I still remember where I was when Reggie Miller scored eight points in nine seconds—watching on a slightly fuzzy television screen with my college roommate, both of us jumping up and down like we'd just witnessed actual magic. That 1995 Eastern Conference Semifinals between the Indiana Pacers and New York Knicks wasn't just basketball; it was theater, drama, and raw athletic brilliance rolled into seven unforgettable games. What fascinates me about revisiting this series isn't just the iconic moments everyone remembers, but the subtle narratives that unfolded between the highlights—the kind of stories that remind you why sports can feel so personal, so deeply human.

Let me take you back to Game 1 at Madison Square Garden. The Knicks were defending their home court, and the atmosphere was electric in that uniquely New York way—loud, arrogant, and dripping with expectation. Patrick Ewing was dominant early, finishing with 29 points and 11 rebounds, but what sticks with me is how the Pacers’ defense adjusted in the second half. They started doubling Ewing more aggressively, forcing turnovers that led to fast breaks. Reggie Miller, always the provocateur, scored 21 of his 31 points after halftime, including three consecutive three-pointers that just broke the Knicks’ spirit. I’ve always believed that series defined Miller’s legacy more than any other—his ability to thrive under pressure was almost supernatural.

Then came Game 4, the “Spike Lee game,” as many fans now call it. Miller’s 25-point fourth quarter was legendary, but what often gets overlooked is how the Knicks’ fatigue played into it. They’d played 85 games that season if you include the playoffs, and by that point, you could see the wear and tear in their defensive rotations. John Starks, who’d been brilliant earlier in the series, shot just 2-for-9 from beyond the arc that night. I remember thinking at the time how much of playoff basketball comes down to stamina and mental fortitude—the Pacers simply had more gas left in the tank.

Game 7 was a masterclass in team basketball. While Miller rightfully gets the headlines, people forget how crucial Rik Smits was in that clincher. He dropped 22 points on 10-of-15 shooting, exploiting the Knicks’ interior defense in ways that felt almost surgical. The Pacers shot 51% as a team that day, and to me, that efficiency is what separated them. Compare that to the Knicks, who managed just 43% from the field. In tight playoff series, shooting percentages often tell the real story, even if the flashy moments steal the spotlight.

Now, you might wonder why I’m drawing parallels to volleyball, but hear me out. Watching the High Speed Hitters’ recent victory over the Japanese side—a clean 3-0 sweep with scores of 25-20, 25-22, and 25-23—reminded me so much of those pivotal playoff moments. In both cases, it wasn’t about blowouts; it was about precision under pressure. The Japanese team’s only loss in the tournament came down to a handful of critical points, much like how the Knicks’ series slipped away in those final minutes of close games. Volleyball, like basketball, often hinges on momentum swings that are almost invisible until they’re not.

Looking back, I think the Pacers’ victory was a testament to strategic depth. Coach Larry Brown’s decision to prioritize ball movement over isolation plays was revolutionary for that era. The Pacers averaged 24.5 assists per game in the series, compared to the Knicks’ 20.1—a gap that might seem small but made all the difference in clutch situations. And let’s not forget the role of the “unsung heroes.” Players like Dale Davis, who grabbed 14 rebounds in Game 7, or Haywoode Workman, whose defensive hustle disrupted the Knicks’ rhythm repeatedly. These are the details that stat sheets sometimes miss but that true fans cherish.

In the end, the 1995 Eastern Conference Semifinals was more than a basketball series—it was a narrative about resilience, rivalry, and the fine margins that define greatness. The Pacers went on to face the Magic in the Conference Finals, falling just short of the Finals, but their victory over the Knicks remains, in my opinion, one of the most compelling underdog stories of the ’90s. It’s a reminder that in sports, as in life, the most memorable moments aren’t always the ones with the biggest stakes, but the ones filled with heart, hustle, and a little bit of magic. And if you ask me, that’s why we keep coming back to these stories, year after year.