Garbage time in the NBA is precious. There’s something endearing about those waning minutes of an utter blowout where teams trot out second and third-stringers, and the on-court product only loosely resembles professional basketball. It’s a time for scrubs to throw their inhibitions aside and aim to impress. It’s a time to get weird.
This is why everybody loves garbage time. Everybody except for, you know, the team that is getting shellacked, that team’s fans, neutral television viewers, broadcast crews who are short on material and analysts trying to draw meaningful conclusions from what they’re watching. Perturbed by the fringe NBA players, rampant miscues and lack of macro-importance, these people tend to check out, change the channel or head for the exits as the scores rise and the clock melts away,
Monday night in Philadelphia illustrated why those people are missing out.