the phoenix mercury just proved The Bench Wins Rings

Here’s the thing about playoff basketball: stars cancel each other out.

Everyone knows Napheesa Collier is gonna get buckets. Everyone knows Satou Sabally is gonna swing back like a drunk uncle at a cookout.

Everyone expects Alyssa Thomas to stuff the stat sheet until it looks like a CVS receipt with extra coupons stapled to the back.

That’s the deal when you’re elite in the playoffs — the stars shine bright.

But here’s the dirty secret: shining stars don’t win you rings. “The others” do. Shaq said it best — and let’s be real, Shaq usually says everything best because it sounds better in his voice.

Anytime he talks about winning teams in championship moments he speaks about “the others.”

 

When you’re in championships, it’s never about what you do. It’s always about what other people do, said O’Neal.

And that brings us to Phoenix vs. Minnesota.

Collier had 24 on her birthday. Kayla McBride poured in 21. Courtney Williams did her thing with 20 and nine dimes. The Lynx’s stars did exactly what you pay them to do.

But the real difference between winning and coughing up a 20-point lead? Bench mob versus bench ghosts.

Minnesota thought they were on cruise control. Lynx had this game in a chokehold, crowd buzzing, fans already Googling “WNBA Finals tickets.” Up 20 at home, top seed flexing — it felt like business as usual. And then Phoenix’s bench clocked in like a night shift at Waffle House.

Lights on, chaos unleashed, and suddenly the Lynx weren’t cruising anymore — they were getting dragged straight to hell with no receipt and no refund.

This wasn’t just a comeback. It was a history lesson with extra credit.

Phoenix became only the second team in WNBA playoff history to erase a 20-point road deficit. Minnesota fans showed up for a coronation. They left watching role players write scripture — and honestly, that’s way funnier than a blowout.

sami whitcomb: the patron saint of role players

Phoenix’s role players turned this from a funeral into a block party.

Sami Whitcomb dropped 13 points and hit the shot of the night — the kind of bucket that instantly upgrades you from “solid vet” to “Patron Saint of Role Players.” She’d already bricked a few threes earlier, so when Satou Sabally grabbed a Kahleah Copper rebound and swung it back to her on the wing, everyone half-expected another miss.

But nah. Instead of forcing it over Alanna Smith — yes, that Alanna Smith, Defensive Player of the Year, waiting with her hands up — Whitcomb pulled out the dad-move pump fake, slid left with one dribble, and let it fly so pure that the broadcast booth basically started reading off her offseason workout diary. “She takes 10,000 shots every summer.”

No kidding.

That jumper looked like it was forged in a lab. Straight cash, nothing but net, a clean splash that had the Lynx crowd holding its breath.

Meanwhile, Kathryn Westbeld showed up off the pine with enough energy to power the whole comeback.

And DeWanna Bonner? She threw her weight around at the exact moment momentum started tilting. That trio didn’t just score — they flipped the whole vibe of the game. Minnesota thought they were cruising. Suddenly they were lost in the desert with Phoenix’s bench running the compass.

That’s the lesson: championships don’t live or die on the stars. They live or die on whether the eighth name in the rotation is ready to step into the chaos and not puke all over the moment. Whitcomb even airballed one three earlier, shrugged, and then buried the dagger that sent it to overtime.

And they still trust me to make that shot,” Whitcomb said.

That’s not stat-sheet basketball.

That’s trust basketball. That’s the line between “we almost pulled it off” and “we just wrote history.”

That’s the lesson: championships don’t live or die on the stars — they live or die on whether the eighth name in the rotation is ready to step into the fire.

That’s the difference between “almost” and “legendary.”

Resilience Is a System, Not a Buzzword

Alyssa Thomas didn’t just show up with numbers — she showed up with energy that flipped the game. She went for 19 points and handed out 13 assists, the most any Mercury player has ever had in a playoff game.

That wasn’t a fluke. That was a system.

 

A lot of teams would’ve packed it in,” coach Nate Tibbetts said.

Phoenix didn’t.

They clawed through an ugly first half, found their shooters, and refused to fold.

Satou Sabally backed it up:

 

We’re confident in us, and we’ve been battling all season long. You can’t give up a basketball game if you’re down.”

That’s not just a soundbite. That’s a blueprint.

Great teams don’t stare at the scoreboard — they stare at the next possession. Phoenix proved resilience isn’t a cute trait you throw on a locker room wall. It’s a habit. A muscle you flex when you’re buried 20 deep on the road and everyone’s already writing the obituary.

Depth Eats Fatigue Alive

The Lynx didn’t just lose. They flat-out wore down.

Bridget Carleton played 40 minutes. Kayla McBride logged 42. Four starters cracked 36+. And without DiJonai Carrington to bring relief, Cheryl Reeve had no buttons left to push.

 

They ripped the game from us,” Reeve admitted.

That wasn’t coach-speak. That was exhaustion speaking out loud.

That’s what happens when depth meets fatigue. One team throws fresh bodies at you, one team prays its starters can squeeze one more run out of tired legs. And only one of those models survives in the postseason.

That’s why “bench wins rings” isn’t just a cliché — it’s a warning label. You don’t win championships with five players. You win them with eight, nine, even ten players who can step into the chaos and flip a game on its head. Phoenix just proved it.

On paper, Minnesota still looks like the better team.

They’ve got the stars, the record, the pedigree. But on the night when stars canceled out, Phoenix’s bench wrote history. And if the Lynx don’t find some juice outside their starters, this series might flip faster than anyone thought possible.