The New Yorker:

He’s corny, he’s awkward, and he’s thrilling.

By Louisa Thomas

When Tyrese Haliburton shoots, his right hand almost cups the side of the ball. His right elbow is akimbo. He uses odd footwork, jabbing almost randomly, and sometimes skips and hops into his shots. In his shooting stance, his knees sometimes knock. He starts his shot with a quick little dip, then swings around, and barely sets. He flails left, falls right; like a little kid, he seems to chuck the ball toward the basket. It’s an almost embarrassing motion. It’s definitely embarrassing for the guys on the other team, when they see Haliburton skitter past them, jerk into a quick shot, and score.

He perplexes a lot of people. It is not his style to shoot much; he often prefers to direct the Pacers’ high-octane, relentless offense, which is among the best in the league. He touches the ball a lot—he had the second-most touches per game in the N.B.A. during the regular season, and, of the players in the N.B.A. Finals, he has the most touches by far—but the ball doesn’t stay in his hands for long. He doesn’t post up. He rarely looks to isolate a defender or create his own shot. He swings the ball across the floor, pushes the team in transition, and controls the chaos created by his speed and unpredictability. Although he is his team’s biggest star, he is not its leading scorer, and his usage rate—which estimates the percentage of offensive possessions a player is directly involved in while on the floor—was fourth among the Pacers’ rotation players this season. In contrast, the usage rate of Shai Gilgeous-Alexander, the Oklahoma City Thunder’s top player, was among the highest in the whole league. Haliburton is no one’s idea of an N.B.A. superstar. He sometimes disappears in big games. And yet, in the most high-pressure moments, he becomes a supernova.

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