What would any great basketball documentary be without capturing the essence of being a Phoenix Suns fan? I think back to five years ago, when the world fell silent. Arenas emptied, distance became our reality, and the game we loved felt further away than ever. And then came The Last Dance. A masterpiece of storytelling, it followed the 1998 Chicago Bulls, unraveling the steps they took to reach immortality. For a brief moment, sports were back. And we watched, together.
But as a Suns fan, watching wasn’t just nostalgia. It was a reminder. A slow burn of memories that never quite fade. Because woven into the Bulls’ triumphs were the echoes of our heartbreak. Sure enough, episode six arrived like an old wound reopening, stirring up those ghosts, reigniting that familiar ache.
Five years later, another sports docuseries has emerged, chronicling the history of a franchise steeped in prestige and and bathed in championships. Celtics City, airing every Monday on Max, takes viewers on a nine-episode journey through the storied legacy of the Boston Celtics, a team whose banners tell the tale of decades of dominance.
The first few episodes serve as a time capsule, transporting us 70 years into the past. Watching old footage of Bob Cousy’s dazzling ball-handling, Tommy Heinsohn’s fierce competitiveness, John Havlicek’s relentless energy, and Bill Russell’s defensive mastery is both nostalgic and enlightening. It’s a window into an era when fundamentals reigned supreme, when travels and carries were actually called by the officials, and when the battles on the court were often overshadowed by the struggles for justice beyond it.
But again, it doesn’t come without a reminder of heartbreak.
Episode 3 aired this past Monday, and part of its focus? The 1976 NBA Finals. The Sunderella Suns, a scrappy, overachieving team that clawed its way to the franchise’s first-ever Finals appearance after an improbable 42–40 season. The documentary revisits Game 5 of that series, a contest forever etched in NBA lore. The triple-overtime marathon. The ‘Shot Heard ‘Round the World’. A game so chaotic, so relentless, that it is still considered one of the greatest ever played. But in the end, as is too often the case in Suns’ history, it ends with a familiar gut punch.
The Suns lose.
I wasn’t around in 1976. I don’t know the emotional toll that season took on the fan base. Were they just happy to be there, riding the high of an improbable run? Maybe. But even if that were the case, Game 5 delivered yet another gut-wrenching moment in a long line of Suns misfortunes, one that could have rewritten history.
Everyone knows about the coin flip. How a single syllable — heads — on the toss of a Kennedy half dollar altered the course of the franchise before it even got off the ground. But eight years later, another cruel twist of fate played out, this time at the hands of referee Richie Powers.
Tied 95-95 in the final seconds of regulation, Paul Silas (who holds the Suns record for rebounds per game in one season with 12.5 in 1970-71) secured a steal with one second left. Thinking the Celtics had a timeout, he immediately called for one. The goal? To give Boston one last possession to win the game.
But here’s the thing. Boston didn’t have a timeout. And Powers, standing right next to Silas, saw him call it. Yet he swallowed his whistle.
Had he made the correct call, it would have resulted in a technical foul, just like Chris Webber’s infamous mistake in 1993. The Suns would have been awarded a free throw with a second left on the clock. A chance — however small — to take the lead and potentially steal the game. But in typical Suns fashion, that break never came.
The Suns should’ve had a technical free throw in Game 5 of the 1976 NBA Finals after Paul Silas called a timeout that they didn’t have.
Suns get that FT and make it, they go up 3-2 in the series headed home.
This a franchise that never gets a break pic.twitter.com/Oy4226hwnI
— John Voita (@DarthVoita) March 19, 2025
This is where the ‘disease of what if’ takes hold.
What if the Suns had sunk that free throw? What if they had won Game 5, taking a 3–2 series lead back to Phoenix with a chance to clinch their first championship on their home court? Would history have been rewritten in 1976? Would the parade route have been mapped through downtown Phoenix instead of Boston?
We’ll never know. Because the Suns were screwed.
Instead, Game 5 marched on through three grueling overtimes. The Celtics emerged victorious, carrying a 3–2 lead into Phoenix. They finished the job in Game 6, winning 87-80 and hoisting their 13th championship banner.
And the Suns? They’ve been chasing their first ever since.
The docuseries covers this missed call, and Charlie Scott — once a Sun, later a Celtic — jokingly shrugs it off: “What timeout you talkin’ about?”
And with that, another depressing chapter is added to our ever-growing book of heartbreak.
As this Suns season limps to its own frustrating conclusion, it’s a reminder that we are not alone. We are bound by a common thread of disappointment, woven through 57 seasons of almosts and what-ifs*.* Some years, the heartbreak comes early. Other times, it waits until the bitter end. The Kiss of Death from Mario Elie, Metta World Peace’s putback, Giannis’ 50-piece, or a timeout that was never called.
This is what it means to be a Suns fan. To be so close to success, only to feel it slip through our fingers. To know, deep down, that disappointment is always lurking. And if losing really does build character, then we might just be the most character-filled fanbase in the world. Just don’t check Twitter to verify that.
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