Gregg Doyel

They wanted to love Lance Stephenson, and early in his first game back the crowd at Bankers Life Fieldhouse did.

But the game kept going. Lance kept playing. And the crowd? They stopped loving.

And up in the media seating, in the second deck, I was right there with them. Before the game when Stephenson was introduced and most of the crowd cheered, I was smiling. This is what makes the Midwest in general and Indianapolis in particular such a special place. We're nice, you know. Kind, forgiving. Leave here, and we're going to remember what you did for us, not to us. Former IU coach Mike Davis comes back to Bloomington this week with Texas Southern and Assembly Hall gives him a standing ovation, choosing to remember the glorious Final Four he reached in 2002, not the way his final three teams went a pedestrian 48-41.

Lance Stephenson comes back on Wednesday night with the Charlotte Hornets — the Pacers won 88-86 on Solomon Hill's stick-back at the buzzer — and the crowd of 14,748 honored the fire and passion he brought to the Pacers over the embarrassment and chaos he also generated. It was right, and it was good.

But we're nice, not stupid. And after watching Lance Stephenson through the prism of "their team," the cheering stopped. Indifference didn't set in, either. Lance Stephenson was booed, and he was booed badly, and not merely because he plays for the wrong team.

But because sometimes he plays the wrong way.

This isn't revisionist history, either. Lance is gonna Lance, whether he's doing silly stuff like blowing in LeBron James' ear or flopping or playing like he's in the manic throes of a sugar high.

Lance started to Lance here on Wednesday night, and Indianapolis did not approve.

It started small, with a pocket of fans in the George Hill and Roy Hibbert fan sections booing every time Stephenson had the ball. On one of his first touches Stephenson heard the boos and reacted by trying to drive into the lane on Solomon Hill and the two defenders lurking in the background. He lost control of the ball, then turned to the referee and touched his hand as if to say, "He fouled me."

And the boos got louder.

This was the way the game went, Stephenson making an occasional mistake and blaming it on anything but his own fallibility. Another time he tried to take Hill into the lane, Stephenson dribbled the ball off his foot and over the half-court line. When he went to retrieve it and was called for the backcourt violation, he gestured to the referee that he had been fouled. Perhaps by the ball. Off his foot.

Stephenson's shooting woes continued, all three of his main shooting percentages entering the game — 37.8 percent from the floor, 25 percent on 3-pointers, 66.7 percent on free throws — went down during this game. He scored 10 points on 4-for-12 shooting from the floor (0-for-2 on 3-pointers, 2-for-4 free throws) though he led the Hornets with eight rebounds and seven assists. On at least six of the occasions he missed a shot, Stephenson stared down the closest referee and theatrically slapped at his own hand.

And the boos got louder.

Stephenson is a fascinating character study, a guy who unselfishly fills the stat sheet but closely monitors those numbers, staring at various scoreboards — not the ones showing the score of the game; the ones showing individual stats — every time he came out of the game. His first break came with 3:10 left in the first quarter, and as he headed to the bench his focus was pulled away from the scoreboard and toward a fan behind the official scorer. Whatever he shouted left Stephenson speechless, still staring at the guy as he sat down.

After the game Stephenson saw the best in the crowd and even in himself, saying it was "all love" and that "I knew I'd get cheered before the game started, but once the game started they'd boo me. It's all fun and games. I know the fans love me here."

They wanted to. Maybe they still do. Am I speaking for all of you or even any of you, whether the 14,748 in attendance Wednesday night or anyone else reading this story? Nope. But what I saw and what I heard was a fan base that turned on one player for the Hornets, but only one, as the game went on. Al Jefferson scored 28 points and grabbed eight rebounds and tried to destroy any Pacer that got near him. He wasn't booed. Kemba Walker had 12 points and seven assists. Wasn't booed. Brian Roberts got hot late in the first quarter, scoring seven points in the final 3½ minutes, including a 3-pointer in the final seconds for a 28-20 Charlotte lead. Never booed.

Lance Stephenson? Booed and booed badly as the game wore on and his act wore thin. He hit the floor early in the third quarter and tried to shoot two free throws — missed both — while thousands of fans chanted, "He's a flopper!"

Between the third and fourth quarters when the arena quieted and Stephenson stood outside the Charlotte huddle, a fan several rows back yelled, "Where you at, Lance?" Stephenson gave him a baleful look, looked away and started chewing on a fingernail.

It just got worse from there, like the time in the fourth quarter when fans used Stephenson's "Born Ready" nickname to chant, "You're not ready," or the time they chanted "flopper" on his second two free throws — he made them — or most pointedly when there was a break in the action with less than four minutes to play and a single voice could be heard throughout the lower bowl, "Hey Lance! We're all glad you left!"

Stephenson found the guy and just stared at him.

After the game I asked Stephenson about the negative crowd noise that grew louder, more personal, as the game rolled on.

"I didn't hear nobody," he said.

Follow Star columnist Gregg Doyel on Twitter: @GreggDoyelStar