The theory of the Cleveland Cavaliers is that by virtue of being able to play at least one of Donovan Mitchell and Darius Garland at all times, they are guaranteed 48 minutes of all-star–level shot creation. That allows them to play a bunch of incredible play-finishers, like Jarrett Allen and Max Strus, who don't need to worry about dribbling the basketball unless it's into an advantage presented to them by one of their genius operators and can otherwise stick to jamming huge dunks and nailing open threes. Everything on offense is fast and so much of it easy, which starts at the top. So naturally, a point guard's big game tells the story of Cleveland's 121-100 playoff-opening win over the Miami Heat. That's right: Ty Jerome.
The little point guard has had an incredible season for the Cavs, averaging a hair over 12 points per game on 63-percent true shooting in just under 20 minutes per game for the best offense in the league. When a mildly undersized guard averages those sorts of numbers in that sort of role, you might expect their game to be built around nailing catch-and-shoot threes, attacking closeouts, and running vanilla pick-and-rolls. You know, responsible offense. Jerome is great at all of those things, but what really makes him great is his floater. There's nothing complex about it: Jerome is a floater maestro, with an uncanny sense of timing, enviable balance, and eiderdown touch. If he gets his defender on his hip, he knows exactly how to lathe out an extra six or seven feet of space, and he knows exactly when the low man is either committed to blocking his shot or too terrified of an alley-oop, and thus content to watch Jerome sail it in over his head.
Jerome had a couple of those on Sunday, flexing like a cartoon wrestler as he muscled Tyler Herro aside, and he also went 5-for-8 from three. In his playoff debut, he scored 28 points in 26 minutes, to go along with five boards and three assists, and wound up plus-17 in a game his team won by 21. In one fourth-quarter stretch, beginning with around 10:30 left to play and the Cavs ahead by 10 and ending with them leading by 16 and just under five minutes remaining, Jerome scored or assisted on 24 straight Cavs points.
I was thrilled when the Heat romped through the Chicago Bulls and then out-hearted the Atlanta Hawks to nab the Eastern Conference's final playoff spot—not because I thought there was anything but the faintest chance they could actually beat the marauding Cavaliers, but rather because they are simply not bullshit. We probably would not learn anything interesting about the Cavs had they played one of the malformed teams that made the play-in instead of Miami. Cleveland would be able to score on the Bulls or Hawks while snoring, and all we would learn is that you cannot build a team out of guards who can do one thing pretty well. The Heat, on the other hand, make up for their lack of top-end talent with a commitment to playing cussed, infernal basketball and not doing dumb stuff. They are eminently beatable, but they won't do the job for you. That's why I was excited for this series: The Heat would force the Cavs to show everyone what makes them cool.
So what makes the Cavs cool? Their collective speed and skill on offense. They have special individual players, but many teams have special players; I haven't seen a single unit that coheres as logically as the Cavaliers do. They play offense with what feels like perfect balance, moving in concert, keeping the ball zipping around, and ruthlessly punishing any imbalances or overreaches. Nobody plays with outsized ego, and nobody does too much. They do complex stuff, specifically with the way they use their two all-star–level big guys, but they don't have to all that often, because they manufacture so many easy points by simply forcing the opposing defense into a decision-making contest and winning it.
Jerome personifies this as cleanly as any player on the team, because his excellent season underlines the Garland–Mitchell duo. It's not just that the Cavs get to play with one of Garland or Mitchell at all times that makes them impossible to defend, it's that in the games that matter they get to play with two of the Garland–Mitchell–Jerome triad at all times.
There's nothing doctrinaire here either. Jerome is asked to mold his game to a system, to a certain degree, though that system does not optimize for a suite of prescribed actions, but rather toward harmony. That floater is the key: It doesn't matter that a small guard taking a bunch of semi-contested nine footers clashes with orthodox modern basketball strategy. Those are good shots, and the Cavs get and convert those more than anybody else.
