The city of Charlotte deserves playoff basketball

Silence.

On April 4th, the Spectrum Center was packed with thousands of fans pouring in for one of their final chances to watch their team play before the season came to an end. Even for an April game, for a team with less than 20 wins without their top two players, the stadium was a near sellout.

The Sacramento Kings blew out the squad 125-102, in a game where the defense made Kings star Domantas Sabonis look like Nikola Jokic. It was just another disappointing loss in a season full of them, but it did not stop the fans from coming in and filling up the stands, spending money on LaMelo Ball jerseys and overpriced waters and chicken fingers.

The game had been over for two hours. The postgame pressers had come and gone, with head coach Charles Lee and Moussa Diabate listening in on the questions the other reporters and I had.

At this point in the season, the questions had become repetitive. "What did you see from Tidjane Salaun today?" or "Any updates on ___'s injury?" were the words Lee had to hear every single night. The long, heartbreaking season had taken a toll on everyone, and the thrills of Duke mega-star Cooper Flagg were at the top of everybody's mind.

In typical fashion, I like being one of the last people out of the building. After fistbumping Miles Bridges as he was leaving to say goodbye and goodnight, I walked through the tunnel and out onto the court. The hoops were lowered, maintenance was cleaning up the court, and the lights around the arena were turned off.

I sat down in Charles Lee's seat on the bench as I looked on at the court. The same court that only a few hours ago had an NBA game being played on it, with fans rooting for their lottery-bound team, and countless kids yelling for LaMelo Ball (who was not playing). I looked at the court and imagined LaMelo Ball throwing lobs to Miles Bridges, Moussa Diabate angrily fighting for offensive rebounds, or Brandon Miller knocking down a three with Eric Collins yelling the most inhumane noise possible.

It was peaceful. The arena smelled like your average YMCA basketball court, and for the first time ever, I swear you could drop a pin and be able to hear it hit the ground. I took it all in, acknowledging it would be my final game of my first season covering the team.

Growing up in Boston, sports have always been apart of my DNA. The thrills of going to Gillette Stadium to watch Tom Brady throw jaw-dropping touchdown passes to Rob Gronkowski. Seeing Isaiah Thomas light up the fourth quarter en route to a MVP caliber season. Hearing the goal horn and KernKraft 400 after Brad Marchand deked out the goaltender for a back-handed goal. Of course, watching David Ortiz hit a home-run over the Green Monster.

Sports. Boston Sports.

When I chose to study journalism at Elon University, I acknowledged that I would be moving hundreds of miles away from home. Hundreds of miles away from attending a Celtics game at TD Garden, or a Patriots game at Gillette Stadium.

I said it was okay, because my love of sports would allow me to attend games at the Spectrum Center, the Lenovo Center, and Bank of America Stadium. I could watch LaMelo Ball, Bryce Young, or Sebastian Aho and I'd still enjoy every second of it.

The first game I attended, was a game I worked. The Boston Celtics were in town, the reigning NBA Champions. When I stepped foot in the Spectrum Center, I knew there was something special about this arena. Did it have the storied history like the ones near me? No. There was something special, though.

A few months and a few more games later, I attended a game against the San Antonio Spurs, the day after the trade deadline. President of Basketball Operations Jeff Peterson shook up the team, sending Mark Williams to the Los Angeles Lakers in a deal that was rescinded only a few days later. For those few days, though, there was excitement in the city.

In a thrilling game, Miles Bridges hit a game-winning corner three to take down Victor Wembanyama and newly-acquired De'Aaron Fox. The stadium was shaking. In my time in Boston, I've been to my fair share of playoff games. The sounds of the arena matched it. My Apple Watch even told me during the game that the room I was in was "too loud" and that thirty more minutes would cause hearing problems.

Safe to say I took the train ride home with a headache and a constant ringing in my ear.

Despite the annoyances the train was causing because of my headache, one thing never left my mind: this was a meaningless, regular-season game in February. It had no playoff implications. It had no lottery implications. Yet, the fanbase was louder than some playoff games I have attended.

So I took out my notebook, and on page thirty-something, I wrote down eight simple words:

"The city deserves a Charlotte Hornets playoff appearance."

The last time there was playoff basketball in Charlotte was nearly a decade ago. The team was led by now assistant coach Kemba Walker, who fans around the league insisted was the most underrated player in the league. The Hornets took on the Miami Heat, and behind multiple stellar performances by Walker, were able to push the series to seven games.

A 33-point blowout loss in game seven ended the fanbase's hopes of winning their first playoff series in over a decade.

It's now been 23 years since the franchise last won a playoff series, nine since they last won a playoff game. Since the last playoff win, the Hornets have gone through different coaches, owners, general managers, franchise players, and even had jersey rebrands.

Despite all of that, despite the constant rebuilds, the heartbreaking losses, the draft busts, the broken TVs after another missed #1 pick on lottery night, the off-the-court issues, the coaching changes, the ownership changes, the fanbase has stayed loyal.

Why was this fanbase so loyal?

I had to know why. As an outsider, someone who has seen playoff and championship victories since before I could walk, I had to know the reasoning behind the love this franchise got.

So, I tweeted it. "What would a playoff appearance mean to you?"

"Everything cause we stayed down and never jumped ship" - @Dino_Brown

"I might actually cry" - @TheRealEvanHale

"Everything" - @VandySportsFan, @rChaseJ11, @OG_BENJAYLATREZ

"It'd be like having my first born child" - @trueeclarity

"Would finally be able to experience the electricity I feel watching playoff basketball but this time in person rooting for the team I’ve followed since I was a child." - @i1DagameAlready

"would finally be worth the pain" - @bvbosna

"I'm saving my vacation days incase we do" - @thejackbrewski

It became clear to me how important a simple playoff appearance would mean to this fanbase. A fanbase that cares so deeply about basketball, despite the heartbreak they've gone through, continues to show up and care about their franchise.

A Goldmine

"It's a goldmine, special, fans come every night, packed on a consistent basis, if we won more, forget about. Even the last game of the season was special, special place to play. Management, everyone is hands on, tight knit, eat together, family dinners. Special," said veteran center Taj Gibson during exit interviews in April.

Of course, NBA fans around the league laughed it. So, I took out my phone and sent out a tweet.