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 / February 22, 2008

Clubs can be an intimidating mix of strange odors, sweaty people, overpriced drinks, and shitty music to the uninitiated. So we’ve come up with a list of common questions the newcomer might ask. If you believe that we’ve missed something, email us your question at bb@thebostonbachelor.com.

Why is the music so bad, and why do they play the same songs ever week?

The DJ spins music for the female booty-shaking factor, not quality or variety. So save Another Green World for the car ride there.

Why does every girl/guy strive to buy club clothes that make them unique, but still end up looking the same as every other girl/guy in there?

Good question.

What’s up with the two girls who are grinding with each other in the middle of the dance floor?

“Pleeease pay attention to us! Pleeeaaase!”

What’s up with the circle of guys standing around the two girls who are grinding with each other in the middle of the dance floor?

If anyone wants to make an argument that women are smarter than men, now’s the time.

Why is that guy watching the TV / playing with his phone / going to the bathroom every 5 minutes / going out for a smoke every 5 minutes?

One word: stalling.

Why are some bouncers/doormen complete assholes?

Because they realize that holding a cheap velvet rope for 3 hours is the most power they’ll ever possess in their lives.

Why do people wait until lines go around the block and cover charges are in effect before they head out to clubs?

Because they’re dumbasses.

I can’t dance.

Most people can’t, so who gives a fuck and just do it anyway. I sure as hell can’t (unless you spin some New Order or Madchester–long live Bez!).

I don’t like dancing. Can I still meet girls at a club?

Yes–at the bar, in line, near the coat check, in the booths, etc.

Why are the drinks so fucking expensive?

Because most of the club’s revenue comes from the alcohol, not the cover charges. And people will stay pay for it, just as they still pay $3.39 for a gallon of gas.

What’s up with the girl who’s in line by herself, checking her cell phone every 20 seconds, keeps looking to the side, with her arms crossed over her chest?

1. She’s waiting for her friends or boyfriend.
2. She’s insecure that people will think that she’s going to a club by herself.

I hate clubs, but I hear they’re the best for practicing your game. Is this true?

Yes and no. If you have trouble talking to strangers, then they’re good in terms of the sheer volume of approaches you can make. If you’re looking for relationship material, then no.

Why do so many girls play with their phones in the club?

Because no guys are approaching them and they’re afraid of being perceived as undesirable.

I like girls who are into Heroes of Might and Magic IV, pre-8 1/2 Fellini films, Greek cooking, commnuity service, and the writings of J.G. Ballard. Is there any chance I’m going to meet a girl like that in a club?

No.

What’s up with the meathead who walks around with a perpetual scowl on his face?

He believes that he’s acting like an “alpha male.” However, this behavior is neither “alpha” nor “male.”

Why do many clubs ban “Tims” (Timberland boots)?

Official Reason: “They’re informal and can scuff up dance floors.”
Unofficial Reason: “They’re too ‘hip hop’ for our desired Eurotrash vibe. That and we’re afraid of black people.”

Why don’t some bartenders say “thanks” you give them a tip?

Because they’re fucking rude.

I think I saw Boston Celtics reserve forward Brian Scalabrine in a bar once. Was it really him?

If this was a bar outside Boston, then yes. If this was a bar in Boston, then you probably just saw one of 16,793 registered Brian Scalabrine look-a-likes in the state of Massachusetts. And yes, V, that was Rajon Rondo (in non-Gumby form) you saw at the Burlington Mall Macy’s.

Why are so many girls standing around packt like sardines in a crushd tin box?

Because just as with any street gang or fraternity, they believe that confidence and protection only exists in groups.

Does “peacocking” work?

Yes, but only for guys who are already very social and high-energy. If you’re the low-key type an interesting prop would suit you better.

What are the 6 biggest mistakes guys make in the club?

From my own personal experience:

6. Ignoring a girl’s friends when you first start talking to her.
5. Circling around the club numerous times trying to see where the “hot girls” are.
4. Leaning in every time you talk to her.
3. Not speaking LOUD ENOUGH.
2. Hesitating.
1. Going to clubs for the purpose of “picking up girls” as opposed to going just to have a fun time and be social. If you can’t have a good time by just being there, then find a venue you can actually enjoy.

