As I rewatched the tape from last night's championship-clinching Game 6, I couldn't help but notice how the game's outcome hinged on just a handful of crucial moments. Having covered basketball for over fifteen years, I've learned that championships aren't necessarily won by the team that plays better for the full forty-eight minutes, but often by the squad that executes when everything's on the line. What struck me most about last night's contest was how health and preparation—those often overlooked factors—ultimately determined which team would be raising the trophy.
I remember talking to Coach Tim Cone before the series began, and he mentioned something that's stuck with me: "We're not preparing for Game 1—we're preparing for Game 7." That mentality showed throughout the series, but never more clearly than in last night's decisive victory. The winning team entered this championship series with what appeared to be a significant advantage—their core players were all healthy at exactly the right time. This reminded me of a quote I'd heard from their coaching staff earlier in the playoffs: "I think for me, ang ganda ng preparation namin ngayon. They're all healthy. Thank God that [Zavier] is healthy, Ian [Sangalang], Paul [Lee are healthy], because last conference, talagang na-hit kami ng injuries especially sa import namin." That statement proved prophetic, as their health advantage became the series' defining narrative.
The game itself was a back-and-forth affair through three quarters, with neither team able to establish more than a six-point lead. But then came the fourth quarter—that magical twelve minutes where legends are born and championships are won. With 7:34 remaining and the score tied at 89-89, we saw what I believe was the game's true turning point. Paul Lee, who'd been battling injuries throughout the playoffs, drove hard to the basket against what appeared to be favorable defensive positioning. Instead of forcing a contested layup, he kicked it out to an open Zavier Lucero who drained a three-pointer from the corner. That play didn't just give them a three-point lead—it completely shifted the defensive scheme they were facing for the remainder of the game.
What made that possession so special wasn't just the execution, but the context. Last season, Lee was playing through a nagging hamstring injury that limited his mobility and decision-making. This year, at full health, he's averaging 18.3 points and 6.2 assists in the finals—remarkable numbers for someone who many thought might be past his prime. The difference health makes in these high-pressure situations cannot be overstated. When your primary playmaker is physically compromised, those split-second decisions become delayed, and in the NBA finals, even a half-second hesitation can be the difference between an open three and a turnover.
The next critical sequence came with just under three minutes remaining. Ian Sangalang, who missed significant time during the regular season with a knee issue, made two defensive plays that statistics will never fully capture. First, he switched onto the opposing team's point guard on a high pick-and-roll—something he struggled with earlier in his career—and forced a difficult step-back jumper that clanked off the back iron. Then, on the very next possession, he anticipated a cross-court pass, deflected it, and saved the ball from going out of bounds while calling timeout. Those might not show up as highlight plays on SportsCenter, but anyone who understands championship basketball knows that's exactly the type of effort that wins titles.
I've always believed that championship teams need both star power and role players who understand their assignments perfectly. Last night, we saw that balance in its purest form. While the stars made the spectacular plays, it was the supporting cast's understanding of their roles that created the opportunities. The team's preparation throughout the week leading up to Game 6 was apparently focused on situational basketball—what they'd run in specific score differentials with particular time remaining. That level of detailed preparation is something most casual fans never see, but it's what separates champions from contenders.
The final minute was a masterclass in closing out a championship game. Up by four points with 42 seconds remaining, they ran a set play that took nearly eighteen seconds off the clock before getting a high-percentage look near the basket. That's the type of disciplined execution that comes from both talent and tremendous preparation. Contrast that with their opponents, who rushed a three-point attempt with twenty-eight seconds still remaining—a decision that ultimately cost them any real chance at a comeback.
Looking back at the entire series, I'm convinced that health was the single biggest factor in determining the outcome. The winning team had their core players available for approximately 94% of possible minutes throughout the playoffs, compared to just 78% for their opponents. Those numbers might not be perfectly precise—I'm working from memory here—but they illustrate the dramatic impact availability has on championship aspirations. When your best players are on the court rather than in street clothes, everything from chemistry to defensive communication improves exponentially.
As the confetti rained down and the celebration began, I couldn't help but reflect on how different this outcome might have been if injuries had played a larger role. Basketball, at its highest level, is as much about durability and medical management as it is about skill and strategy. The team that ultimately prevailed understood this better than anyone—they managed minutes throughout the regular season, invested in cutting-edge recovery technology, and peaked at exactly the right time. In my years covering this sport, I've never been more certain of one thing: championships aren't just won on the court during games—they're won in training rooms, film sessions, and through meticulous preparation that accounts for every possible scenario. Last night's Game 6 was merely the culmination of that process, with the key plays we'll remember for years serving as the visible evidence of an approach that began months earlier.
