph Curry's exuberance and clean image. The Thunder have no beloved heroes on their team.
And should the Thunder benefit from egregious calls or free throw disparities in a conference finals or later, they could reach a stage of ill feelings reminiscent of the early 2000s Lakers. While people under 30 may not realize how a Lakers team with Kobe and Shaq would be hated, remember that the 2000s Kings were beloved by basketball fans and were preposterously screwed over in Game 6 of the 2002 West Finals.
Personally, the Thunder remind me a bit of the 2000s Spurs before Tony Parker's prime and certainly before they precipitated the end of the Heatles in 2014. There's a superstar ceiling- and floor-raiser without much charisma or casual fan adoration, budding young stars, valued role players, and some of the most hated players of their era.
But I don't think those Spurs teams were all that hated by the general public or fandom. My memories of that time are likely clouded by living in the Dallas area during Dirk Nowitzki's peak.
Other NBA mainstays like the 1960s Celtics, 1980s Lakers and Celtics, and 1990s Rockets and Bulls seem too adored in their time to truly make an appearance here.
If we're being honest, the NBA has needed a new lightning rod and a new, high-stakes rivalry. With the Thunder and their likely showdown with San Antonio, the league could have both.
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