Pacers guard Tyrese Haliburton, who had been dealing with a calf injury, tore his Achilles' in Sunday's Game 7 of the NBA Finals.
Pacers guard Tyrese Haliburton, who had been dealing with a calf injury, tore his Achilles' in Sunday's Game 7 of the NBA Finals.Nate Billings/Associated Press
Playing hurt.
It’s an age-old story, covering some of sports’ most dramatic moments. From Kirk Gibson’s World Series home run to Curt Schilling’s bloody sock, from Kerri Strug’s ailing ankle to Kevin McHale’s broken foot, a player’s willingness to push through pain to be there for their teammates has been lauded and celebrated.
The higher the stakes, the more we push for ailing players to give it a shot.
But Sunday night, on an NBA court in Oklahoma City, Tyrese Haliburton provided a heartbreaking reminder that playing through pain isn’t always best, no matter how much is at stake or how much teammates might need you. Before you issue a demand that a favorite player push through injury, take a moment to think about Haliburton, slumped to the ground in Game 7 of the NBA Finals, a ruptured Achilles’ tendon ending his night.
Remember Jayson Tatum writhing in agony at Madison Square Garden, victim of the same injury in Game 4 of the Celtics’ second-round playoff loss. Recall Milwaukee’s Damian Lillard, whose first-round series against Indiana also was ended by an Achilles’ injury. All three players had been dealing with a calf injury before going down, and now, all three are expected to miss the 2025-26 season while recovering.
They knew the risk and took it anyway, decisions both courageous and selfless, but in hindsight, indicative of just how much these professional athletes put on the line physically every time they step out there.
Halliburton is the most recent example, with his late-playoff calf strain becoming a dominant story line as the Pacers continued their surprise run to the Finals, a debate pitting the wisdom of playing and risking further injury versus resting and losing the chance to play for a championship.
As Haliburton put it before Game 6, when the Pacers faced elimination at home, “I think I have to be as smart as I want to be. Have to understand the risks, ask the right questions. I’m a competitor. I want to play. I’m going to do everything in my power to play. That’s just what it is.”
And so he did, helping Indiana to a blowout win with 14 points and five assists in 23 minutes. “I just look at it as I want to be out there to compete with my brothers,” he explained afterward. “These are guys that I’m willing to go to war with. We’ve had such a special year. We have a special bond as a group. I’d beat myself up if I didn’t give it a chance.”
Totally understandable, but still, so gut-wrenching for the way it turned out.
The Pacers are left with an enormous what-if, and Haliburton, like Tatum and Lillard, is left to the grind of rehab.
Sometimes, the damage is lasting. McHale still walks with a limp after delaying surgery to finish out the 1987 playoffs. In his 1999 Hall of Fame acceptance speech, McHale talked about why, citing loyalty to coach K.C. Jones.
“I think that’s the reason why our careers were all cut short because we all played when we were hurt for the guy,” McHale said. “If he had been like the rest of us, I’d have sat down like I should have been.”
Of course, it was as much about the stakes as the coach. “I played [for] 13 years and I won three [titles]. There’s so many things that happen that you have to be lucky, and injuries are part of the unluckiness,” McHale said later. “You’re part of something really big, and it’s so hard to win a championship. I was going to tell myself if I could or could not play. I never felt any external pressure.”
Those 1986-87 Celtics, already beset by the lost potential of Len Bias’s tragic death, were riddled by injury. In my colleague Dan Shaughnessy’s wonderful “Wish It Lasted Forever: Life with the Larry Bird Celtics,” an injured Bill Walton remembered being so tempted by fans chanting for him to make an appearance. It was Dennis Johnson, Walton told Shaughnessy, who protected him, coming over to him and whispering, “Don’t do it, Bill.”
Sometimes, discretion has to be the better part of valor. Strug was heroic in helping the United States women’s team win gold at the 1996 Olympics, but doing so on a torn ankle ligament contributed to her retirement not long after.
But often, legacies are written through such pain. Willis Reed limped onto the court in Game 7 of the 1970NBA Finals despite having torn his thigh muscle in Game 6. He scored only 4 points in limited action but inspired his team to win the title. Schilling’s ankle had been crudely sutured multiple times in the 2004 playoffs, but as he bled through his sock in that Game 6 win over the Yankees, he set the stage for the curse-breaking finale. Michael Jordan won everything, but his “flu game” in 1997, scoring 38 points in a Game 5 win after barely getting out of bed to make it to tipoff in time, is among his most remembered.
Gibson, on two bad knees, inspiring Jack Buck to bellow, “I don’t believe what I just saw,” by belting a two-out, two-strike, bottom-of-the-ninth homer to lift the Dodgers past Oakland in Game 1 of the 1988 World Series. It was his only plate appearance of the Series. Tiger Woods, winning the 2008 US Open on one leg, and needing a playoff to do it. Rajon Rondo, returning to the court in the 2011 playoffs despite having his elbow gruesomely dislocated in a collision with Dwyane Wade.
And of course, Patrice Bergeron, playing Game 6 of the 2013 Stanley Cup Final with a punctured lung. This after he’d already sustained a broken rib, torn cartilage, and a separated shoulder.
Playing hurt. Part of sports, in triumph and tragedy.
Tara Sullivan is a Globe columnist. She can be reached at tara.sullivan@globe.com. Follow her @Globe_Tara.