I don’t remember much about Game 6.

You can’t call in sick for television. You don’t have a choice; you have to keep going. Just keep sucking cough drops, popping Advils and staying hydrated and hope you don’t cough up a lung on live TV. And so I wore my best suit and one of my favorite ties. They caked my face with makeup. They used drops to save my reddened eyes. You wouldn’t have known I was ill, even if I felt like I was heading for my own funeral. Right down to how my body had been prepared. And that’s how I watched one of the greatest basketball games ever — in a foggy haze