The Pelicans Made the Damn NBA Playoffs and We Have No Idea What Happens Next

For months, fans have been bracing for an inevitable, nearly preordained, and not at all unappealing opening round clash between the Golden State Warriors and Oklahoma City Thunder. The Warriors handily won the West and have legitimate aspirations for the Larry O'Brien Trophy for the first time since Iran was ruled by the Shah. Even so, the Thunder, at full or even mostly full strength could have been considered near-favorites, given the Warriors' relative inexperience and the Thunder's Russell Westbrook, who is Russell Westbrook. But then a funny thing happened, and kept happening: the New Orleans Pelicans refused to go the fuck away.

And so it came to pass, on Wednesday, that the group of basketballing men represented by a goofy bird grew up before our eyes, eking out a win in the final moments against the defending champion San Antonio Spurs. That's impressive because the Spurs have been playing like God Butchers recently, and still had playoff seeding on their minds. It is also delightful because one of those teams—the winning one—is the goddamn Pelicans. Seeing the script ripped up in professional sports is the thing that keeps some of us giving a shit, and the Pels did it.

This is even more delightful upon closer examination, because the Pelicans are a clusterfuck of Dirty Dozen role-players and half-bloomed talent. More than that, they are a vagabond team that has only had their (silly, honestly) name for two seasons. They began this weird journey as the original Charlotte Hornets, a team known for Rex Chapman's good looks, the lushly bearded swagger of Baron Davis, Hugo the Hornet's lascivious smile, and Space Jam bit player Muggsy Bogues. When skeevy owner George Shinn was effectively kicked out of Charlotte, the team bounced to New Orleans, only to end up fleeing the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. They played a season as the New Orleans/Oklahoma City Hornets, which paved the way both for the Thunder's existence and this season's disappointment. Then the NBA bought them, traded franchise player Chris Paul (twice!), and sold them again. Their home court is called The Smoothie King Center. They are defiantly local and weird, and their story is weird.

But also they drafted Anthony Davis with the first pick in 2012, and things have made sense ever since. The Brow was a sure-thing in a way that even most sure-things aren't, an improbable talent packed into an impossible basketball body. Just seeing him shake hands with David Stern the night of the draft was a redemption and a renewal. He bore the auspicious initials AD. Remember the other famous A.D.? It's the thing that came after B.C., before the liberal media ruined that, the one that signified a new epoch of historical record. This was more or less the same thing, but with a more palatable highlight reel.

The Pelicans finished their season like they were hooping at Thermopylae, and they've earned their spot. But for all the big and little things that led to this result, it's tempting to see the critical moment as the February game when the Pelicans and Thunder faced off in Oklahoma City. Even then, the two were scrambling for that eighth seed. With a tie game and the shot clock out of seconds, Anthony Davis took a three-pointer, his first three-pointer of the season, a double-clutched three-pointer that sent him stumbling to the hardwood. He drained it like Steph Curry at practice, and we saw the light of Anthony Davis, and it was good; and Anthony Davis divided the light from the darkness.

Which is perhaps a bit overstated. But the point is that we shouldn't mourn the loss of a Thunder-Warriors series. There was nothing waiting for us there but bad vibes and bitterness and but the injuries caterwauling and bickering about whether Scott Brooks or Steve Kerr likes Magic: The Gathering more. The Pelicans, though, the Pelicans are dying to become a problem, because they are right there. This isn't an asterisked, what-if year for them, this is the year. It is not the end, but it could be a beginning. This is how mediocre teams become good and good teams become great. They take their best shot at the top dog and live to tell the tale.

The series could be swift, and it may be brutal—the Warriors are really good, and the Pelicans bench consists of extra-crispy former lottery picks who fell through the fryer basket. But this series is also Lil Wayne interviews at halftime and the continuation of the delightful if increasingly lopsided Tyreke Evans/Steph Curry feud and a minimum of four nationally televised games featuring Anthony Davis. The sooner the drunks peering at flat-screens and the National Security Moms channel-surfing while O'Reilly is on commercial break see this humble evolutionary mutation the better, for them and for all humanity.

So yes, pour one out for the Thunder, a fine team if also a team that has fascinatingly swung wildly from heroes to heels to contenders to underdogs to pretenders to updogs in just a few short seasons. But let's be glad we'll get this new, other team, the team of uncertainty and promise and fresh air. The Pelicans might get swept. They might shock the world and harness the Druid magic of Anthony Davis and… well, not win, but push the Warriors into hard-fought six-game series territory. It could be a series we tell our kids about, or a series so revolting that it makes us not want to have children. We don't have any idea. That's the fun of it.