The Miracle Of Richfield: With 50-Year Anniversary Approaching, These Cavs Still Resonate

It wasn’t supposed to happen. Not in Cleveland. Not in Richfield, a hockey barn plopped in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by cornfields and potholes. Not for a franchise still trying to figure out what winning felt like.

But in 1975-76, it did happen. And yeah, it was a miracle.

The “Miracle of Richfield” wasn’t just a cute nickname — it was what it sounds like. A basketball resurrection. A gritty, gut-punching, nose-busting, buzzer-beating run to glory by a Cavaliers team that had no business doing what it did. And it’s still, all these years later, a blueprint for what this city loves most: tough teams that fight like crazy.

This team didn’t have a LeBron. Didn’t have flashy dunks or TikTok followers. What it had was Campy Russell hitting midrange jumpers, Jim Chones giving you 17 and 10 before you finished your first hot dog. Foots Walker dishing dimes like a playground wizard. And Austin Carr? He was the heartbeat. The soul. The guy who reminded you what Cleveland basketball could be before injuries chewed up his knees.

Coach Bill Fitch? The guy could out-grimace a bulldog and still out-coach you in his sleep.

They weren’t dominant. But they were relentless. They clawed their way to a 49-win season, tied for best in the Central. And then they took on the Washington Bullets in the playoffs, and that’s where things got downright remarkable.

Seven games. Four wins by one point. One broken foot, belonging to Chones — and that changed everything. Dick Snyder’s game-winner in Game 7? Pure bedlam. You could hear that roar in Lake Erie.

They played like men possessed. Like they knew this might be their only shot. And sadly… it was.

Chones’ injury before the Eastern Conference Finals against the mighty Celtics was the gut punch no one recovered from. Fitch said losing him “changed everything,” and he wasn’t lying. The Cavs got bounced in six, and that was it. No parade. No confetti. Just heartbreak, and a ‘what if’ that still echoes through the rafters.

But don’t let the ending fool you. That team mattered. It put Cavs basketball on the map. It gave a city starving for anything resembling a winner a reason to believe.

And here’s the thing: they weren’t just a feel-good story. They were legit. Tough, smart, and together. They played for each other. They played for Richfield. And for one magical spring, they made Cleveland feel like the center of the basketball universe.

You want miracles? Cleveland’s already had one. And it didn’t come with a crown. It came with grit, bruises, and a team that left everything on the court.

After The Miracle

So yeah, the “Miracle of Richfield” Cavaliers sent the city into a frenzy after that legendary series win over the Bullets. And then? They ran smack into reality, in the form of the Boston Celtics. John Havlicek, Dave Cowens, Jo Jo White… guys who didn’t need miracles because they were the storm.

The Cavs lost in six. But here’s the part that really hurts: They never even had a shot.

Chones, the anchor of the middle, the guy who gave Cowens fits during the regular season, broke his foot the day before Game 1. Gone. Just like that. You could practically hear the air escape the locker room. Without him, the Cavs were toast in the paint. Cleveland threw out undersized guys to battle one of the most physical frontlines in basketball history.

It wasn’t a fair fight.

And truth be told, that was the peak. That team never made it back to those same heights.

They came back the next year with mostly the same core: Russell, AC, Bingo Smith, Walker. Still coached by Fitch, still grinding, still tough. But the magic was gone. The chemistry cracked. Injuries crept in. Fitch butted heads with the front office. Carr’s knees were never the same. And Richfield slowly went back to being just another arena in the middle of nowhere for a few years.

They made the playoffs again in 1977 and 1978, but never advanced. The “miracle” had become mortal.

By the early ’80s? The team was gutted. Fitch was gone. The Cavs were sold to a guy in who tried to move the team to Toronto. (Thanks, Ted Stepien. That’s a story for another time — or a therapy session.)

So yeah, the Miracle was real. But it was also fleeting. Like a perfect snowball fight you only remember through foggy windows and old photos.

But make no mistake: those ’76 Cavs set the foundation. Without them, there’s no Price, Daugherty, and Nance in the late ’80s and early ’90s. No LeBron in 2003. No 2016 banner. At least, probably not in Northeast Ohio. If not for the Miracle, the NBA may have allowed the franchise to move several years later.

So no, those Cavs didn’t win it all. But they reminded Cleveland what it looked like to fight for it.

And in this town? That still counts for something.