I asked a girl to guess my nationality, but she didn’t know what the word “nationality” meant. Is she retarded?

Let me ask her cousin JFr—nevermind.

-The Boston Bachelor

By THEBOSTONBACHELOR.COM / November 4, 2007

Pinch me, Mick.

After years of sports-induced aneurysms, New England sports fans everywhere finally have much to smile about. The Red Sox just won their 2nd World Series title in 4 years, the Patriots are taking a proverbial dump on the rest of the NFL, and the Celtics have a legitimate shot at garnering that elusive 17th banner. Even the Bruins look promising, despite playing for a non-profit organization.

So in honor of this Haley’s comet moment in New England sports history, let’s now pay proper tribute to these beloved sports franchises.

BOSTON RED SOX:

What can you say? The Sox’s future looks just as promising as the Patriots’. With a core group of veterans, smart front office guys, and impressive homegrown talent, the World Series should be a gyroball away during the next few years—even if Schilling and Lowell jump the duckboat this offseason. Count on Dice-K to step up next season, and for young guns Lester, Buchholz, Pedroia, Papelbon and Ellsbury to emerge as potential All-Star candidates.

Just don’t blow it by signing A-Rod, Theo.

NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS:

Fuck Star Wars; today at 4 pm EDT, two cosmic forces will collide in the true battle of “good vs. evil.” Or at least that’s what the media wants us to believe. Whatever.

While Sunday’s matchup of the Patriots vs. Colts is indeed the most important regular season football game in the last 15 years, it’s a far cry from the battle of Armageddon. OK, so the Patriots scored a lot of points in their last few games. A lot of points. Big fucking whoop.

Should we now criticize Roger Federer or Justine Henin for defeating an unranked Wimbledon opponent in straight 6-0 sets? Should we ask Tiger Woods to stop aiming for the green on his par 3 tee shots during the back 9 of a final round? Or maybe we could incorporate the 10-run-lead-forfeit rule in Major League Baseball, like they do in Little League.

These aren’t clumsy 11 year olds we’re dealing with. These are grown athletes, coaches, managers, and executives that get paid 6-8 figures a year for what they do. If your favorite team gets blown out of the arena, get upset at your team and their boneheaded front office—not your competent competition.

If anything, we should be thanking the Patriots for turning the NFL into their personal game of Tecmo Super Bowl. Remember all the bitching about parity in the NFL a few years ago? How dynasties no longer existed in professional football? Well despite whatever your thoughts on “Spygate” may be, there’s one thing you can’t ignore: In the end, the Patriots are going to make your team better. Because I guarantee that for the rest of this season and all of next year, every opponent will circle in blood that date with the New England Patriots.

For the Patriots exemplify what NFL teams and their respective owners need the most: a fucking wakeup call. The Patriots putting up 42 first half points is not the crime; the real crime is charging fans $300 to watch David Carr throw interceptions for 4 quarters. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather pay to see one great football team than two shitty ones (London anyone?).

Back in the 90s I absolutely hated Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls; there was nothing I wanted more than to watch a despondent #23 lose in the NBA Finals. And though MJ always wound up victorious and nearly made me the youngest triple-bypass patient of all time, I’m now eternally grateful that I was simply alive to witness true greatness in its prime.

Years later, you’ll be saying the same thing about the 2007-2008 New England Patriots.

BOSTON COLLEGE EAGLES:

BOSTON CELTICS:

The Celtics make me nervous—in both a good and bad way.

You’ve got 3 extraordinarily gifted athletes combined with 12 relative no-names and a shaky head coach. There’s only four things that could stand in the way of the Celtics raising that 17th banner at this point.

1. Injury. This one should be a no-brainer. If one of the Big Three goes down, foggeddaboutit. You can start going to bed early again.

2. Focus. This is the real make-or-break. With the talent of the Big Three, it’s real easy for them to get lazy on the court and start playing freestyle pickup ball. Can Doc come up with a system that maximizes the talents of Allen, Pierce, and Garnett? (I suddenly feel more nervous.)

