“TJ and Ben to the Rescue: Let’s Go Pacers!
It was Game 7 of the Eastern Conference Finals. The Indiana Pacers were locked in a brutal battle against the Boston Celtics. The roar of the Gainbridge Fieldhouse crowd echoed like thunder. The score: 101-99, Celtics, with just 12.7 seconds left on the clock.
But the Pacers had a secret weapon—or rather, two.
TJ McConnell, the gritty backup point guard with the heart of a lion, wiped the sweat from his brow as Coach Carlisle signaled him onto the court. Alongside him was Ben Shepard, the rookie guard known for his clutch three-point shooting. Together, they were about to etch their names into Pacers history.
As the whistle blew, McConnell took the inbound pass near half-court. His sneakers squeaked on the hardwood as he scanned the floor with surgical focus. The Celtics set their trap: double team him, force a bad shot. But TJ grinned. He’d seen this before. With a lightning-quick spin, he split the defenders, darting into the lane like a flash of blue and gold.
Jayson Tatum rotated to help, but that was exactly what McConnell wanted. With a no-look, wrap-around bounce pass, he fed Shepard, who had drifted silently to the left corner—the deadliest place on the court for him.
The crowd rose. Time slowed.
Ben’s form was perfect. Shoulders square. Feet set. Follow-through pure.
The ball arced high—spinning in slow, perfect rotation—before swishing clean through the net.
“PACERS LEAD!” the announcer screamed, his voice cracking.
But Boston wasn’t done.
With 5.1 seconds left, Derrick White rushed the ball down the court. Tatum was racing toward the wing, calling for it. The Celtics’ play was clear: isolate Tatum for a final shot.
But TJ was everywhere. Like a relentless shadow, he cut off passing angles. At the last moment, as Tatum elevated for a desperation three, TJ leapt—arms fully extended—getting a fingertip on the ball.
The shot careened off-course, bouncing harmlessly off the rim.
Game over.
Pacers 102, Celtics 101.
The arena erupted into a volcano of sound. Fans screamed, waved towels, and chanted “LET’S GO PACERS!” as confetti rained from the ceiling.
Ben Shepard threw his arms skyward, grinning like a kid in the driveway. TJ McConnell pumped his fist, chest heaving, face lit with victory. They embraced midcourt, teammates pouring in, lifting them off the hardwood as heroes of Indianapolis.
Coach Carlisle smiled knowingly from the sideline. The gamble had worked. Trust the underdogs. Trust the fighters.
After the game, reporters swarmed.
“Ben,” one asked, shoving a mic near, “what were you thinking on that shot?”
Ben laughed. “I saw TJ work his magic. I knew I’d get it clean. The moment he passed, I knew it was mine. TJ made it easy.”
McConnell, standing beside him, shook his head. “Ben buried that shot. I just distracted ‘em. That’s what Pacers basketball is—trusting each other. Blue collar. Gold swagger.”
The headline the next morning in The Indianapolis Star read:
“TJ and Ben to the Rescue: Pacers Punch Finals Ticket in Epic Game 7!”
The city buzzed for days.
Legends were born that night.
And the chant never faded:
“Let’s go Pacers! Let’s go!”
Let me know if you want this expanded or made more intense!
