Before Denver had the Nuggets, there were the Larks – the original name given to the city’s local basketball franchise on its foundation in 1967. The lark is Colorado’s state bird, so the original name made a certain sense, but a small, unimposing passerine that rarely leaves the ground always seemed like a difficult sell as the avatar of a team playing a sport in which height and flight are two of the key ingredients for success. Eventually, the Larks became the Denver Rockets, and the team’s final name change – to the Nuggets – came in 1974.
Height always loomed as the Nuggets’ decisive advantage in this finals series – height, and their possession of the world’s best basket player – but on Monday night, as Denver sealed their inaugural championship with a squeaky Game 5 victory over Miami, the team played in a manner that seemed to pay tribute to the franchise’s original mascot: rooted to the ground, at one with the floor.
These finals were always supposed to be a mismatch: Denver’s ectomorphs against Miami’s endomorphs, the supertalls versus the strip malls. But the final stanza went right to the mat – literally so, since for much of a pleasantly fried fourth quarter it seemed like both teams were more intent on playing horizontally rather than upright, and the final minutes devolved into a chaotic tumble of grappling, grabbing, spoiling, and rolling. In much the same way that the team’s star is an agent of basketballing chaos whose great strength is his ability to play against type, the Nuggets are champions because they have learned, over the course of these finals, to win ugly, to grow beyond the obvious advantages of their own superior verticality. The team of supertalls has learned to play with the desperation and telluric laterality of sub-six footers; this was a ring won as much at knee level as over the opposition’s heads. The return is complete: the lanks of Denver have become champions as larks.
After their struggles with concentration in Games 1 and 2, the Nuggets once again threatened to let the game get away from them on Monday: Michael Porter Jr’s finals-long scoring woes continued, Denver’s initial distance shooting was poor (just one successful three pointer from 15 attempts in the first half), and Miami’s zone defense was causing obvious discomfort. As his team sailed into the half-time break with a seven-point lead, Heat coach Erik Spoelstra – who always has the sideline energy of a man who’s about to place an LP on his home turntable and ask, “Now, who wants a cocktail?” – seemed even more imperturbably pleased with himself than usual. For the Nuggets, backed so heavily to finish the Heat off in five after the blip of Game 2 ensured there would be no sweep, trouble loomed.
But then Nikola Jokić, having spent a good chunk of Game 4 in foul trouble and seemingly out of sorts over the opening minutes of this putative title-clincher, lurched into view like a creature emerging from a swamp. Well, let’s be honest: Jokić doesn’t do “lurch”. He hops, with that half-second of hesitation off the initial step that always makes it look as if he’s shaking away an ankle injury. Suddenly, this mattress of a man was everywhere, and making it all look – once more – so absurdly easy, spinning away from his marker, shaking the double team, scoring off 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 pace.
This was not, by the standards he has set over these finals, Jokić’s best game, but without even seeming to exert himself that much he accumulated 28 points and 16 rebounds. The lack of apparent exertion is, of course, all part of Jokić’s genius, what makes him the NBA’s most magnetic and irresistibly watchable presence. This is a man who stacks up assists while moving with the grace of a cement mixer; who covers the court over a whole 48 minutes while perpetually looking like the guy who’s struggling not to get lapped in the school sports day. While all this is happening Jokić sinks buckets like he’s swallowing ćevapi, flicking the pill off at all angles as if it’s a small spiced sausage tossed casually into the gullet at a Belgrade banquet. Never has there been a player simultaneously so improbable and so inevitable. It seems unarguable that Jokić is now the world’s best basketballer; this first title has surely now pushed him into the conversation for consideration as one of the sport’s all-time greats.
The great unknown of these finals was whether the Nuggets could win the non-Jokić minutes, and Game 5 showed – once again – the depth in Denver’s supporting cast. Porter Jr made himself useful through his first-half shooting troubles by consistently fighting for second balls, then found some late-series form to remind the world of his rich scoring potential; Bruce Brown continued his fine Game 4 form to sink a number of critical late buckets; and Jamal Murray remained a buzzing presence in offense, the rotating Earth to Jokić’s life-giving Sun.
Jokic and Murray were decisive in this series, but the contributions from their support players – among which Aaron Gordon’s dominant Game 4 performance ranks as the most memorable – allowed the Nuggets to remain competitive during the star duo’s quieter moments. There was never any doubt about the Nuggets’ power on offense, but a new depth has revealed itself over the course of the playoffs: this is a team with points off the bench, on-court generals ready to cover for Jokić through his soft moments, and the willingness – most critically – to get messy in the service of success, to do whatever it takes to win. None of these things could have been said about the Nuggets before these finals.
Denver coach Michael Malone has been in the job since 2015, a tenure that overlaps almost completely with Jokić’s time at the club. For much of that span he and the Nuggets have been maligned, mocked and dismissed as nearly men, perpetual playoff makeweights. In a sport where coaches are ruthlessly cut while seemingly on the brink of achieving something significant (Doc Rivers at Philadelphia) or only a couple of seasons after making history (Mike Budenholzer at Milwaukee), Denver’s success constitutes a convincing case for patience. Given that the team’s core will probably remain intact over the years to come – Brown is the only probable departure this summer – the Nuggets can now legitimately begin to think about repeat titles, about forming a Golden State-style dynasty.
On the championship podium, Malone was keen to highlight this point, emphasizing that his team will not be satisfied with one ring. That message seemed to reverberate throughout the Nuggets’ celebrations. In the minutes that immediately followed the end of the game, there was arguably more excitement on the Google search page for the NBA – which immediately erupted in virtual fireworks over the final Game 5 score – than there was on the floor at Ball Arena. Denver players milled around offering each other congratulatory pats and handshakes with the clerical emotionlessness of investment bankers who’ve just finalized a pitch deck. Team owner Stan Kroenke delivered his championship speech directly into the left ear of ESPN’s Lisa Salters rather than her microphone.
Finals MVP Jokić, asked to describe his emotions on becoming an NBA champion for the first time, replied: “It’s good, it’s good. The job is done, we can go home now.” No need to get excited, in other words. There’s more where this came from.
