Each NBA playoff series is its own distinct event, with no real continuity point between the end of one and the beginning of another.

The Minnesota Timberwolves, for instance, knocked off the defending champion Denver Nuggets, but that didn’t automatically make them kings of the hill; a series against the Dallas Mavericks in the next round posed a completely different set of challenges, and the Timberwolves’ roster was much less able to handle those. Similarly, the brave fight the Indiana Pacers put up against the Boston Celtics in the Eastern Conference finals tells us almost nothing about what might happen to Boston in a series against Dallas; aside from a proclivity for employing Rick Carlisle, Indiana and Dallas could hardly be less alike.

That’s a crucial morsel of knowledge to retain in the coming days, as we survey every possible angle in our extended break before the NBA Finals between the Celtics and Mavericks begins June 6. Dallas has won six of its past seven games, capped by its elimination of Minnesota on Thursday, while Boston has won 12 of 14 with a double-digit scoring margin.

Yet using those games as a predictive point for what might happen in the NBA Finals is a fatal flaw: The matchup for both these teams will be completely different from what they faced the round before. In that sense, it’s probably good that Dallas and Boston have a few days off to recalibrate. The formula for winning in the next round will be radically different.

GO DEEPER

Previewing the 2024 NBA Finals: Key storylines in Mavs vs. Celtics

Take the Celtics, for instance, who just finished a series against one of the most extreme teams in basketball and now need to adjust to a very different type of team at both ends. The Pacers’ defensive approach, in particular, is almost 180 degrees from that of Dallas. The Pacers gave up the fewest 3-point attempts in the league this season and were more than willing to allow drives to the rim as long as they shut off the 3-point line.

While they did this part imperfectly against the Celtics — Boston still launched 43 triples per game in the conference finals, right in line with its season totals — it’s still a radically different approach from what Dallas did in its three playoff rounds. The Mavs tried to protect the basket at all costs with rim protectors Dereck Lively II and Daniel Gafford, holding opponents to just 50.2 percent shooting on 2s in the playoffs entering Game 5 against Minnesota.

The Mavs didn’t give up a huge quantity of 3s overall, but there was a certain type they were willing to concede — pick-and-pop 3-pointers from opposing centers. The Clippers and Wolves didn’t have the starting personnel to hurt them here, but Dallas let Chet Holmgren and Jaylin Williams fire away for the Thunder (42 attempts in six games), while Minnesota backup Naz Reid ripped off 25 3-point attempts in 132 minutes in the conference finals.

Needless to say, this is a highly questionable strategy to pursue against the Celtics if Kristaps Porziņģis is healthy (he is expected to return for the NBA Finals). Porziņģis shot 37.5 percent from 3 this season on over six attempts per game, and many of his tries are from several feet beyond the 3-point line. For that matter, Boston big man Al Horford made 41.9 percent.

Dallas isn’t the only team that has faced this problem. Keeping rim protectors near the rim has been a vexing question for Boston opponents all season, one that has seen multiple original but unsuccessful solutions. Golden State, for instance, tried to put Draymond Green on Jaylen Brown, keep Green in the paint and dare Brown to shoot 3s in a March game. Brown made five 3s in the first seven minutes and was well on his way to breaking Wilt Chamberlain’s scoring record before the Warriors reconsidered.

I was at that game, and my column from that weekend delves further into the unique dilemmas presented by Boston’s superior shooting at every position. The short version: Teams that strive to take away 3s and live with basket attacks, like Indiana, are the only ones that have a chance against the Celtics. Sure, the Pacers gave up points, but they also beat Boston twice in the regular season and had them dead to rights in Game 1 of the conference finals before fate intervened … with a late 3-pointer.

Dallas, in contrast, was a middle-of-the-pack team in preventing opponent 3s and has played that way again in the playoffs. The Mavs’ big conundrum is figuring out how to contort a defensive strategy that was close to optimal for playing the Clippers, Thunder and Wolves and adapt it to playing a very different Boston team. Recent events don’t augur well on that front; when the Mavs marched into Boston with all their new trade pieces in March, they lost 138-110, with Boston shooting 21 of 43 on 3s.

The Celtics, however, have some adjusting of their own to do. Whereas Indiana ran the ball down their throat every possible chance with whomever had the rock, Dallas plays a much slower and more heliocentric style. Yes, the Mavs will run opportunistically, but compared to playing the Pacers, it will feel like switching from a techno rave to Gregorian chants.

