T.J. McConnell is not the type to chase headlines. He doesn’t throw down highlight dunks, doesn’t dazzle with flashy dribble moves, and rarely makes appearances in the NBA’s glitzy marketing campaigns. Yet when the Indiana Pacers made their improbable run to the 2025 NBA Finals, few players were more important to their success than McConnell. And when Tyrese Haliburton—Indiana’s All-Star point guard and unquestioned team leader—offhandedly admitted he didn’t even recognize McConnell in a key moment during the playoff run, McConnell’s deadpan, understated response summed up both his entire career and the Pacers’ shocking postseason surge: “You’d think people would learn by now, but: We’re actually not done.”
That quote, quietly dropped in a media scrum, echoed much louder than it was initially intended to. It was vintage McConnell—equal parts dry wit and motivational fire, wrapped in humility. But beneath the quote lies a deeper truth, both about how the Pacers defied expectations and how McConnell’s career arc mirrors that same underdog spirit. To truly understand the gravity of what McConnell meant, you have to rewind back through a decade of being underestimated and a postseason that no one—outside of Indiana’s locker room—saw coming.
The Haliburton-McConnell story that sparked this quote is revealing in itself. During the Pacers’ second-round matchup with the Milwaukee Bucks, Tyrese Haliburton was caught on camera asking who was at the scorer’s table checking in. The player in question was McConnell, his own teammate. The moment went viral for its awkward humor—an All-Star not recognizing one of his most dependable role players—but it also became symbolic of McConnell’s career. He’s often overlooked, even by those closest to him. That’s not a criticism of Haliburton, but rather a reflection of how McConnell’s quiet game has managed to fly under the radar his entire career, even while being massively impactful.
T.J. McConnell’s journey to the NBA wasn’t one paved with McDonald’s All-American banners or one-and-done hype. He was undrafted in 2015 after playing college basketball at Duquesne and then Arizona. Most basketball scouts considered him too small, too slow, and not athletic enough to make a long-term impact in the league. But what McConnell lacked in physical gifts, he made up for in mental sharpness, relentless effort, and basketball IQ. His reputation was forged on taking charges, getting deflections, and making the right pass—not exactly material for an ESPN highlight reel, but invaluable in the grind of an NBA season.
His early years with the Philadelphia 76ers during the “Process” era allowed him to carve out a niche as a hardworking, culture-setting player on a team that badly needed those traits. When he signed with the Pacers in 2019, few outside of Indiana paid much attention. But internally, McConnell became a fixture—first off the bench, then as a veteran leader. He didn’t just occupy a roster spot. He filled a gap every team has but few ever find someone to fill: the guy who makes everyone better without needing the credit.
Fast-forward to 2025. The Pacers were not projected to make the Finals. Most pundits had them as a middling playoff team, good enough to get to the first round, maybe steal a game or two, but nothing more. Boston, Milwaukee, and Philadelphia were considered the beasts of the East. Indiana? A feel-good story at best. But something began to shift as the season wore on. Haliburton emerged not just as a playmaker but as a team leader. Bennedict Mathurin became a consistent secondary scorer. Myles Turner finally stayed healthy and anchored a top-10 defense. But in the margins, it was McConnell doing what he always does—stealing minutes, irritating opponents, and keeping the second unit humming.
When the playoffs arrived, Indiana did more than just make noise—they shocked the basketball world. They swept the Miami Heat in the first round, stymieing Jimmy Butler and forcing turnovers at a ferocious rate. Then came the Milwaukee Bucks series, where Damian Lillard and Giannis Antetokounmpo were supposed to steamroll the Pacers. Instead, McConnell made his presence known in the most subtle but vital ways. He flustered Lillard with ball pressure. He disrupted pick-and-rolls. He played every possession like it was Game 7, and his teammates fed off that energy. In Game 5, with the series tied 2-2, McConnell checked in during a second-quarter lull. Within minutes, the Pacers’ lead ballooned thanks to three steals, two assists, and a crucial charge taken. It was during this game that Haliburton made his now-infamous comment about not recognizing McConnell at the scorer’s table.
But far from taking offense, McConnell responded with levity and purpose. “You’d think people would learn by now,” he said. “But: We’re actually not done.” That became an unofficial rallying cry for Indiana. It wasn’t shouted like “Heat Culture” or plastered across T-shirts like “We Believe.” It was quieter, more internal—a mantra whispered by a team that had already been written off multiple times. And as the Pacers marched past Milwaukee and then stunned the Celtics in the Eastern Conference Finals in six games, the world began to realize that they weren’t done.
