An NBA regular season is long. The 2024-25 campaign began on October 22, with the Celtics polishing their rings and curb-stomping the Knicks. It will end this Sunday afternoon, April 13. That’s five months, three weeks, and one day’s worth of basketball games: 1,230 in total. And these games have been loaded. Loaded with surprises, friction, strangeness, fun. The Ringer’s own Michael Pina cast his ballot for the NBA's actual awards earlier this week. This is the League Pass version—an off-the-radar, party-forward compendium of the players, teams, and moments that defined the season. It’s time for the Passies.
Most Valuable Player: Amen Thompson
The Rockets’ glow-up from tank-tastic cellar dweller to the 2-seed in the bloodthirsty West has been one of the best stories in the NBA this season. The future is juicy, and the present is kinetic. Offensively, an in-rhythm Alperen Sengun is an amusement park unto himself. Jalen Green is capable of printing posters every night. Steven Adams looks like he has his own barbecue rub. Tari Eason is a fuse box. And yet, when they share the court with Amen Thompson, I do not care about them at all. They are invisible to me. When Thompson’s playing, he’s all that matters. He is the LPMVP.
Thompson is the preeminent athlete in the NBA today. He drops jaws. The play that still sticks in my head the most is a chase-down, back-tap near-steal against the Wizards in a November game. You can see the moment he hits turbo. It’s when it looks like something went wrong with your internet.
I need the NBA app to send a notification when Thompson checks in. The athleticism is hallucinatory, unearthly, beyond the realm of reason, and rad as shit. He is the physical manifestation of the word springs. He is astral. I am fairly certain he can touch the moon. Thompson’s so unique that the rest of the game just sort of falls away, and you get lost watching him explore the depths of his own horsepower. In his second season, he’s started sprinkling some high-speed Euros into his coast-to-coast runs. He’s adding more polish to his handle, becoming a player who can terrify in waves. Knows how much of a load he is in transition. Gave Dyson Daniels a ride to the rim earlier this year. Playing very free. He enters the atmosphere from somewhere beyond Venus and erases shit at the rim.
Makes me think of the moment in Inherent Vice when “Vitamin C” hits its peak and the neon title card flashes. He also makes me think of Ethan Hunt HALO-jumping into lightning.
Could give you some numbers, but that’s not what this is about. This is about spellbinding, about rousing sparks. About feeling like you accidentally wandered into the future. He makes the kinds of plays that reward multiple viewings. You want to go back and look again, revel in the absurdity of what just happened, make sure your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you. Where did he start the play from? How did he make up all that ground? Look how high he got. Look how far out he was when he took off. Jesus, look at that. Thompson moves like he’s being propelled by a higher purpose, like there’s a voice inside his head and all it screams is charge. Soars on the wings of F/A-18 Hornets. He’s a camera shaker, a wonder machine. Hard to focus on anything but the anthropomorphized Valkyrie tearing up the court. It would be easy for Thompson to ease off the gas sometimes, the physical tools so bonkers they could make up for him losing interest every now and again. It’s to his credit that the intensity never wavers. The defense is staggering. Your man is Gibraltar on skates out there. He was the most fun player to watch in the league this season. When he’s on the court, the jump program is loaded. Young Morpheus bounce. He should do the dunk contest in mirrored pince-nez and a leather trench. Let him free your mind.
The Brian Winters Award for Player Who Looks Most Like a Civil War General: Ty Jerome
It’s the beard, yeah, but it’s also the resolve. Jerome has the face of a man who can discuss tactical warfare with George Henry Thomas and sideburns with Ambrose Burnside. Looks like he enters into detailed correspondence. Looks like a Barry Hannah character. Looks like a steal. He’s making $2.5 million this year. Will make a lot more than that in the years to come.
That’s because the young man has produced with vengeance and efficiency this season. Jerome has been an essential part of the Cavs’ historic campaign, a major factor in their success, their consistency, and the leap they’ve taken to no. 1 in the East this season. In addition to winning his first Passie, he’s also a prime contender for Sixth Man of the Year, which is almost as big a deal. Seems to be allergic to mistakes. Keeps the offense singing the hymns. Has them belting it to the back row every possession.
The handle is taut, has the right amount of funk to keep defenders guessing. The passing is inventive and light. And the shot has been fiery: drops with enthusiasm from all over the court. In a late-January game against the Sixers, Jerome went for 33 points, three rebounds, three assists, and two steals. Excuse the specificity, but no reserve in NBA history has scored 33 points and made all eight of their 3s. And no player in Cavs history has ever gone 8-of-8 from 3. Off the dribble, catch-and-shoots, coming off ball screens, he had it all. Once a journeyman—he has spent time with Phoenix, OKC, and Golden State—Jerome cemented himself as A Dude this season. He makes himself the defense’s problem and opens up the scene for everyone else around him. Looks like a blast to play with. Talks his shit. Cavs color analyst Brad Daugherty: “From day one this season, he has just been almost like the glue of this basketball team.”