Additionally, the player at the controls for Dallas is possibly the best offensive player in the league, and he’s operating against a defense that essentially has one weakness — not really being able to switch across five positions. We saw how that worked out for Minnesota, the league’s top-ranked defense. Can the Celtics really survive a series in drop coverage against 40-plus minutes of Luka Dončić and Kyrie Irving? Or do they need to get uncomfortable?

While the Celtics have more roster optionality (they could perhaps put Porziņģis on Derrick Jones Jr. to switch against Dallas’s pick-and-roll game with Lively and Gafford, for instance) and two All-Defense guards in Jrue Holiday and Derrick White, Dončić has seen and figured out every coverage.

Obviously, there’s a lot more to unpack here — Porziņģis and Irving revenge series! Luka’s first NBA Finals! Jayson Tatum’s shot at redemption! Reflections on the Grant Williams era! We’ll have plenty of time to get to it all, but it almost seems like a relief these teams have an intermezzo before this final round. Each will need it for a full tactical revamp.

Required Reading

(Photo of Luka Dončić and Al Horford: Maddie Meyer / Getty Images)

MINNEAPOLIS — As Luka Dončić sat down in the tiny postgame news conference room, the smallest one he’ll be in until his season ends, he placed a trophy on the table in front of him. It was given to him after being voted the MVP in the Western Conference finals, the award starting with a gleaming gold dais of sorts that supported the silver orb atop it. He wasn’t sure, he admitted, how it’ll fit into his trophy case.

“(It’ll go) home,” said Dončić, the only destination he was sure of in this moment. “I don’t know where yet.”

Dončić’s glittering accolades are too numerous to list. He has a trophy from Real Madrid’s 2018 EuroLeague championship, but none from Slovenia’s first-ever EuroBasket victory in 2017. There are countless plaques and medallions, too many to remember, from past tournaments and finals he starred in long ago. What was on his mind, other than a postgame beer, wasn’t his new metallic hunk, but the pursuit of one even more golden.

On Thursday, in Game 5’s 124-103 victory against the Minnesota Timberwolves, Dončić advanced to the NBA Finals for the first time. Along with him came his new set of teammates, the best he’s ever had, amplifying their transcendent superstar who seemed destined to reach this stage.

Now he has.

Luka Dončić flashes a smile at his press conference after the Mavericks won the Western Conference finals. (Bruce Kluckhohn / USA Today)

It has been 13 years since the Dallas Mavericks reached the NBA Finals. Thirteen years since they lifted the crown under Dirk Nowitzki’s charge for the first time in the franchise’s history. Thirteen years toiling in Nowitzki’s twilight and then learning how to trust in Dončić after his arrival. This is Nowitzki’s franchise, always will be, but there’s no better successor. Not because these two legends are identical — not even close — but because they share one trait: A ruthless winning desire that uplifts all around them. What Nowitzki left, Dončić carried forward. Now, he’s arrived in the same place Nowitzki once took them: into the finals, against the Boston Celtics, beginning June 6.

Dončić didn’t watch the NBA finals growing up. “It was 4 in the morning,” he said. “I couldn’t. I had school the next day.”

But from Game 5’s opening minutes, he left no doubt he would reach his first one. He had 10 points in the first three minutes, 15 in the first eight and 20 by the time the quarter ended, with the Timberwolves scoring just 19 themselves.

“I turn around, and he’s shooting it from half court,” starting center Daniel Gafford said. “I’m like, ‘At this point, I don’t even need to set a screen for you, brother.’”

It was a display of finality that Dončić has exhibited many times before, most famously against the Phoenix Suns in a closeout Game 7 two seasons ago.

“This one was very close to that,” Mavericks coach Jason Kidd said. “He took the crowd out of the game right off the bat, and he let his teammates know that it’s time.”

Dončić’s 36 points on 14-of-22 shooting was matched by his co-star running mate, Kyrie Irving, who had 36 himself. Irving is the one player on the team who has been to the finals before. Irving is the best player Dončić has ever played with, one who matched him shot for shot in Thursday’s closeout win. He ensured Dončić’s snarling-and-screaming eminence was affixed to his own steady-and-sure resolve. With those two atop the team, in games where they both decide losing isn’t an option, there’s a certainty in the results.

The teammates surrounding them — ones Dončić met for the first time 12, 10 or even three months ago — have quickly earned the entirety of Dončić on-court faith.

When Dončić is unstoppable, his teammates turn into the escalation of his brilliance. Play him straight up, and Dončić overcomes whatever high-flying athleticism he lacks for heaven-grazing lob passes that Gafford brings down into the rim’s mortal coil. Double-team him, and there’s the rookie phenom Dereck Lively II catching the ball at the free-throw line and swinging it to an open teammate — usually P.J. Washington or Derrick Jones Jr., two defensive stalwarts who have quickly learned that hesitation is an unnecessary sensation when those deliveries are imbued with Dončić’s own confidence in them.

