The Boston Bachelor

BY THEBOSTONBACHELOR.COM / June 21, 2008

The Boston Celtics are World Champions.

The Boston Celtics are World Champions.

I’ve waited 20 years to say that.

Yet somehow I imagined this experience would feel more rewarding.

I watched my first NBA game when I was 5 years old. I don’t remember too much, other than a) the year was 1988 b) it was a Celtics-Lakers night game at The Forum c) it was on CBS, and d) the Celtics lost. Worst of all, at that precocious age I spent most of the game rooting back and forth for both the Celtics and the Lakers. Yeah—don’t look at me.

I officially began bleeding green during the 1988-1989 season, or the season when the proud Celtics dynasty began to crumble. Bird missed most of the season with injury, Chris Ford was head coach, the Celtics finished 42-40, and things looked desolate as all hell. Though the Celtics would somewhat rebound over the next few years, they never made past the second round of the Playoffs during the remainder of the Big 3’s reign.

I remember Bird’s final game, a Game 7 loss in the semi-finals against the Cavs. My lasting memory of Larry Legend is of Bird leading a fast break, where he faked a behind-the-back pass before hitting a runner at the top of the key. The NBC announcers hooped and hollered, referring to the play as one of Bird’s final tricks. And like that, my only childhood idol was gone.

I still believed. My folks didn’t have cable, and I lived a hair out of reach of the Boston local TV stations who broadcasted the game, so I would listen in to each game on the radio with the fervor of the young minister in There Will Be Blood. I would pound my fists on my desk in a 2-beat DE-FENSE chant, which annoyed the living end out of my older sister.

Hope resurfaced with a young Reggie Lewis. But he died.

Then came M.L. Carr.

A 15 win season.

Rick Pitino.

That’s when I gave up.

* * * * *

I met Greg V. my freshman year of college. The kid had the misfortune of beginning his devotion to the Celtics during the worst years of the franchise, i.e. the M.L./Pitino years. But there was something spectacular behind his belief in the Celtics. Something that made those who had fallen off the path recover their lost faith. Only one question remained: would the kid be leading us to salvation, or would he be a pied piper leading us off a cliff into eternal darkness?

* * * * *

Fast forward seven years.

The Celtics and the Lakers. You can’t write this shit any better, right? A network advertiser’s wet dream.

You fucking knew. You knew this was going to happen. Like the Sox vs. the Yankees in ‘04, the Celtics would have to take down its biggest rival to reach the promised land.

And after Game 4, when The Truth set us free, you knew the series was over. A mere, fucking formality. The only question would be when.

* * * * *

Johnny Most is dead.

Red is dead.

The Garden is no more.

The Celtics have cheerleaders, er, I mean, a dance team.

Players on rival teams hug each other after a game.

The Game has changed.

Reality has set in. Beating the Lakers in 2008 is not the same as it would have been in 1987. That unabashed jubilation I expected was not there. Maybe all I wanted was a final taste of childhood happiness. Maybe all I wanted was to rewrite my emotional history. Maybe I’m just a morbid fuck. Maybe I’ve changed. Maybe I’m amazed.

Or maybe this 17th Banner is more of a closure than a celebration. Maybe we can finally put to rest the spirits of Game 4 in the ‘87 NBA Finals, the passings of Len and Reggie, the decline of the Big 3, and the death of Red. Maybe a new door has been opened.

Maybe it’s time I stepped through it.

-The Boston Bachelor

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