Pacers’ Rugged Guard Andrew Nembhard Breaks Down Grueling Game‑5 Footage, Vowing a Momentum Shift in Friday’s Game 6

Indiana point guard Andrew Nembhard sat alone in the Gainbridge Fieldhouse film room late Monday night, the blue light of the projector flickering across his weary face. It was nearly 1 a.m., but the second‑year defensive stalwart refused to leave until every possession of the Pacers’ 104‑97 loss—what he called a “street‑fight masquerading as a basketball game”—had been dissected frame by frame.

The scoreboard says we came up short,” Nembhard admitted afterward, “but the film tells me why. I saw little gaps—half a step here, late help there—that turned into their corner threes or our hurried mid‑range looks. Those are things I can fix.”

The 25‑year‑old Canadian, who has already earned a reputation as Rick Carlisle’s resident film junkie, believes those incremental fixes will swing momentum in Game 6 on Friday night. If Indiana’s season is to live another day, the Pacers must locate the crisp execution that powered them to a franchise‑best 56 regular‑season wins. And if Nembhard has his way, that process will begin at the point of attack—right where he stakes his reputation.

Nembhard’s self‑imposed film session is hardly a surprise for anyone who watched him surface as Mark Few’s back‑court metronome at Gonzaga. While NBA scouts salivated over Jalen Suggs’ athletic fireworks or Chet Holmgren’s seven‑foot wingspan, it was Nembhard who situated the Zags’ attack, marshaling defensive coverages one moment and sparking secondary breaks the next.

That glue‑guy ethos followed him to Indianapolis, where Carlisle asked the 6‑foot‑5 guard to shadow All‑Star point men in the loaded Eastern Conference. The resulting transformation—70 starts, a Defensive RAPTOR that leaped from –0.2 to +2.8, and nightly match‑ups against Trae Young, Jalen Brunson, and even Giannis in inverted pick‑and‑rolls—has turned him into a fan‑base favorite.

Analyst JJ Redick recently dubbed him “a young Marcus Smart with a calmer pulse,” pointing to his 1.5 steals per 36 minutes and an uncanny knack for bumping ball‑handlers off their driving angles without drawing fouls. When the Pacers forced the league’s third‑highest turnover rate after the All‑Star break, Nembhard was usually the spark.

Yet Game 5 was, in Nembhard’s words, “a humbling lesson in how small habits add up.” The Pacers surrendered 18 second‑chance points, and their early‑help scheme—normally a calling card—was baited into over‑rotating just enough for the opponent to drop 14 made threes.

The film clips he rewound most often involved high pick‑and‑rolls where his hips opened a shade too early, allowing All‑NBA guard Donovan Mitchell to snake to the nail before help arrived. “I was an arm’s length away when I should’ve been chest‑to‑chest,” Nembhard said, slapping his palm for emphasis. “Mitchell lives on those tiny windows. I have to crowd him one more dribble, force the pass, make someone else beat us.”

On the offensive end, he noticed rushed decisions whenever the Cavs iced Tyrese Haliburton on the wing. “I called for the release pass with 12 on the clock instead of eight,” he said. “That four‑second cushion is where our ball movement died. I need to drag the switch, let Hali relocate, then hit the weak‑side hammer. That’s our shot profile.”

Head coach Rick Carlisle, never one to mince words, laid down a blunt challenge at Tuesday’s practice. “If we’re serious about playing into June, we have to treat every possession like it’s overtime in Game 7,” he told reporters. “Andrew embodies that standard. The rest of us need to match it.”

Inside the locker room, veterans Myles Turner and Bruce Brown echoed the sentiment, declaring a no‑excuse policy. Brown, who tasted title champagne with the Nuggets, pulled Nembhard aside: “You draw the Mitchell assignment all night. That’s a heavyweight bout. But offense starts with your stops. When you pick someone’s pocket, we run. When we run, we’re unbeatable.”

Nembhard nodded, then gathered teammates for a voluntary on‑court walkthrough exceeding the league‑mandated practice window. The message was simple: their Game‑6 mindset would be forged in these off‑camera hours.

Carlisle hinted he may unleash Nembhard and rookie Ben Sheppard for 94‑feet of harassment on secondary ball‑handlers Darius Garland and Caris LeVert. The Pacers forced eight backcourt turnovers in Game 3—still their only win of the series—and hope replicating that chaos will fuel run‑outs.

Expect Nembhard to jump to the high side when Mitchell tries to catch the ball at the elbow, funneling him toward baseline help instead of the middle where he orchestrates dribble‑handoffs.

Offensively, Indiana plans to open sets with Turner and Pascal Siakam flashing to opposite elbows, allowing Nembhard to hit whichever big garners the switch. The secondary kick‑out goes to Haliburton sliding through the corner—an action that produced 1.28 points per possession in the regular season.

Look for Nembhard to slice into the lane without intent to finish, drawing Allen’s shot‑blocking gravity before spraying the ball out. The Pacers drilled the “one‑more” pass in today’s practice until assistants were hoarse.

Nembhard’s self‑diagnosis concludes with a psychological pivot: “I’m not dragging Game 5 into Friday. We watched it, we owned it, we burned it.” A soft grin crept across his face when describing the anticipated roar of 17,000 Pacers die‑hards. “Gainbridge gets loud when we string stops. The first time we do that? The roof’s coming off.”

He understands, of course, that elimination games crystallize legacies. Reggie Miller’s eight points in nine seconds still reverberate through Pacers lore; Nembhard would love to etch a defensive equivalent into the archives. “Maybe it’s a diving steal, or I’m chesting up in the last minute,” he mused. “Whatever it is, I want the fever‑pitch moment to come from defense.”

Asked how many hours he plans to sleep before Game 6, he laughed. “If the mind’s racing about ball screen angles, you don’t fight it. You write it down, grab another water, and keep rewinding film until it’s perfect in your head. When I finally close my eyes, I’ll be dreaming about that first stop.”

With their season dangling by a thread, Indiana needs more than incremental improvement—they need a jolt of belief. Nembhard’s brand of meticulous toughness offers precisely that.

Friday night, as arena lights dim and the national broadcast cuts to center court, the camera will inevitably find him slapping the hardwood, eyes locked on Donovan Mitchell. For the Pacers, those eyes won’t merely be windows to determination; they’ll be the compass pointing toward an unlikely series revival.