Sometimes, Josh Green tries passes so audacious you wonder if Dončić might be puppeteering him when they succeed. At other points, old friends like Maxi Kleber emerge with veteran know-how to remind us that Dončić still is a young man of just 25, still not even yet in his prime, despite watching teammates age into and out of theirs. Even 21-year-old second-year guard Jaden Hardy, revived in the past two weeks, struts about with a swagger that at least must partially come from Dončić.

Dončić is always at the levers, manning this team’s helm. His hagiography is earned through nights like this, where there’s no way to watch him and think anything except that he’s the best basketballer alive. Whether he and his teammates are enough, right now, to topple the Boston Celtics will be determined. The battle will be fought over seven games, or six, or however many it takes.

“We’re not done here,” Dončić said. “We need four more.”

Dončić’s trophy case, the one which he’ll stuff his newly awarded slab into wherever it’ll fit, could use a centerpiece. What Dončić would like to see in that spot is the largest trophy this sport can offer. He’s always wanted that from the first moment he entered this league laden with laurels which he intended to exceed.

Now begins his first chance.

Required Reading

(Top photo of Luka Dončić and his father, Sasa: David Berding / Getty Images)

Growing up playing high school football in the early 2000s, the dream of seeing someone who looked like me playing at the highest level of a sport I loved was one I gave up on early in my youth. For many, representation at the pinnacle of something you obsessed over can be taken for granted. For Asian American kids in sports at the time, it was practically nonexistent. So when I first saw the “Nguyen” nameplate on the back of an NFL jersey, I was in genuine awe.

Someone with my last name in the NFL? And he wasn’t a kicker (not that there is anything wrong with that). He played linebacker, one of the most physical positions in sports, for the Dallas Cowboys.

That jersey belonged to Dat Nguyen, the All-Pro linebacker, who cemented himself as a legend at Texas A&M. He didn’t just have a spot on the roster, he was one of the best defenders in the league. Not only did it make it seem a little more possible that Asians could play in the NFL, but it also created a different type of connection to pro football that I didn’t have before.

We aren’t related — Nguyen is an incredibly common last name — but for me and the Asian kids from my generation who got to watch him, he represented us on the field. He broke a barrier we didn’t think could be broken, shattering it with every bone-rattling tackle. May is Asian American, Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islander Heritage Month and a good time to reflect on the history Nguyen made and how he got there.

Discovering football

Nguyen and his family shared a similar experience as many Vietnamese migrants in America in the ’80s. During the Vietnam War, his parents made the harrowing escape by boat as the Viet Cong overtook their homes in Vietnam. They started their new lives in a refugee camp in Arkansas before moving to Texas, where Nguyen would grow up and discover football.

His family took up shrimping, a common occupation among Vietnamese immigrants because they did it in their homeland. Beginning in fourth grade, Nguyen spent each summer on the family boat as his brother’s deckhand.

Nguyen’s junior high school coach, Cliff Davis, discovered him while walking the halls looking to recruit kids to play football. Nguyen was nearly 5-foot-10 in eighth grade and could already dunk a basketball. He stood out from his friends. However, his parents initially didn’t support his playing football and wanted him to focus on academics. Nguyen forged their signatures to sign up for the football team.

Dat Nguyen, left, with his family at the premiere of “All American: The Dat Nguyen Story,” a documentary about his football journey, in 2023. (Courtesy of Nguyen family)

He didn’t know much about the sport, but as he learned more, he quickly fell in love with the mental side of the game.

“I was very fortunate and grateful that (Davis) taught me to visualize,” Nguyen, now 48, explained. “We went to the gym before the football game and he shared with us a moment. And the moment was when you closed your eyes and you play the play in your mind, saw the play before it happened, called the defense, adjust to the offensive formation, snap the ball and just see it. If it’s a run, if it’s a pass — what’s your responsibility? What’s your alignment? What’s your adjustment? All that quickly has to be diagnosed or decided within a few seconds. If you played it in your mind and you saw it the night before and you line up in the game, it’s a lot easier when you just don’t have to think … you just react.”

Nguyen’s athleticism and instinctual style of play helped him quickly excel on the gridiron, but his double life almost halted when he broke his elbow diving for a fumble toward the end of his eighth-grade season. His parents found out he was hurt playing football but realized he was passionate about the game and that it kept him out of trouble, so they let him continue to play. As he played high school football, the cerebral nature of the sport continued to compel him.

