As we stepped off the plane and into the team bus, I could feel that the whole squad was locked in.
When we arrived at our hotel, security was heavy. Reporters were already waiting outside, cameras flashing as we stepped off the bus. Some fans had gathered, calling out players' names, waving jerseys, and holding up signs.
"Franklin! Franklin!" I heard someone yell. "You gotta bring it home, man!"
I gave a quick nod but kept walking. My mind was already on the Finals.
Once inside, we checked into our rooms. The coaches gave us the rest of the night off before practice started the next morning. Some of the guys went out to grab dinner, but I stayed in my room, replaying film of the Warriors on my iPad with Nik.
The next morning...
We met in the team conference room for a strategy session. Coach had the projector set up, running clips of Golden State's biggest playoff moments.
"These guys play fast" he said. "And they shoot at an elite level. Curry and Thompson don't need much space, and if we give them an inch, they'll bury us from deep."
He paused the film and pointed at the screen.
"They're unpredictable," Coach continued. "We have to communicate. Switches need to be clean, and transition defense is key."
I leaned forward, studying the clips.
Coach nodded.
-Game 1 – June 4, 2015
The night had arrived. The Oracle Arena in Oakland, buzzing with anticipation. The Warriors were in their first Finals in 40 years, the atmosphere was unreal—every time Curry even touched the ball during warmups.
But as soon as the game tipped off, reality hit us.
Golden State's pace was relentless. Steph and Klay were running around screens like ghosts, disappearing and reappearing behind the arc, launching threes before we could react.
"You ain't built for this." Draymond smirked.
I wiped sweat from my brow and laughed. "We'll see about that."
Despite my 38 points and 14 rebounds, we couldn't slow them down. Final score,
Warriors 108 – Magic 101.
As I walked off the court, Draymond clapped his hands loud enough for me to hear. "The result will be the same as last year, go home."
I stopped and stared him down. "Bitch, get out of my face, I own you." I came towards him, the tension started to rise but people came to separate us.
-Game 2 – June 7, 2015
The Warriors came in confident, expecting to dominate again. Draymond was running his mouth from the warmups, hyping himself up.
"You ain't scoring on me tonight." he grinned, stretching near midcourt.
I smirked, shaking my head. "You're not what you think you are."
From the first possession, I made it my mission to break him.
First play? Isolation. I got the ball on the left block, faced up, two dribbles, then a spin baseline—dunk. I let my momentum carry me forward, my shoulder slightly brushing past him.
"That's one," I whispered.
Next possession? I backed him down, absorbed the contact, hit a turnaround fadeaway over him. Bucket.
"That's two."
Draymond started getting frustrated. Midway through the second quarter, I caught the ball at the top of the key. He lunged too aggressively. I hit him with a hesitation, crossed over, drove, and finished with a powerful slam over Bogut.
I turned back, staring directly at Draymond.
"You talk a lot, but you ain't stopping nothing."
-TNT
Jeff Van Gundy: "You can see Franklin wants this one. This is getting personal."
Mark Jackson: "There goes that man! Draymond better find an answer soon because Franklin is EMBARRASSING him right now."
-Franklin's pov
By halftime, I already had 22 points.
By the fourth quarter, he stopped chirping. I finished with 40 points, 15 rebounds, and 4 assists, leading us to a dominant 119-98 win.
As I walked off, I made sure to find Draymond. I patted him on the back.
"I'm not finished with you, just get ready."
He just shook his head, not saying a word.
-Game 3 – June 9, 2015- Amway Center – Orlando, FL
First quarter, after I missed a shot, he bumped into me unnecessarily, laughing.
"Not so easy tonight, huh?"
I didn't say anything. Instead, I caught the ball next possession, hit a pump fake, got him in the air, and drew his third foul in the first quarter.
I walked past him and spoke.
"Too easy, Dray."
He started boiling.
Early in the third, he fouled me hard on a drive. I hit the floor and looked up to see him standing over me.
"Soft ass call." He muttered.
I just smiled. "You mad?"
I got up and hit both free throws, staring him down after each one.
The game was never close. I put up 40 points, 16 rebounds, and 5 blocks.
117-102.