3. The Spurs. The path to the trophy will most likely have to go through San Antonio. Here’s to hoping that Eva Longoria files for a messy divorce, Joe Crawford stabs Tim Duncan, or Manu Ginobili suffers complications from hair transplant surgery.

4. Tim Donaghy. Woops, thought I was writing about the Suns for a second.

-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

Be forewarned.

Coming up next is the return of none other than Matty Roy, previously known as the most controversial writer to hit college campuses across the Eastern US (other than that UMass kid who made fun of Pat Tillman).

Though Roy and I don’t always see eye to eye on all issues, when it comes to raw honesty (as this is what TheBostonBachelor.com is all about), I’ve never personally met anyone who’s as brutally honest about his perspectives on life than this guy. Nor met anyone who managed to piss off so many readers (like this guy) during his weekly column “The Twilight Age” for Bentley College’s The Vanguard.

So without further ado, I present you with the words of the Salieri (of Basketball).

-The Boston Bachelor

Celtics Acquisition of Two Stars Has Them Poised For East Coast Domination

By THE SALIERI OF BASKETBALL / August 7, 2007

The Youth Movement moves west to Minnesota as Danny Ainge gives birth to a dynasty. After 15 years of wallowing in relative obscurity since the retirement of Lawrence Joe Bird, a formerly moribund Green Team appears poised to shit victories across the face of the National Basketball Association. Big green ‘W’ shaped horse apples should fill the standings in the coming season, as Boston’s most popular athletic franchise trots out a team that should decimate the league in a manner reminiscent of Josef Stalin. The reason for all the optimism that currently surrounds the Celtics of Boston is the result of two player acquisitions that have tipped the scales of power in the NBA and knocked the sports world on its collective ear.

Celtics Dictator of Basketball Operations Danny Ainge recently announced that superstar veterans Eddie House and Scot Pollard will be joining the 2007-2008 NBA Championship club. House, who has played for every NBA team to date except the Celtics is commonly considered to be amongst the top 138 outside shooters in the league. Last season he led a talented New Jersey Netz team to the playoffs with his gaudy 1.3 PPG average. Many analysts felt that with his exemplary shooting ability that he could have padded his scoring more, had he not been insistent on maintaining his 0.3 assists a night average. House, is widely known to be a consummate teammate, while Richard Jefferson described him as “One vicious Motherfucker”. Meanwhile, EHouse’s Soviet teammate Nenad Kristic praises his scoring ability from outside the arc, referring to him as “One of the best negro shooters in the league”.

The Celtics other major move this off-season revolved around wrestling F/C Scot Pollard from the defending Eastern Conference Champion Cleveland Cavs. Some analysts feel that had Pollard performed slightly better in the playoffs (2007 Playoff Statistics: 0.0 PPG, 0.0 RPG, 0.0 APG, 0.0 EFF Rating) that the heavily favored Cleveland collective could have toppled a mongrelized San Antonio Spurs squadron that consisted of a black Frenchman, a white South American, and a cola-colored center from the Virgin Islands. However true basketball statisticians are quick to recognize that Pollard has led the league for the past seven seasons in the all-important Hairstyles Per Game stat with an average HPG of 2.8 over that period. Insiders feel that since the Celtics abandoned their colored headbands from the 2002-2003 season, their poor HPG rating has been the major source of their recent woes.

It’ll take some time before the new acquisitions begin to gel with the Celtics current core of Brian Scalabrine, Brandon Wallace, and Michael Olowakandi. But one Celtic in particular couldn’t be more thrilled with the talents of his new teammates. When asked if he thought that House and Pollard would prove to be an upgrade over the departed stalwarts Al Jefferson and Gerald Green, Kendrick Perkins responded “Shit yes! Eddie house – 10 fingers; Gerald Green – 9 fingers. You do the fuckin’ math.”

Wise words from an ecstatic future Hall of Famer who proves that you don’t need to go to college to understand the simple arithmetic at hand. One thing is for sure: The 2007-08 incarnation of the Boston Celtics is better than last year’s model.