“I fell in love with the game because it was fascinating to me,” he said. “I was one of the 11 guys every time the puzzle was moved. As I got older, the game was so much more interesting because of the situations in football.”

Breaking out with the Aggies

Nguyen became a star for his hometown team and had people from every background chanting his name, but his parents came to only two games. His mom worked two jobs and his dad was on the boat all day. Plus, entering a crowded stadium full of people who didn’t speak their language was daunting. It wasn’t until Nguyen got a scholarship to Texas A&M that he truly felt they embraced his football career.

When he first got to Texas A&M, he thought he was too small and needed to gain weight to be an effective college player, but then he got too big. He couldn’t move effectively and he slid down the depth chart. He almost gave up on playing college football but recommitted himself in the offseason. He woke up at 6 a.m. every day to work out on his own, went to class at 8 a.m. and got in a second workout at noon before working out with his team at 4 p.m. He got into fantastic shape and surprised the team and coaching staff with his body transformation.

He worked his way up from eighth on the depth chart to No. 2. The only linebacker ahead of him was Trent Driver, who had prototypical size and speed. One day, while running sprints, Driver twisted his ankle on a sprinkler. Nguyen got his shot, and the rest was history. He became an Aggies legend, starting 51 consecutive games and amassing 517 tackles and six interceptions.

Dat Nguyen is one of the greatest defensive players in @AggieFootball history. The @cfbhall linebacker is the only player in @TAMU history to lead the team in tackles four consecutive seasons and still holds school records with 517 career tackles and 30 double-digit tackle games!… pic.twitter.com/6Hvg13Qlb4

— College Football Hall of Fame (@cfbhall) September 25, 2023

His parents started coming to his home games, and for the away games, they would have company come over to watch their son play on TV. They picked up how the game worked, but the magnitude of how big football was, especially in Texas, was hard to grasp. Their son went from helping them on a shrimp boat to playing on national television.

Nguyen had one of the best games of his career in the 1998 Cotton Bowl against UCLA, but when he talked about the game, he didn’t highlight the win or his interception and lateral for a touchdown or the fact that he was named MVP of that game. He talked about the feeling when he found out his parents, who were across the country for a wedding, were gathered around a TV with friends and family hooting and cheering him on in the Cotton Bowl.

“That might be the best game of my career,” Nguyen said. “I still have some records there in the Cotton Bowl, and it’s not like some of those records might not be broken, right? And for them to witness that with relatives and family and gatherings and in another state … yeah, that was pretty cool for them to share with me.”

Growing up in an Asian household, winning the approval of the family sometimes felt like chasing after a carrot on a stick that was tied to your back. When you’ve achieved the status of state legend and get a free education out of it, no parent, no matter how high their standards, could resist cheering.

How ’bout them Cowboys?

The next achievement to check off was getting drafted. Though Nguyen had gaudy statistics and accolades, he was still undersized (5-11, 234 pounds at the 1999 NFL Scouting Combine) in an era of football when the prototypical linebacker was 250 pounds. Nguyen was one of Dallas’ top-30 visits, so although the Cowboys were interested, he knew he wouldn’t be a first-round pick.

The draft spanned two days back then. On the first day, Nguyen helped a friend move and went to a kid’s birthday party before ending up at his mom’s house where they would watch the end of day one of the draft together. Nine linebackers with better measurables got drafted before him. He then got the call from Jerry Jones. The Cowboys drafted him in the third round. Nguyen would be playing pro football in his home state.

“I landed in Dallas and I thought, ‘Your family left Vietnam to come here just for freedom and you get the chance to play this game we called the American sport and you get drafted by America’s Team,’” Nguyen said.

He remembered in his first OTAs getting into the defensive huddle, getting the signal and calling the defense — something he’d done thousands of times. No big deal. He then looked across and saw Troy Aikman and Emmit Smith, and to his left was Michael Irvin. When the ball was snapped, Nguyen froze and didn’t move. These were guys he watched every Sunday, and just sharing the field with them caused him to short-circuit for a second. Though there were some historically big personalities in the Dallas locker room, he said they respected his play and he never felt ostracized for his ethnicity.

Dat Nguyen celebrates a fumble recovery for the Cowboys during a game in 2005. (Tim Heitman / USA Today)

Bill Parcells was hired as head coach in 2003, Nguyen’s fifth year in the league. Parcells came from a 3-4 defensive background and preferred bigger, more physical linebackers. Nguyen was quick, undersized and made plays because of his anticipation and angles.

