[Keown] Hartenstein, mid-interview, sees a basketball on the rack in the Thunder practice facility slightly tilted, at most 10 degrees. He points and says to the journalist, “That’ll be fixed before we finish talking.” Shortly after, an equipment manager walks by and carefully puts the ball in place
Inside this cocoon – ThunderDome is tempting, but too easy – the chaos of the world has been engineered out of existence. For seven straight days in mid-April, through 85-degree days and days with sheets of rain and days with breathless tornado warnings, I made a note that the lush, weedless lawn that surrounds the parking lot remained the exact same length, as if a crew arrived late at night armed with rulers and scissors to trim each blade individually. Every player arrived on the court with his shirt tucked and left the same way. The overall vibe was high-end Stockholm showroom, one that would undoubtedly be curated and overseen by someone who looks, cinematically at least, a lot like Presti.
This hypnotic consistency, an extreme rendition of “control what you can control,” is central to the Thunder’s quest to become the first team since the 2017-18 Warriors to repeat as champions. The Thunder have swept the Suns and the Lakers in the first two rounds of the playoffs, and they enter the Western Conference finals as favorites to bring another parade to the wide and mostly quiet streets of downtown Oklahoma City.
Thunder center Isaiah Hartenstein and I are having a conversation in the courtside chairs in the practice facility when he notices a basketball on the rack near us as ever-so-slightly off-kilter, its Wilson logo tilted at most 10 degrees. Hartenstein points at the offending ball and says, without a hint of sarcasm, “That’ll be fixed before we finish talking.” He is nearly right; as he walks across the court toward the locker after we are done, an equipment manager comes by. He tilts the rogue ball back into place by putting a hand on each side, as if cupping an injured bird.