REDEMPTION AND REAL GLORY: Alex Caruso Declares Thunder Championship Far More Satisfying Than Lakers’ 2020 Bubble Title — “This One Tastes Way Better, We Earned Every Bit of It”
When Alex Caruso hoisted the Larry O’Brien Trophy as a member of the Oklahoma City Thunder, the moment was different. It was louder, it was grittier, and most importantly for Caruso, it was real. A player known more for his heart and hustle than his star power, Caruso made waves not for being a primary scorer or flashy name but for his unshakable impact on both ends of the floor. And when asked to compare his championship with the Thunder to the one he captured with the Los Angeles Lakers inside the sterile environment of the 2020 Orlando bubble, Caruso didn’t mince words. “This one tastes way better,” he said. “We earned every bit of it.”
To understand the depth of Caruso’s statement is to understand the contrasting circumstances under which both titles were won. In 2020, Caruso played a key supporting role on a LeBron James-led Lakers team that won it all amid the COVID-19 pandemic in a fanless, isolated environment. Though the victory was historic and emotionally draining for everyone involved, there was always an asterisk looming—not in legitimacy, but in experience. The absence of fans, travel, and the chaotic road atmosphere removed one of the most powerful dynamics of postseason basketball. The Lakers still had to win, and they did, but even players themselves admitted that something felt off. For Caruso, that feeling never quite went away.
Fast forward to 2025, and Caruso found himself in a completely different environment. The Thunder, a team that just a few years prior had been in full rebuild mode, defied the odds and stormed through the playoffs with a mix of youthful energy and veteran composure. Anchored by Shai Gilgeous-Alexander, the team leaned heavily on the kind of championship mettle Caruso brought to the locker room. His impact was especially evident in the postseason, where his defense, clutch play, and vocal leadership proved invaluable to a young team learning how to win under the brightest lights.
Caruso was never supposed to be the face of a championship team. He’s been doubted, overlooked, and underrated at nearly every stop. Coming out of Texas A\&M, he went undrafted and had to claw his way into the NBA through the G League. He earned his spot with the Lakers by diving for loose balls, taking charges, and embracing the less glamorous parts of the game. Lakers fans fell in love with him because of how real he was—no ego, no pretension, just relentless effort and accountability.
But the 2020 Lakers were a veteran team built to win now, with or without Caruso. That team featured all-time greats and Hall of Fame resumes. While Caruso played his role to perfection, he wasn’t at the center of the storm. With the Thunder, things felt different. He wasn’t just a contributor—he was a tone-setter. He led film sessions, mentored younger players like Cason Wallace and Ousmane Dieng, and often drew the toughest defensive assignments night after night. When the Thunder needed a stop, when they needed grit, when they needed belief, Caruso delivered.
The 2025 playoff run will go down in Thunder history as one of the most remarkable stretches in modern basketball. With a roster short on playoff experience, they bulldozed their way through seasoned contenders. Caruso’s contributions, often subtle in the box score, were seismic in the locker room and on the floor. He made the extra rotation, the emergency switch, the late-game deflection. His presence calmed nerves and ignited intensity. And unlike in 2020, when the sound of the championship came from artificial crowd noise, this time the roar was deafening, the confetti was real, and the city of Oklahoma City was alive in a way it hadn’t been since the days of Durant, Westbrook, and Harden.
It’s no surprise then that Caruso finds this title more meaningful. Not because the first one wasn’t earned—it absolutely was—but because of what this one required from him. In Los Angeles, he was part of something great. In Oklahoma City, he helped build something great. There’s a difference. One is participation, the other is creation. When you help build a championship culture from the ground up, when you help young guys learn how to win, when you sacrifice stats and shine in moments that don’t show up in highlights, the reward is more personal, more satisfying.
And let’s not overlook what Caruso had to endure to get here. After leaving the Lakers, he landed with the Chicago Bulls, a stint marked by solid play but underwhelming team results. The Bulls never quite put the pieces together, and Caruso’s impact, while constant, was often overshadowed by the franchise’s inability to contend. It would’ve been easy for him to become just another role player bouncing from team to team. But the Thunder saw his value—not just as a player, but as a culture piece. They brought him in to lead, to teach, to fight. And he did all of that and more.
By the time the NBA Finals rolled around, Caruso had once again elevated his game. In Game 5, with the series tied 2-2 and the Thunder on the road, it was Caruso who hit the game-sealing three after locking down the opposing team’s star guard for the final five minutes. His stat line wasn’t flashy—8 points, 6 rebounds, 3 assists, 2 steals—but his presence was undeniable. The moment was etched in the minds of fans, teammates, and even opponents. It was the kind of moment that defines legacies in the eyes of true basketball minds.
After the final buzzer of Game 6, Caruso didn’t seek the spotlight. He hugged teammates, lifted his arms to the Oklahoma City crowd, and then sat quietly on the bench, soaking it all in. He wasn’t just celebrating a win—he was savoring a journey. From G League gyms to championship parades, from overlooked to irreplaceable, Caruso’s story is what sports are all about.
In many ways, Caruso embodies the Thunder’s spirit. He’s not the biggest, fastest, or flashiest, but he’s relentless, selfless, and obsessed with winning. That’s why this title means more. It’s not just about the trophy—it’s about the trials. The 82-game grind, the hostile arenas, the double-overtime thrillers, the bad shooting nights followed by film study and recovery sessions. It’s about hearing critics say the Thunder were too young, too inexperienced, not ready. It’s about proving them wrong.
And that’s the beauty of Caruso’s words. “This one tastes way better.” It’s simple, but it says everything. It says that doing it the hard way matters. That doing it with a team that believed in him, a fanbase that embraced him, and a role that required all of him—not just a piece—makes the reward sweeter. Championships aren’t just won, they’re earned. And for Alex Caruso, no amount of bubble confetti could replace the sweat and scars it took to bring glory to Oklahoma City.
As the Thunder celebrated their title with a parade through the city streets, Caruso rode in the back of a pickup truck, holding his championship medal like a badge of honor. Fans shouted his name, kids wore his jersey, and teammates pointed to him as the heart of the team. In that moment, under the hot Oklahoma sun, it was clear: this championship wasn’t just about basketball. It was about redemption. It was about legacy. It was about proving that even the most unlikely can become unforgettable.
For Alex Caruso, the second ring didn’t just complete his resume—it completed his soul.
