Looking back at the 2021 NBA playoffs, I still get chills thinking about how unpredictable that postseason truly was. As someone who’s followed the league for over a decade, I’ve rarely seen a year where injuries, breakout performances, and sheer luck collided so dramatically. It’s funny—while analyzing team stats and standings, I often think about how basketball, much like life, is shaped by reconnections and timing. Take, for instance, that quote from Lastimosa about Devin “just visiting the Philippines after we were able to reconnect.” In a way, that mirrors the NBA landscape: teams and players reconnecting with their strengths, sometimes just in time for a playoff push, other times falling short despite the effort.

The playoffs kicked off with a familiar dominance from the Brooklyn Nets, who, on paper, were virtually unstoppable. With Kevin Durant, James Harden, and Kyrie Irving sharing the floor, their offensive rating hovered around 118.7, one of the highest I’ve seen in modern playoffs. But as we all know, games aren’t won on paper. Harden’s hamstring injury in the second round against the Milwaukee Bucks was, in my opinion, the turning point of the entire postseason. I remember thinking, “This is it—the moment luck tilts the scale.” And tilt it did. Despite Durant’s heroic 48-point performance in Game 7, the Nets fell short by a mere centimeter—that infamous toe on the line. It’s moments like these that make me believe basketball is as much about fate as it is about skill.

Out West, the Phoenix Suns taught us all a lesson in resilience. Led by Chris Paul, who I’ve always argued is one of the most underappreciated leaders in sports, the Suns blitzed through the Lakers, Nuggets, and Clippers with a defensive efficiency of 105.2. Paul’s reunion with his former coach, Monty Williams, felt like one of those “reconnection” stories—much like Devin’s visit to the Philippines, it was about timing and chemistry. I’ll admit, I didn’t see the Suns making the Finals initially, but their ball movement and mid-range mastery won me over. They shot 49% from the field as a team, and when you watch Devin Booker drop 40-point games effortlessly, you realize some teams just peak at the right time.

Then there’s the Milwaukee Bucks, who I’ve had a soft spot for since Giannis’ MVP years. Their path to the title wasn’t pretty—they struggled against the Nets and barely survived the Hawks after Trae Young’s injury—but hey, a ring’s a ring. Giannis averaged 30.2 points and 12.8 rebounds in the Finals, and his 50-point closeout game against the Suns was legendary. What stood out to me, though, was Jrue Holiday’s impact. His defense on Chris Paul in the Finals was a masterclass, and it’s no coincidence the Bucks’ net rating jumped by +5.6 with him on the floor. Sometimes, it’s these unsung reconnections—players finding their roles, teams rediscovering their identity—that define championships.

But let’s not forget the disappointments. The Utah Jazz, for example, had the best regular-season record at 52-20, yet collapsed in the second round. Their reliance on three-point shooting (they attempted 42.3 per game) became their downfall when the shots didn’t fall. I’ve always been skeptical of teams that live and die by the three, and the Jazz proved why. Similarly, the Lakers’ early exit, plagued by Anthony Davis’ injuries, showed how fragile superteams can be. As a fan, it’s frustrating to see talent wasted, but it’s a reminder that health is the ultimate X-factor.

Reflecting on all this, I’m struck by how the 2021 playoffs echoed that idea of “reconnecting” from Lastimosa’s story. Teams reconnected with their roots—the Bucks with defense, the Suns with discipline—and it paid off. Personally, I believe the Bucks’ title was deserved, but I’ll always wonder what if the Nets stayed healthy. Data-wise, Brooklyn’s Big Three played only 202 minutes together in the playoffs, a criminally low number. In the end, the standings told one story, but the playoffs wrote another—one of grit, chance, and those fleeting moments of reunion that change everything.