There’s a saying in India that goes, “Kehte hain agar kisi cheez ko dil se chaho, toh puri kainaat usse tumse milane ki koshish mein lag jaati hai.” Roughly translated: “If you want something with all your heart, the entire universe conspires to help you achieve it.” Ever since I got the email confirming I’d be attending the 2025 NBA Finals as credentialed media, that line has been on a loop in my head, like a soundtrack I didn’t know I needed.
Because not too long ago, the NBA wasn’t a career move. It was my escape hatch.
From school stress.
From big, scary life decisions.
From figuring out what I wanted to be.
Back then, I was waking up at 4 a.m. in Mumbai, just to watch 10 ridiculously tall men halfway across the globe chase an orange ball, trying to put it through a nylon net, for points that didn’t matter to most people. But they mattered to me.
Every year, the lead-up to my July birthday carried its own kind of magic, not just because it marked another trip around the sun, but because it ran parallel with the NBA Playoffs. It felt like the league was rolling out a red carpet for me, year after year. That tradition started in June, 2010, the first time I watched the professional version of the game I had been playing in schoolyards and driveways.
The 2010 NBA Finals: Lakers vs. Celtics. Seven games of grit, glory, and legacy. Kobe Bryant securing his fifth and final ring. Another epic chapter in basketball’s most storied rivalry. I was just eight years old, but that moment stamped itself on my soul. Maybe it was fate that I idolized Kobe, the Black Mamba, who once donned the number 8, my age at the time.
And if we’re talking destiny, maybe it goes even deeper. I was born in 2002, the same year the Lakers completed their iconic three-peat. Some things aren’t just coincidences, they’re cosmic clues.
But that was the kid version of me, the one who pledged unwavering loyalty to one team and one player. As that kid grew up, something shifted. The love expanded. It became less about rooting for a logo and more about revering the game itself.
I was in awe when the veteran San Antonio Spurs schooled LeBron James with surgical precision. I was holding back screams watching the baby-faced assassin, Stephen Curry, pull up from places that once felt impossible, and change the sport forever. I sat frozen, heart racing, as LeBron pulled off the impossible: a comeback from a 3-1 deficit in the Finals, etched in basketball lore.
And in January 2020, I cried. For days. For Kobe, my idol.
Somewhere along the way, I crossed over. I wasn’t just a fan, I was a student of the league. I wanted to know everything. The stats, the contracts, the cap space, the trades, the history, the ripple effects. I wanted to understand the “why” behind the “wow.” Because every night, as those players step onto the hardwood, history waits. And sometimes, without warning, legacy is born.
I made a choice, a scary one. I walked away from the comfort of a stable career path to chase a passion. A passion for sports, especially the NBA. I knew if I really wanted this, I had to go all in. That meant leaving behind familiarity, uprooting my life, and moving closer to where the game lives and breathes.
If there’s a running theme in this story, it’s destiny. I graduated with my bachelor’s in 2023, and I could’ve wrapped up my master’s by the summer of 2024. I delayed the schedule for a year to work. I was accepted into the Sports Capital Journalism Program at IU Indianapolis for summer, 2024. But something told me to defer. I delayed the start until the fall, and that decision, that one simple shift in timing, made all the difference. Because had I gone in the summer, I would’ve finished the program two weeks before this opportunity came knocking.
And here’s the twist that still gives me chills. The Indiana Pacers, a team that had never made the NBA Finals in my lifetime, finally did it. In the one year I was here. Their story mirrored mine; unexpected, electric, and unfolding right here in Indiana.
I’m not the kind of guy who bandwagons to the team that made the run. My entire time here, when I knew nothing of what would unfold, I watched Pacers games, attended a ton of Pacers games, stayed in the loop, and right in front of my eyes, this team soared to become America’s underdogs.
I’m still a neutral, just a die-hard fan of the game, with a mind overflowing with ball knowledge, itching to spill onto the page. But even as I try to stay objective, it’s hard to ignore the feeling that destiny had a hand in all of this.
I wanted this, truly wanted this, with everything in me. And maybe, just maybe, the universe heard me and moved the pieces to make it happen. Now, it’s time for Game 3. Let’s tip this thing off.
Let’s go, Indiana Pacers. Let’s go, Oklahoma City Thunder. Let’s make history.
By Joshua Miranda