The old-school Parcells wasn’t easy to impress. But as Nguyen had done his entire football career, he made his size an afterthought and earned Parcells’ trust. Nguyen had a career year in his first season playing for him and was named second-team All-Pro.

“I learned more football with (Parcells) than my 15 years prior,” Nguyen said. “He made the game very interesting. Situational football was a big part of what he did, and I really learned a lot about the game on that aspect of it. He’s a guy that really cares about you as a person even though at times he doesn’t feel like he does. But I’ll send him a text right now, and he’ll text me back. I feel like I’m in that inner circle with him, and it’s hard to get in that inner circle.”

“He could have played for any of my teams,” Parcells would later say after coaching Nguyen.

Injuries pile up

Nguyen shined brightly when he was on the field, but injuries took a toll on his body. In 2004, playing the Pittsburgh Steelers, some Cowboys defenders had a bet on who would put the biggest hit on Jerome Bettis. Early in the game, Nguyen saw his chance. The play unfolded in slow motion. He watched quarterback Ben Roethlisberger turn around to hand the ball off to Bettis.

“I was like, ‘Oh, shoot, I’m beelining him. I’m about to win this pot,’” he said. “So I’m about to blow him up. All of a sudden I get blown up from somewhere else.”

Steelers receiver Hines Ward blindsided and de-cleated him. His legs were 6 feet in the air and he smashed his head on the ground. The next thing he could remember was the trainer bringing him to his wife and explaining to her that he had a severe concussion.

He went the next morning to the facility to work out, get treatment and attend his position meeting. In his meeting, he looked down at his grade sheet and saw he was given a positive grade on 63 out of 64 plays. He realized he’d just played one of the best games ever — the problem was, he didn’t remember anything past the blindside hit.

The following season, he prepared hard and felt great. He thought he would have a career year but injured his knee in training camp and had meniscus surgery before the season. During a West Coast trip in which they played the 49ers and Raiders, he hurt his neck against the 49ers but played through it. He completed a Cowboys comeback with a game-sealing interception but knew something wasn’t right.

“I remember calling my wife the morning I woke up,” Nguyen said. “I was like, my knees are bothering me. My neck’s bothering me. I don’t feel right.”

After the Raiders game, on the flight back to Dallas, he sat next to Dan Campbell, Nguyen’s teammate with the Cowboys and at Texas A&M.

“I was like, ‘Dan, man, I can see the plays. I can’t get there.’ Like I worked so hard in the off-season just to get a chance to get the edge, right? I put so many hours into it, but I think my body’s just breaking down.”

The next morning, Nguyen told Parcells he needed to take some time off to recover and regroup, and Parcells obliged. Nguyen tried coming back on Thanksgiving, but his body didn’t respond. His arm went numb every time he got hit.

Dat Nguyen is recognized during halftime of a Dallas Cowboys preseason game in 2006 for his contributions to the team. (Khampha Bouaphanh / Getty Images)

“So that’s when I knew it was over,” Nguyen said. “I was glad I was able to walk away. And, you know, you miss it. I’m sorry, you miss the locker room. You miss the competition. You miss the four seconds of the game when the ball snaps. I can’t explain this to anybody or share it with people because it’s so unique.”

Nguyen retired in 2005 and went on to have brief stints coaching with the Cowboys and Texas A&M. He’s earned several accolades since his retirement including making the Texas A&M Athletic Hall of Fame, All-Time Big 12 Team and the Texas Sports Hall of Fame. But his seven seasons, a relatively long career, were not enough to get Pro Football Hall of Fame consideration. Though he won’t be enshrined in Canton, his career was truly unique. He was the first Vietnamese player to be drafted in the NFL and the only one to date. Nguyen was a barrier breaker, and he hopes his story can inspire other Asian kids to follow in his footsteps.

“I thought when you broke the barrier back then when I was playing, I was hoping that it was open to people,” he said. “I was hoping that more kids would be participants. It’s hard to find. … I mean, even my nephew, that’s going to graduation tonight, he’s a good ball player. I don’t think he’s a DI player, but I think he’s able to play DIII if he wants to pursue it. And then (many kids wave) off the option, but it’s like, man, you never know how you develop your body. It might be small stature, but man, a lot of times, football teaches you so much. But the opportunity to make it and fulfill a dream, man, it’s like no other, though. And I think a lot of them don’t want to pursue it because the chances are against them, which it is.”

(Top photo: Al Messerschmidt and Doug Pensinger / Getty Images)