Phoenix didn’t make the Play-In, and we should all be grateful.
Well, I’m glad the Phoenix Suns didn’t make the postseason. Yeah, I said it.
The final stretch was a dramatic nosedive from a team that had every opportunity to salvage something and still couldn’t keep the wheels on. They stumbled to the finish line, missed the Play-In Tournament, and in doing so, saved us all from the prolonged agony of false hope.
Had they squeaked into the Play-In as the ninth seed — the consolation bracket of the NBA — they would’ve needed to survive two win-or-die games just for the right to get bodybagged by the Oklahoma City Thunder. A team bursting with youth, movement, and a sense of purpose the Suns haven’t sniffed in months. That would’ve been their “reward.” A long walk off a short cliff.
Instead, they finished 11th. Out. Done. Clean exit. No fake drama. No empty calories. Sometimes mercy comes disguised as failure.
Instead, it was the Memphis Grizzlies who stumbled into the eighth seed, dragging their battered roster into a buzzsaw. The result? A 51-point annihilation at the hands of the Oklahoma City Thunder. A nationally televised exorcism. Happy Easter.
THUNDER BLOW OUT GRIZZLIES BY 51 PTS
Largest margin of victory EVER in a Game 1 pic.twitter.com/2fPykDKRbv
— Bleacher Report (@BleacherReport) April 20, 2025
That game wasn’t just a beatdown. It was a sermon. A sermon that fortified the collective mindset of the Phoenix faithful as this cursed season mercifully came to an end. The Suns, had they somehow survived the Play-In gauntlet, would have walked into that same slaughterhouse with even more expectations and even less cohesion. And they would’ve been gutted on a bigger stage, in brighter lights, with more cameras pointed at the flaming wreckage.
Oklahoma City is everything the Suns aren’t. Connected. Cohesive. Joyful. Unselfish. A basketball organism functioning with synchronized brilliance. The Suns? They’re the anti-chemistry experiment.
That’s why, when the final buzzer sounded on the Suns’ season, it didn’t feel like heartbreak. It felt like relief. Like the credits rolling on a horror movie. We weren’t sad. We were saved.
And watching OKC obliterate Memphis only confirmed it. Thank you Jesus it wasn’t us. We weren’t the ones getting eulogized on Easter Sunday. The Thunder are ascendant basketball royalty. The Suns? Just serfs in a decaying kingdom, clutching old banners, pretending the walls aren’t crumbling.
Move on. Burn the tape. Light the incense. Cleanse the vibes. We never belonged in that game. And deep down, we all knew it.
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