Reporters started asking me postgame about the beef.
"Franklin, there's a lot of talk about you and Draymond getting heated out there. What's your relationship with him?"
"We ain't friends. I just have to remind him who will be above him throughout his poor career."
And surprisingly or not, I did not get a fine for this declaration.
-Game 4 – June 11, 2015
The Warriors knew this was their last chance to keep the series competitive. They played desperate, but I was locked in.
From the jump, I went at Draymond. Every single possession, I bullied him inside. At one point in the second quarter, I hit a fadeaway over him, turned, and yelled to the bench.
"He can't guard me."
Draymond lost it.
The very next play, he shoved me on a rebound—technical foul.
I clapped my hands, nodding. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
Late in the fourth, a putback dunk over him. I stared him down, flexing.
"I'm your nightmare."
Final score: 118-102.
-Game 5 – June 14, 2015
-Pre-Game
The energy in Amway Center was insane. 20,000 fans packed inside, screaming their lungs out. Orlando had never won an NBA Championship before—tonight is the night.
Coach gave his speech, but I wasn't hearing it. I was too locked in.
I just nodded. No words, just focus.
As we lined up in the tunnel.
The doors opened. The crowd exploded. We jogged onto the court, the Finals trophy already polished and waiting in the back.
I spotted Draymond across the court. He was staring at me, locked in.
I muttered to myself. "Time to finish this."
-1st Quarter
First possession, I caught the ball in the post. I kicked it to the corner, got it back, went to work—two dribbles, spin, fadeaway.
Swish.
Next possession, Klay got the ball on the wing, drove at me, lowered his shoulder. I absorbed the contact and swatted his shot into the crowd.
The arena erupted.
I turned to him. "That weak shit ain't working tonight."
He jawed back, but I could see the frustration already building.
Curry kept the Warriors in it early, hitting deep threes off screens. We couldn't stop him, but we kept pushing the pace.
With a minute left in the quarter, I caught an alley-oop from Elfrid Payton, slamming it over Bogut and Draymond.
I hung on the rim for a second, then let go, turning to Green.
First quarter: 28-16, Magic lead.
-2nd Quarter
Draymond came out pissed. He started playing ultra-physical.
Midway through the quarter, I tried to back him down—he threw an elbow to my ribs. No whistle.
I turned to the ref. "That's what we doing?"
Draymond smirked. "You soft or what?"
I snapped.
Next play, I set a hard screen on Draymond, knocking him to the floor. The refs let it go.
I turned to Draymond. "That enough for you?"
Right before halftime, Curry hit another ridiculous three. 61-55 for us.
-3rd Quarter
Coach looked at me before the second half. "Go win us a title."
I nodded. "Say less."
I came out aggressive.
First play—drive, spin, 360° dunk.
Next play—fadeaway over Draymond.
Next play—offensive rebound, putback dunk.
Draymond tried to push back, but I was relentless.
The crowd was losing it.
I looked over at the Warriors bench. Steve Kerr was frustrated. Steph was gassed. Klay was shaking his head.
Curry and Klay hit back-to-back threes, cutting our lead to five.
With two minutes left in the third, he stepped up to guard me again.
I took him to the post, spun left, pump-faked—he bit. I leaned in, drew the and-one, then flexed over him as the crowd erupted.
End of the third, 92-80, Magic lead.
-4th Quarter
The Warriors fought hard.
Curry kept hitting shots. Klay hit a ridiculous fadeaway over two defenders. The lead shrank to six.
With five minutes left, I knew I had to take over.
I caught the ball at the top of the key, faced Draymond, jabbed right, drove left—dunk.
Next play, I kicked it to Vucevic under the basket
Warriors called timeout. The arena was shaking.
Up by six, 50 seconds left.
I called for the ball. Draymond was in front of me, drenched in sweat.
I go to the left, hesi, then the right, then step back, he falls, I shoot.
Eight-point lead.
Draymond had nothing left. He looked exhausted, his hands on his knees.
With 10 seconds left, the crowd already started celebrating. I held the ball near half-court, watching the clock tick down.
The final buzzer sounded.
Magic 115, Warriors 107.
We were champions.