-The Salieri of Basketball

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

By THEBOSTONBACHELOR.COM / August 6, 2007

We unexpectedly met former Celtic and current free agent Eric Williams (decked out in all white- Escalade included) in Boylston last Saturday night. Though we didn’t inquire about the reasons for his visit, will he perhaps be the next free agent signing for the Celtics? One thing’s for sure; the Celtics could definitely use some veteran depth behind KG in the power forward position.

If Eric Williams is sportin’ the Leprechaun when the season starts, remember folks- you heard it here first.

-The Boston Bachelor

By THEBOSTONBACHELOR.COM / August 1, 2007

Are you kidding me?

In less than 5 weeks the Boston Celtics went from the 2nd worst team in the league to the team to beat in the Eastern Conference.

Never would I have thought this possible. Not with this front office. Not with this team. Maybe with the Red Sox or the Patriots, but never with the Celtics. Not unless Red Aurebach climbed out of his grave, hopped into his SL convertible (cigar in one hand, steering wheel in the other), and crashed into Danny Ainge’s office like it was the police station in The Terminator.

But unless he’s buried somewhere in Pet Cemetery, the sad Pitino truth is that Red Aurebach isn’t walking through that door.

So then, how did this miracle happen?

Here’s the most rational explanation I could come up with:

5/22/2007: A record number of Celtics fans tune in to the 2007 NBA Draft Lottery night with baited breath, hoping that this would be the turning point of a long-suffering dynasty (Reggie Lewis, Len Bias, and Tim Duncan there of). Meanwhile, behind the draft curtains Portland Trailblazers owner and Microsoft bazillionaire Paul Allen promises David Stern one crazy night of group sex with all members of the Portland Trailblazers cheerleaders and a Kevin Duckworth throwback jersey in exchange for the 1st lottery pick. David Stern accepts, and the rest is ping pong history, causing legions of Celtics fans to erupt in disgust: http://dimemag.com/2007/05/23/lottery-night-for-celtics-fans/

6/27/2007: Ainge, realizing the Celtics chances for getting a guaranteed franchise player in the draft are shot, begins making calls to various NBA GMs across the league. All hang up on him immediately after he mentions the word “Scalabrine” as possible trade bait.

6/28/2007: Ainge’s perserverance finally pays minutes before the draft begins by making a deal for the Sonics’ Ray Allen. Celtics fans react with mixed emotions upon hearing the news. Ainge nearly fucks the deal up by referring to Ray Allen as “the black Jesus who beat Denzel in a game of one-on-one.”

6/29/2007: Paul Pierce takes his house off the market.

7/25/2007: Ainge is visited at midnight by the ghost of Red, who shows him what the future would be like- if things were to continue along the current path. Some of the images Ainge sees include Vin Baker rising to Celtics GM and Sebastian Telfair shooting Paul Pierce 9 times.

7/26/2007: Ainge calls up good friend and former teammate Kevin “the Spaghetti Man” McHale to inquire about Kevin Garnett. McHale laughs at Ainge, hangs up, then folds some sweaters.

7/30/2007: Not so easily deterred, Ainge flies to Minnesota to plead with McHale in person. After Ainge starts quoting verse from the Book of Mormon, McHale finally relents and agrees to put a KG deal out on the table- on the condition that Ainge has to dress up like “The Riddler” and run into Celtics President Chris Gotham’s office yelling “I’m Batman!!”

7/31/2007: With some help from Bill Walton’s bong and the Chief’s personal stash, Ainge convinces McHale to sign off on the most brilliant trade in recent Celtics memory.
Somewhere in Atkinson, NH, diehard Celtics fan Greg V. is crying.

So stand up, clap your hands, and give the man his due. Because Danny Ainge just pulled a Keyser Soze on the rest of the NBA and left the Eastern Conference shitting in its pants.

I can imagine John Paxson and Joe Dumars sitting in their offices right now scratching their heads, wondering how the hell Danny Ainge got the best of them. Well I’ll tell you how.

They just forgot, forgot about Danny Ainge, that’s all.

-The Boston Bachelor