McConnell’s role during this run can’t be overstated. He averaged just under 9 points, 6 assists, and nearly 2 steals per game in the playoffs, numbers that don’t leap off the page until you understand the context. He played fewer minutes than Haliburton but was often on the floor in crunch time when the game demanded smart decision-making and maximum effort. He was the connective tissue between Indiana’s stars and its depth. When opposing teams took their foot off the gas against the second unit, McConnell made them pay.
And in the Finals against the Denver Nuggets, even as the Pacers ultimately fell in six games, McConnell had perhaps his most iconic stretch in Game 3. With Haliburton in foul trouble and the Nuggets pulling ahead, McConnell sparked a 17-2 run that brought Indiana back. It wasn’t just the stats—it was the feel of the game shifting in real time. He picked up Jamal Murray full court. He drew a charge on Nikola Jokic. He hit a 17-foot jumper that had the Gainbridge Fieldhouse crowd roaring. Indiana won that game, their only home win in the series, and afterward, head coach Rick Carlisle simply said, “That’s T.J. McConnell basketball.”
Educators and coaches looking to teach young players about the value of persistence, humility, and basketball IQ need only point to McConnell’s postseason as a case study. Too often, development is seen as a linear path toward stardom. But McConnell teaches that greatness in team sports comes in many forms. He didn’t make an All-Star team. He didn’t get Finals MVP votes. But he was a central character in one of the most unlikely NBA Finals runs in recent memory. His story shows that “role player” is not a diminishment—it’s a title of pride when executed at the highest level.
It also reveals something deeper about the nature of recognition in professional sports. In a league that promotes superstar culture, there’s still immense value in players who elevate their teams in quieter ways. McConnell’s quote—“You’d think people would learn by now, but: We’re actually not done”—wasn’t just a moment of self-assertion. It was a reminder to fans, opponents, and even teammates that greatness often hides in plain sight. That the guy who doesn’t dunk or shoot threes at volume can still tilt a playoff game with his brain, his heart, and his will.
It’s worth reflecting on how we define “impact” in sports. McConnell’s minutes were always precise, his responsibilities clear, and his execution near-flawless. He’s not someone you build an offense around, but he’s someone who makes every possession more efficient. He’s not the first name on the scouting report, but he’s the reason that some game plans fall apart. And when you string those contributions together over weeks and months, you get what Indiana had: belief, chemistry, and cohesion.
Now heading into the 2025-26 season, the question shifts from how the Pacers got here to how they’ll sustain it. Tyrese Haliburton is expected to take another leap, and McConnell’s minutes may again fluctuate depending on lineups, injuries, and matchups. But his presence is cemented—not just as a stopgap or bench spark, but as a culture carrier. Younger players like Andrew Nembhard and Jarace Walker credit him for teaching them the game’s nuances. Carlisle has said multiple times that McConnell is “a coach on the floor,” someone who doesn’t just follow the playbook but helps write it mid-game.
There’s poetic justice in the fact that the player so often forgotten was the one to speak on behalf of the forgotten team. There’s something profoundly fitting about McConnell’s low-key demeanor anchoring the franchise’s most high-stakes moments in decades. When he said, “We’re actually not done,” he wasn’t just talking about a playoff run. He was talking about changing narratives—about himself, about the Pacers, and about what it means to matter in the NBA.
It’s easy to gravitate toward the flashy stories: the top draft picks, the triple-doubles, the buzzer-beaters. But McConnell’s story is a masterclass in appreciating the subtleties that make great teams work. It’s about showing up every day, earning trust, and delivering when it counts—often without the spotlight. And if there’s a lesson here for young players, coaches, fans, or analysts, it’s this: Never underestimate the power of consistent effort. Never confuse quiet with passive. And never assume you know who the difference-makers are just by looking at the scoreboard.
So as training camp looms and the NBA shifts its attention toward what’s next, remember the moment when Tyrese Haliburton forgot who was checking in—and the moment when that player reminded the world not just who he was, but what the Pacers still had left to prove. Because as McConnell said with that signature blend of sarcasm and sincerity: “We’re actually not done.” And with him in the locker room, leading without needing the label, you’d be wise to believe it.