The Casablanca Award for Best Ending: Lakers-Bulls, March 27
One of the wildest 12-second stretches you will ever see.
Most Valuable Team: Detroit Pistons
Wanna fight? Actually, that’s rhetorical. Doesn’t really matter if you want to or not. The Pistons do, and they will bring it to your doorstep when they feel like it. This is a take-no-shit collection of scrappers who grew tired of the basement and did something about it. Shouts to Trajan Langdon and J.B. Bickerstaff. Shouts to Cramblin Duvet Advertising, Dittrich Furs, the legendary Mort Crim. Shouts to Faygo and wearing your Slipknot mask in the shower. Shouts to Dr. Mayflower. Shouts to “April in the D.” Did I pick the Pistons just so I could make a bunch of Detroiters references? Absolutely not, but these are the perks of the job.
Shouts to the Pistons fans. They’ve been doing yeoman’s work for a decade-plus now. This is their team’s second winning season in 15 years. Two seasons ago, they won 17 games. Last season, they won only 14 and finished with the worst record in the NBA. Then, out go Monty Williams and Troy Weaver, in come Langdon and J.B. Bickerstaff, and the Pistons are to be feared once more. The doormat moved, they said. Go wipe your feet somewhere else because the welcome is going to be really rough around here. These Pistons have reconnected with the spirit of their Bad Boy forefathers. Break out the skull and crossbones.
Isaiah Stewart. Ron Holland. These are men determined to make visitors absolutely miserable. (Consequently, Stewart is also the recipient of this year’s Jerry Stackhouse I’ll Get Kicked Out of This Game Right Now Award, given to the player most likely to actually swing on you.) Jalen Duren handles his business and does his part to make the lane inhospitable. Ausar Thompson is wrecking possessions and finding his voice. Malik Beasley is having one of the greatest shooting seasons of all time. And then there’s the conductor. Cade Cunningham is a bad man. The game ain’t loud, but it is smooth. He is the essential ingredient, the most important piece of the Pistons puzzle, the player who can take the roof off the place. All this merges and has Detroit at the other end of the leaderboard this year, dishing out the pain it used to take. The Pistons seem comfortable with the altitude.
The Golden Casket Award for Excellence in Posterization: Shaedon Sharpe
That’s Justin Champagnie learning firsthand what most of us with an internet connection have known for some time. You jump with Sharpe, you’re jumping to your death.
The Larry Bird–Patrick Ewing Dream Team Award for Most Surprising Connection: Nikola Jokic and Russell Westbrook
Westbrook almost lost this award over the past couple of weeks, with a brain fart of epic proportions in the final 30 seconds of the Timberwolves’ impossible come-from-behind win over Denver on April 1. A blown layup and subsequent foul on a 3 cost the Nuggets a much-needed win in an ever-tightening West and wasted an all-time 61-point triple-double from Jokic. One week later, Denver fired its coach and general manager in a shocking late-season purge. But this is the Westbrook experience. The bad is louder than a banshee choir. It doesn’t take away from the connection this duo found this season. Maybe it should not be surprising that the two foremost experts in the triple-double would find such chemistry, but Jokic’s cerebral nature and Westbrook’s, well, madness, made the fit come with plenty of questions. Westbrook plays with fire like an arsonist. Jokic’s mistakes feel like glitches. Yet the marriage has mostly worked.
Sort of a reverse Rob & Big situation here—only these two actually like each other. Jokic is an empath and a giver. The skill set’s very understanding. The vibe is, “What can I do for you?” He could connect with a pile of sticks. Westbrook is not as malleable, but that’s not for lack of trying. The enigmatic PG has found something zesty in Denver. Their music is strange and off-kilter. Sounds like this.
The Red Panda Award for Best Recurring Halftime Show: Christian and Scooby
Dogs rule. Honorable mention to those two Filipino American brothers who wear glittery tracksuits and spin the light-up diabolos like they have at the mall. You get to see these things on League Pass’s in-arena option. A portal to the margins of the NBA experience. You get to watch fan free throw contests. You get to watch Benny the Bull participate in the trampoline slam dunk show. You get to see Benny the Bull fling popcorn at people. You get to see Benny the Bull make a half-court shot backward. Really, if you’re able to take only one thing from this entire piece, let it be that Benny the Bull is one of America’s premier entertainers.
Eighth Man of the Year: Aaron Wiggins
Wiggins was the 55th pick in the 2021 NBA draft, a second-round selection by Oklahoma City. He played his college ball at Maryland, won the Big 10 Sixth Man of the Year as a sophomore in 2020, and declared for the draft after his junior season. When the Thunder took him, it was assumed he’d be a two-way guy who would spend a lot of, if not most of, his time with the Oklahoma City Blue in the G League. Wiggins had different assumptions. He is another in the Lu Dort mold, a second-round pick who worked like mad and made himself a key contributor for the Thunder.
