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

BY THEBOSTONBACHELOR.COM / June 12, 2008

Alright folks, hot off the presses, here’s our exclusive tribute to the greatest Celtic of the past decade and a true Boston sports icon: Paul Pierce, a.k.a. “The Truth.” The man has shown his toughness and devotion to the franchise, and it’s about time he deserved some respect. This one’s for you, Paul. Bring home that 17th banner. For a limited time only, get your Paul Pierce “The Truth Shall Set You Free” shirt now.

By THEBOSTONBACHELOR.COM / December 15, 2007

And when I say “my people” I’m referring to both East Asians (such as myself) and Southeast Asians (my brown brothers). OK, I know the picture above doesn’t do full justice. But you try finding a photo containing a mix of Desis, Chinese, and Koreans that isn’t taken on a Saturday afternoon at the Wrentham MA outlets. (Hey, we know a good deal when we see one.)

I recently attended an open house for a GMAT prep course. Shockingly enough to those who know me well, I was the first one there. So I take a seat and slowly wait for everyone else to trickle in.

A few minutes later, I hear the door open and swivel my head to see who walks in.

An Indian guy.

Less than 30 seconds later, the door opens again. Again, I turn to look…

…and see a new Indian guy.

Another few minutes pass. The next student walks in…

…this time, an Asian woman.

A minute later the door opens again…

…another Asian woman.

By this time, the open house is only minutes away from starting.

And just then, another Indian guy walks in.

Finally, with about a minute left on the clock, I hear the door open and a distinct as-white-bread-American-as-you-can-get “Hello” rings out into the classroom. “I guess the streak is broken,” I think to myself. So I slowly turn my head, only to see…

An Indian guy wearing a turbin.

(My friend Deep later chimes in and says “He’s probably a Sikh.”)

This story may surprise those of you who have been outside of the higher education world for the past several years, particularly if you’re one of those xenophobes clamoring about American labor jobs being outsourced to India, China, whatever. Well–get used to it. Because behind your blind ignorance, the real jobs you should be concerned with “protecting” lie in middle and upper management, the same level you may be sitting in right now–not the minimum-wage manufacturing and customer support shit jobs that no one really wants.

If you don’t believe me, sit through any business/IT/e-commerce course at your nearby graduate business school. Even 3 years ago, when I was living in DC, I took a stroll through the University of Maryland’s Business School and I felt like I was walking through a marketplace in Jakarta. The times are a changin’, yes they are.

Be seeing you.

-The Boston Bachelor

By THEBOSTONBACHELOR.COM / August 30, 2007 

We’ll be in Chicago this weekend, but we’ve got some great articles for you when we get back, including:

•  Accounts of an American in China
•  Number 5 of the Top 10 Irrefutable Truths about Women and Dating
•  An Online Dating Experiment, Part I
•  Link of the Week
•  and More!

Until then.

-The Boston Bachelor

Up next is an article written by my good friend V. I’ve known the kid since his Saab 900 days, so please give a warm welcome to “The Salieri of Writing.”  So please stand up and give praise to a man about to ruminate on two of his favorite topics: the Boston Celtics and The Shawshank Redemption.

-The Boston Bachelor

The Shawshank Redemption is Faaaantastic!

By THE SALIERI OF WRITING / August 14, 2007

ANDY DUFRESNE:

When Andy first arrived at Shawshank Prison in 1947 it looked like a stiff breeze would tip him over. He was a tall lanky white man with a shadow of mystery about him. He had a casual stride and a drooping gaze as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He caught the attention of several inmates including Red, who doubted his fortitude from the beginning and didn’t think he would last the night. The rest is movie history– Red lost a pack of smokes, Fat Ass would spend the night in the infirmary, and not so much as a mouse fart would come out of Andy’s cell.

Was there a tall white player in the NBA that didn’t look all that good (i.e. he was ugly), and raised doubts among NBA critics before even entering the league? That’s right, you guessed it- Larry Joe Bird. Like Andy, Larry would quickly dismiss his critics and gain the respect and admiration of everyone around him.

Dufresne and Bird may be the closest reincarnation to the second coming of Christ that this world will ever see. Flashback to the scene of Andy’s outstretched arms, pointing to the heavens, thanking his Father for the redemption of paying penance for the sin of another man. It was a baptismal cleansing of shit so foul that you can’t even imagine. In many ways, the journey through that tunnel of excrement was symbolic of his ill-fated life up to that point. Throughout it all he would make the best of his situation and perform acts that weren’t thought possible amongst his peers- whether it was playing The Marriage of Figaro over the loud speakers, getting a 12 pack of suds for his friends, or tunneling through a 6 foot wall of concrete with a rock hammer. He represented the consummate human being in terms of bonding, character, and an enduring hope for a better life in the future.

