Picture this: It’s the fourth quarter, the crowd’s a deafening wall of sound, and the underdog – the real underdog, the one nobody gave a snowball’s chance in July – is staring down Goliath. The tension isn’t just on the court; it’s crackling through Gainbridge Fieldhouse air like static before a lightning strike. This wasn’t just Game 4 of the NBA Finals; it felt like the opening kickoff of a grudge match years in the making. Enter Pat McAfee, Indiana’s adopted son, former Colts punter turned hype-man supreme, microphone in hand, staring down not only the Oklahoma City Thunder, but also a different kind of giant: ESPN’s Stephen A. Smith.

McAfee, channeling the energy of a coach giving a pre-game locker-room speech only louder and broadcast to millions, seized the moment. “Even though we’re up 2-1 in the series with home court advantage, coming into tonight’s game,” he roared, the Pacers faithful hanging on every word, “the Oklahoma City Thunder were favored to win the NBA title.” He continued, “Coming into tonight’s game, Oklahoma City was favored by 6 and a half points.” After a brief pause to let the boos brew, he resumed, “That makes us The Biggest Underdogs in the history of NBA Finals!”

The crowd erupted, a wave of blue and gold fury. Then came the jab, perfectly timed, like a safety blitzing the A-gap: “That tells me that the sportsbooks don’t know… Stephen A. Smith doesn’t know…” The boos that rained down weren’t just loud; they were a symphony of Hoosier defiance, directed squarely at Smith watching somewhere, likely with that signature raised eyebrow. McAfee finished strong, “Thunder will find out when you come to this state, not only are you playing the best team in the damn league, you’re also taking on the greatest fanbase in the history of sports.”

That strong finish, however, was something the Pacers couldn’t replicate, as OKC outscored them 31-17 in the fourth quarter to win 111-104 and level the series 2-2. Fan reactions online were instant gold: ‘and thas why they lost…’, ‘Well shucks’, ‘He can cross off Indiana’s electoral votes’, ‘This didn’t age well’, ‘Why he can’t keep SA name out his mouth’. McAfee, ever the showman, had turned the pre-game hype into a personal punt-return touchdown against his own network colleague.

The stage was set. The Pacers, boasting a 50–32 record (2nd Central, 4th East), riding a historic offense (4th in PPG, 3rd in AST, 3rd in FG%) and a Cinderella run to their first Finals in 25 years, were up 2–1. The Thunder, the juggernaut (68–14, best record in the league, Shai Gilgeous-Alexander MVP averaging 32.7 PPG), were the heavy favorites. Smith saw Indiana on the cusp of immortality. McAfee saw disrespect. The fans saw red (or rather, blue and gold).

And then… the game happened. Gilgeous-Alexander, playing like a man possessed (35 PTS, 13 in the clutch), Jalen Williams (27 PTS), and Alex Caruso (20 PTS, 5 STL – a defensive stat line that would make even a Watt-Parsons hybrid nod in respect) led a furious Thunder comeback. They erased a 7-point 4th-quarter deficit, finishing on a 12–1 run to steal Game 4, 111–104, and tie the series 2–2. Smith’s “simple” championship clinch? Poof.

Gone like a play-action fake. McAfee’s pre-game defiance? Suddenly hung out to dry like a QB who didn’t see the cornerback lurking. The online chorus of ‘and thas why they lost…’ felt less like critique and more like a sad trombone following a mic-drop that got fumbled on the return. The parallels to an NFL Sunday were uncanny – the bold prediction (the Hail Mary call), the electric crowd (the 12th man), the momentum swing (the pick-six), and the ultimate outcome leaving everyone asking, “What just happened?”

More than just hot air, McAfee-Smith, a frenemy saga

Why the vitriol? Smith hadn’t exactly been sending the Pacers Valentine’s cards. His takes were pure, uncut sass: demanding, provocative, and designed to stir the pot. He’d been leaning hard on Tyrese Haliburton, Indiana’s maestro, urging him to “step up” in Game 3, where the Pacers eventually took a series lead.

When Haliburton brushed off media noise with a dismissive “couldn’t care less,” Smith fired back on First Take with the precision of a veteran QB reading a cover-zero blitz: “Just in case he was talking about me… players far more accomplished… have made their efforts trying to call me out. How has that worked out?” Oof.

Smith repeatedly questioned Tyrese Haliburton’s leadership and superstar credentials—calling him inconsistent and suggesting he wasn’t truly elite yet. After Game 3, Haliburton fired back at the media, dubbing them “talking heads”—explicitly including Smith—and poked fun at their basketball insight. Smith countered with characteristic bravado:

“Here’s my problem, it’s the sensitivity…” . He didn’t stop there—warning “Just in case he was talking about me… I’m not going away,” in a move that felt more personal than analytical.

To top it off, fans spotted him seemingly playing Solitaire during Game 4—a broadcast gaffe that many took as disrespectful and dismissive of the Finals’ stakes, Combined with his combative tone, it deepened the sense that he wasn’t there merely to analyze, but to provoke. He later clarified on X: “Yep! That’s me… I can multi-task. Especially during TIMEOUTS!”

Pacers fans, never ones to take perceived slights lightly, responded with legendary trolling – waving Smith face-cutouts adorned in garish orange-and-blue tuxedos throughout Gainbridge, ridiculed with “Dumb and Dumber” cutouts. It was less ‘Mean Joe Greene throws his jersey’ and more ‘The Joker crashes the pep rally,’ a beautifully chaotic middle finger executed with Midwestern flair.

This wasn’t McAfee and Smith’s first rodeo, or their first heated exchange. Their relationship is pure sports-media drama, oscillating wildly between explosive clashes and genuine, if grudging, respect – like two star linebackers who trash-talk all game but share a beer afterward. Remember March 2024? Reports flew after a heated phone call where McAfee allegedly dropped an M-bomb over a creative project. Rumors swirled McAfee was banned from First Take. Smith shut it down fast: “He’s more than welcome… we work together at ESPN.”

He’s even praised McAfee’s authenticity, calling him “an honest brother. That’s my kind of dude,” while gently noting Pat isn’t always ‘polished politically.’ Smith credits McAfee’s success for paving the way for others: “If you succeed, I succeed…I’m thankful to Pat McAfee.” They’ve swapped suits for tank tops in promo spots and defended each other publicly – McAfee rebuking unfair critics of Smith, Smith framing McAfee’s media critiques as valid self-defense.

They’re frenemies in the truest sense, locked in a perpetual game of verbal one-upmanship, their clashes as much a part of the modern sports spectacle as the games themselves. It’s less Ted Lasso optimism and more the constant, high-stakes, ego-driven maneuvering you’d find in a season-long Madden franchise mode played on All-Madden difficulty.

Game 5 looms in OKC. Can the Pacers, true to McAfee’s underdog battle cry, steal back momentum on the road? Can SGA and the Thunder’s historically elite defense (+12.9 point diff!) clamp down for good? One thing’s certain: wherever Smith is watching, and wherever McAfee is commentating, the mic will be metaphorically live, ready for the next round in their ongoing, unpredictable, and utterly captivating sideline saga. The Finals are tied 2–2, but the battle of the soundbites? That one’s just heating up.