Wiggins has thrived this season in OKC. Back before last season, when people started to notice the depth Oklahoma City had developed, there began to be a lot of hand-wringing about who the Thunder could keep and who they would have to part with. A good way to tell who was paying attention to the team and who was talking out of their ass was to see who had Wiggins on their cut list. He was never going anywhere. The Thunder knew what they had. And what they have is a guy who can fill in in a lot of different places, a utility man who can do a little bit of everything. This is an extremely well-rounded player. A guy who risked it all and saved basketball. Ask the Kings whether he has the goods.
You feel like you’re in trustworthy hands when Wiggins has the ball. He comes correct with his decision-making and hoops like he has the courage of his convictions. He gives of himself to help the team. How that happens is not important to him, only that it does. The scoring has especially popped for him this season—he’s averaging double figures for the first time in his career on 49/38/81 shooting splits—but he can do more. This is a sturdy, rangy wing defender who will battle until the whistle, someone for whom the ball does not stick on offense, a man you know will hustle when the situation requires it. He is a role player you look at and know, he’s got you, you’re safe. Somebody might make a mistake tonight, but odds are it won’t be him.
The Purple Rainwolves Award for Best New Jersey: Toronto Raptors, ’24-25 City Edition
I was 10 years old when the Vinsanity era began in Toronto. Impossible to overstate how cool young Vince Carter was to people my age. He had gone to Carolina and already during his Tar Heels tenure made regular appearances on SportsCenter for one aerial bombardment or another. He had TV anchors screaming, frothing at the mouth. In the league, his game got even louder, even higher. He quickly became one of the most exciting new players in the NBA, with the 2000 Slam Dunk contest serving as his official coming-out party to the greater basketball public.
Carter’s performance was iconic, sending those in the arena and us watching at home into a dunk-contest delirium that has not been topped this century. The LaVine-Gordon battle in 2016 was a spiritual experience, but something about the dominance of Carter’s showing in 2000, the otherworldly marriage of fluidity and force of his dunks, keeps him comfortably in the top spot despite the fact that, you know, Aaron Gordon was jumping over hoverboard-riding mascots. Carter’s dunks felt like they came from an athletic future we did not know possible.
Enter Toronto’s ‘24-25 City Edition jerseys. A jersey that “combines the Raptors’ origins with the iconic 2000 All-Star Dunk Contest.” The Raptor’s wearing no. 15 and is in the between-the-legs portion of Carter’s third dunk, an off-the-bounce between-the-legs oop caught from his cousin and, at the time, Raptor teammate Tracy McGrady. It’s the jersey of the year, a properly unique, good-looking tribute to the player who put the franchise on the map.
The Raptors also retired Carter’s number this year. When he was back in Toronto for the festivities, he spoke on the jersey made in his honor. “Do you know how big that is? … Wherever I am, working, watching TV, I will get to watch a Raptor game with a picture of me dunking a basketball on a jersey. And that’s equivalent to me, like, Jerry West, The Logo, on an NBA sock, on an NBA backboard. That’s me now. That’s crazy.”
The Uncle Jeff Award for Excellence in Old Age: LeBron James
Named after Jeff Green, the NBA’s greatest permanent octogenarian and a man who will grow older but never die, this honor almost went to Al Horford, another ageless wonder who still finds himself a vital part of the Celtics rotation in his 38th year on earth and 18th in the league. Also in the running is the man himself, Jeff Green. You bet your ass he’s still in the league. Green has appeared in 29 games for the Rockets this season. He hung 14 on the Raptors in early February and even took the opportunity to dunk on Scottie Barnes in the process. But LeBron James is a man and he is 40 and despite there being signs of his slowing down, the level of play he has reached again this year is astonishing.
Nico Harrison’s unconscionable, fool-for-all-time, dumb-as-shit gifting of Super Slov Luka Doncic and the continued development of Austin Reaves has alleviated the need for regular-season LeBron to expend the kind of energy he had to at the beginning of the season. Now, he’s able to be even more selective in picking his spots and saving up juice for the postseason. What James has done this season is transition seamlessly into supporting-player mode when the situation calls for it. He’s happy to let someone else take over offensively and run the show for a while. He has not even minded making himself the third option at times, an entirely new context we haven’t seen him in before. He’s still showing us new tricks. Despite the added help, though, and despite the Lakers no longer needing him to be God, James has still found time to turn the clock back at different points throughout the year, and bring the magic he has made us all accustomed to. Nobody his age should be able to do the things he’s able to do on a basketball court. He once called Victor Wembanyama an alien. Takes one to know one.
An earlier version of this piece misstated J.B. Bickerstaff's name as Bernie Bickerstaff.
