They needed this one.
And, boy, did they get it.
Not a last-second, free-throw-decided, eeked-out win, either. This was a solid, 19-point, fist-pumping victory that the Pepsi Center crowd celebrated with towel waving, foot-stomping, scream-’til-you’re-hoarse enthusiasm. Just in case Kobe and his purple gang failed to get the message: The Lakers didn’t have this series sewn up.
Not by a long shot.
“This is the biggest game in Nuggets’ history” was the assessment of Littleton fan Joslyn Brough on Monday night, no doubt speaking for about 20,000 others in the room.
Arguably, the little kid suited up in the No. 7 jersey, the Nuggets sweatband, the blue and yellow socks and the blue Nuggets shorts needed it just as much as the big guys on the court. Ditto the brothers in the Melo’s Yellow section, the lifelong fan from Littleton and so many others.
They needed a Game 4 win in the NBA Western Conference finals, tying the series at two games apiece, to keep on believing, to breathe a little easier as they send their beloved team back out West, to make this Memorial Day memorable indeed.
Falling behind three games to one could have portended a story that didn’t include the happy ending pretty much everybody who packed the Pepsi Center had scripted.
Vicki Ray — who those in Nuggetland know as Vicki, or the sign lady — had been waiting for this particular moment since her first Nuggets game, back in 1993.
Ray and her husband, Russ, have been to every game — every game — since he first dragged her to one about 16 years ago. On this night, her chosen pregame sign read, “Nuggets we believe in you.”
They were going to win, Ray said, “because we want ’em back here for Game 6.”
Just then, coach George Karl walked into the arena, pausing long enough to give Ray a knuckle bump.
“That’s tradition,” she said.
Moments later, in a true exercise in choir-directed preaching, a cheerleader hoisted a sign that read “get loud.”
Flames shot up, lights flashed, eardrums must have burst.
Then it was on.
Nuggets fans wanted — really, really wanted — someone in a white jersey to sink the first point.
That wasn’t to be. So, then they really needed Lakers star Kobe Bryant to miss that first free throw.
That’s OK, that’s OK. There’s always the second.
Kobe in his majestic purple took aim, flicked his wrist — and missed.
Yes!
Lakers up 1-0, the fans’ll take that.
The towels came out, hearts restarted.
Five minutes later, with the Nuggets up 12-5, Matthew Smith wasn’t anywhere close to sitting down and relaxing.
“It’s been like this every game,” the 22-year-old said “It’ll come down to the last shot, like the rest.”
Of course, technically, as one of Melo’s Yellows, Smith is supposed to stand up, yell, be seen and heard. In exchange, the section gets free, normally yellow, T-shirts
But Monday, nobody was taking any chances with karma or luck. And those usual yellow shirts have a peculiar Lakerish gold cast to them. So in honor of Monday’s guests, or in dishonor, Melo’s Yellows turned blue.
The karma, the blue shirts, Vicki’s signs, whatever it was, it seemed to be working. By halftime, the Nuggets were up by seven.
And Brough was thinking maybe, for the first time since the 26-year-old was a little kid, this might be the Nuggets’ turn.
“I just have a good feeling that we’ll be in the (NBA) Finals,” she said.
“The Broncos have had their time, the Avs had their time, and the Rockies.”
And John Elway passing on the No. 7 officially to homegrown Nuggets hero Chauncey Billups, that just seals it, Brough said.
“It’s great to have Chauncey in a leadership position where Melo (Carmelo Anthony) can honestly flourish,” she said.
And then, with six and a half minutes to go, things were still going the Nuggets’ way. They were up 10 points, and Anthony was shooting two free throws. He made both.
Not that Vicki was ready to declare victory.
“I can’t breathe until the last second.”
Russ Ray clicked off a few shots with his camera — he has 147 gigs of Nuggets photos on his home computer, he said. “It sure is nice to see this place like this,” he said. Or rather, he screamed, and even then, could barely be heard.
That ear-splitting, floor- pounding noise at the beginning of the game?
That was nothing.
As the clock ticked down and the Nuggets’ margin stayed fat, the white towels were whirling blurs, the floor shook and nobody could possibly talk to anyone — not that they wanted to because that would have required taking a break from screaming. Even cleanup crews, pushing carts through back corridors, stopped long enough to look at TV screens.
The fans, and the players, had gotten what they needed.
Karen Auge: 303-954-1733 or kauge@denverpost.com
