Before the establishment of the Nuggets in 1967, Denver’s local basketball team was known as the Larks. The lark is the state bird of Colorado, so the original name made sense, but a small, unassuming bird that rarely flies seemed a poor choice for a team playing a sport in which height and flight are two of the most important factors for success. Eventually, the Larks became the Denver Rockets, and in 1974, the team changed its identity to the Nuggets.
The Nuggets’ height and possession of the world’s best basket player loomed as their decisive advantage in this finals series, but on Monday night, as Denver clinched their first championship with a squeaky Game 5 victory over Miami, the team played in a manner that seemed to pay homage to the team’s original mascot: firmly rooted to the floor.
These finals were always expected to be a mismatch: ectomorphs from Denver versus endomorphs from Miami, supertalls versus strip malls. The final minutes degenerated into a chaotic tumble of grappling, grabbing, snatching, and rolling.
For much of the fourth quarter, it appeared that both teams were more interested in playing horizontally than vertically. And the final minutes devolved into a chaotic tumble of grappling, grabbing, snatching, and rolling.
The Nuggets are champs because, like their player, they have learned to win ugly, overcoming their vertical edge. The team of supertalls has learned to play with the desperation and telluric laterality of sub-six footers. This ring was won at knee level as well as over the opponents’ heads. The restoration is complete: the Denver lanks are now champion larks.
After their difficulties with a concentration in Games 1 and 2, the Nuggets once again threatened to let the game slip away on Monday: Michael Porter Jr.’s finals-long scoring woes continued, and Denver’s initial distance shooting was poor (only one three-pointer made out of 15 attempts in the first half), and Miami’s zone defense was causing obvious discomfort.
As his team cruised into the halftime break with a seven-point lead, Heat coach Erik Spoelstra – who always has the sideline vigor of a man about to place an LP on his home turntable and inquire, “Now, who wants a cocktail?” – appeared even more unfazed than usual. After a malfunction in Game 2, the Nuggets were favoured to beat the Heat in five games.
Then, Nikola Joki, who had spent a significant portion of Game 4 in foul trouble and appeared out of sorts in the opening minutes of this ostensible championship-clinching game, stumbled into view like a creature emerging from a marsh. Well, let’s be honest: Jokić doesn’t do “lurch”.
He bounces with a half-second delay off the first step, giving the impression he is recovering from an ankle ailment. Suddenly, this mattress-sized man was everywhere and making it appear – once again – absurdly simple, spinning away from his defender, shaking the double team, scoring with single hands, double hands, from mid-range and under the rim, with hooks and stepback jumpers and layups, and in single fluid motions after receiving the ball at speed.
Joki’s finals game was not his best, but he scored 28 points and collected 16 rebounds without exerting himself. Joki’s talent, which makes him the NBA’s most captivating, is his seeming lack of effort. This man racks up assists while moving with the grace of a cement mixer. He runs the court in 48 minutes while looking like he’s trying to escape being lapped at school sports day.
Joki swallows buckets like cevapi, tossing the pill off at all angles like a Belgrade banquet’s spiced sausage.
Never before has a player been simultaneously so unlikely and so inevitable. After winning his first title, Joki appears to be the best basketball player in the world.
Denver’s supporting group showed again in Game 5, answering the question of whether the Nuggets could win without Jokic. Porter Jr made himself useful despite his first-half shooting struggles by consistently fighting for second balls, then found late-series form to remind the world of his rich scoring potential; Bruce Brown continued his fine Game 4 form by sinking several crucial late baskets; and Jamal Murray remained a buzzing offensive presence, the planet to Joki’s life-giving sun.
Jokic and Murray were decisive in this series, but the Nuggets remained competitive during Jokic and Murray’s lulls due to the contributions of their supporting players, most notably Aaron Gordon’s dominant Game 4 performance.
There was never any doubt about the Nuggets’ offensive prowess, but a new depth has emerged over the course of the playoffs: this is a team with points off the bench, on-court generals ready to cover for Joki during his shaky moments, and – most importantly – the willingness to get dirty in the service of success, to do whatever it takes to win. Before these finals, none of these things could have been said about the Nuggets.
Since 2015, Michael Malone has coached the Denver Nuggets, nearly entirely with Jokis. He and the Nuggets have been mocked and written off as near-men and playoff scrubs for most of this time. In a sport where coaches are routinely fired when they appear to be on the verge of greatness (Doc Rivers at Philadelphia) or only a few seasons after making history (Mike Budenholzer at Milwaukee), Denver’s success makes a compelling case for perseverance.
Given that the team’s core will likely remain intact for the foreseeable future – Brown is the only likely departure this summer – the Nuggets can now legitimately consider repeating as champions and emulating the Warriors’ dynasty.
On the victory podium, Malone stressed that his squad will not settle for one ring. This message seemed to echo throughout the celebrations of the Nuggets. In the minutes after Game 5, the NBA Google search page was more thrilling than Ball Arena.
Denver players congratulated each other like investment executives who just finished a presentation deck. Team owner Stan Kroenke spoke directly into the left ear of ESPN reporter Lisa Salters rather than into her microphone.
When asked to describe his emotions upon winning his first NBA championship, Finals MVP Joki responded, “It’s fine, it’s good. The work is complete; we may now return home.” In other terms, there’s no need for excitement. There are more from which this came.
