Lincicome: A Game 7, but with players to be identified later

It is likely that the name Shalvante Alcian Gilgeous-Alexander (call him SGA) would have tied no tongues without a Game 7 for the NBA Championship, not usually the case these days, meaning Game 7s, not mispronounceable basketball players.

Since Giannis Antetokunmpo and Nikola Jokic — with Victor Wembanyama pending — it has become necessary to concede the alphabet to those who know how to abuse it. Ah, for the good old days when important imports had the courtesy to be called Yao Ming.

Likewise, with no Game 7, no one would be wondering what the NBA is doing in Oklahoma City in the first place; since last we looked the Comfort Suites still had rooms.

While Indiana and basketball have been together longer than Nancy and Sluggo (Google it) no history lesson is required, except to wonder if the Pacers are the team that Caitlin Clark plays for. Otherwise, what’s the attraction?

I’m glad I asked. It seems that something semihistoric has made its way to Sunday evening. It is not that neither team has won a title nor that the little guys have stood up to the big-money bullies, nor that either team will be remembered longer than it takes to say Shalvante Al … you know, that guy.

The important thing here is Game 7, the truly American way to fail. Tension, anticipation, conclusion, all put together in one big, beautiful ball, or puck or glove, depending.

Game 7s are where memories are inked and generations are linked, recalling the greatest Game 7 of them all, the 2016 World Series, the Cubs winning in 10, Ben Zobrist memorialized and the Indians goosed into becoming the Guardians.

There had been only five Game 7 NBA Finals deciders in the last 20 years. The Bulls never got to a Game 7 in their six title wins, although Michael Jordan closing out Game 6 in Utah does stick.

The NBA season is too long, the playoffs are tedious and the best team is nearly always the champion. That was supposed to be Oklahoma City (call it OKC) and there are those who can tell you why.

I am not one of them, relying on the occasional burst of appreciation from TV clips to notice that a team called The Thunder was doing well, and I take it on faith that having the most wins in the league and the MVP (call him SGA) means what it should.

This does not mean that I needed to do more than look up later and see if it has worked out. Rumor had it that the Pacers refused to stay in their lane, beating their betters and offering loyal opposition to the Thunder. This, too, was unexciting, setting up an NBA Finals that did nothing to push NFL OTAs out of the way.

There would be no compelling figure — even the aforementioned SGA — to send signals to indifferent outposts. A Tyrese Haliburton beat the buzzer in Game 1 to set the thing onto watchable suspense, but his heroics were less than compelling since a requirement would be to know who Haliburton is.

These Finals have hummed in the sports background, barely loud enough to annoy, yet have built to something distinctive.

There may be no more underappreciated Finals … well, since ever. Witnesses have shrugged with damning astonishment. This has not been as bad as we thought. And, look ma, they’re playing a Game 7.

We know that the NBA Finals have been, at least for the last 20 years or so, wherever that celebrated dynasty maker LeBron James happened to be playing, Miami, Cleveland, Los Angeles.

The occasional Milwaukee or Denver might pop up, San Antonio or Dallas might make a little noise, but without the Lakers or the Celtics or the Warriors lately, some team or other is just keeping the big seat warm.

That was OKC’s job, and whereas Indiana slipped through somehow, besting the better Cavs, ousting the odious Knicks, at the finish nothing lasting was to be settled, no dynasty to rise.

The fact that each team had managed to wander into a Game 7 with all its inherent drama is less a testament to sustained excellence than a tribute to dubious respectability.