Although I can’t say Larry was a stand up individual off the court (i.e. he was an asshole) his acts on the court were nothing short of miraculous. The reaction from the Hawks bench during Larry’s 60 point explosion in 85 must have been similar to the reactions Jesus received when he walked on water. Bird would defy disbelief throughout his career with his no look passes, clutch shooting, and timely defensive stops. He was the consummate basketball player whose unselfish style improved the play of his teammates and in return, garnered their respect. Larry Bird, The Basketball Jesus, was the Andy Dufresne of the NBA. In fact, if Larry or Andy were pinned to the cross instead of Jesus, I might actually consider overlooking the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church and attend service every Sunday.

BROOKS HATLEN:

If I had to pick one player in the NBA that just won’t make it on the outside it would have to be Sebastian Telfair. Is there any doubt that the proclaimed next Magic Johnson, the pride of NYC hoops, the Coney Island Hope will be playing as a backup point guard to Yotam Halperin for Maccabi Tel Aviv in a few years? Imagine Sebastian’s surprise when he realizes that an AK47 isn’t a player who chokes in the playoffs and cries in the locker room. He’s going to have to replace his .35 caliber hiding in his suped up Caddy with something more fitting for Hamas rules. In this regard, Sebastian may be the most likely NBA player to commit suicide. It’s only a matter of time before the following is carved above a beam in the Timberwolves locker room: “Bassy was here…. So was Starburry.”

Brooks was a fixture for generations at Shawshank Prison. The Shawshank Redemption without Brooks Hatlen is like the NBA without Tommy Heinsohn. Tommy has been in the NBA for over 50 years as a player, head coach, and announcer. Can you imagine anybody else announcing Celtics games other than Tommy Heinsohn? I’m waiting for the night he drinks one too many Jack Daniels before a game and Fox Sports threatens to fire him if he doesn’t clean up his act. This will lead Tommy to take a knife to Gorman’s neck as Cornbread tries to talk him out of it.

I have to give this award to Telfair over Heinsohn for the single reason that Tommy could have easily made it on the outside earning a living as a professional painter. Not only that, Tommy would never consider taking his life with the Redhead from Needham as his wife. I’m with Tommy when it comes to redheads. There’s just something about them that lights a fire under Frank. Just take a look at the picture of Lindsay Lohan from the previous post and tell me that a boner the size of Florida isn’t filling up your pants.

BOGGS (THE SISTERS):

I have to be real careful here. I promised myself I wouldn’t make any John Amaechi jokes in fear that Tim Hardaway would post something blatantly homophobic.

Perhaps the most fitting NBA equivalent would be Isiah Thomas. Has there ever been another GM in sports history that has taken it up the ass more than Zeke? How else can you explain the $89 million bloated salary on a bunch of shoot-first selfish players? Now that Isaiah has crowned himself head coach, every hardcore NBA fan is salivating over the comedic potential of this freak show. This team will be so bad that even the Hawks will be slapping each other on the ass. My guess is that it will be three months before Knick’s owner James Dolan realizes how much his team blows and sends Isiah packing down with the Sodomites.

FAT ASS:

At 6’9” tall and weighing in at a butterballian 289 pounds, Big Baby Davis takes the Fat Ass prize by a long shot. If Big Baby ever hit the glass at Cedardale he would take out Barry Humphries and cause a tsunami that would spill over into Cedarland. I have never seen such girth on a professional basketball player since Tractor Traylor stomped the hardwood.

I can only hope he turns out to be a solid contributor off the bench for the Celtics this season. I hope that Danny Ainge can bring in some solid contributors to complement the big three. I hope the 17th banner is as green as it is in my dreams… I hope….

In Memory of Milt Palacio.

-The Salieri of Writing

By THEBOSTONBACHELOR.COM / August 7, 2007

The Boston Celtics shocked the sports and entertainment world by signing legendary Smiths front man and solo recording artist Morrissey to a one year deal believed to be worth the league veteran minimum.

When asked by local Boston sports reporter Dick Shankly on whether he would contribute immediately to the Celtics, he replied, “Frankly, Mr. Shankly, how soon is now?”

-The Boston Bachelor