I realize commentary on the Celtics have little accompanied this blog. I've maybe mentioned the C's a handful of times in two years. One of those years gave me little to mention,
though I did. Then was accused of jinxing which I think I may have. Regardless, this morning I am elated.
I grew up on the Red Sox and Celtics. More than I have ever played baseball, I have played basketball. Never organized, not always well -- but played at it's basic level. For the most part I have romanticized baseball in my pseudo-Updike-ian ways with an occasional longing to be A. Bartlett Giamatti. But basketball I have left alone and I am not sure why. Deny me not this truth in the presence of such a dearth: on my list of sports, basketball is #2 with a #1 ranking in sports to play (this list is made-up with little standards for ranking; in fact, I may have just made it up this morning to accommodate this post).
The only DVDs I own and have ever asked for involve the complete history of the Boston Celtics (complete with Classic Games) and Larry Bird's DVD (complete with Classic Games of which the 'Nique-Bird is included -- and trust me, having watched this game several times, the Pierce-LeBron thing wasn't even close). I have, in effect, re-imagined my childhood -- reconstructed it based on the Big Three, of whom whose greatness and passion and beauty I was too young to fully grasp and appreciate.
Consider the previous as evidence for my love of basketball and the Celtics despite my lack of "posting" on it. And allow we to wax for a moment another reason why I may not have mentioned it with such frequency.
Basketball is an individual sport. As much as I resemble and embody Bird and Magic's style of play, I recognize it is inherently individual. Baseball requires someone else to throw you the ball and you to hit it and another opposing player to not catch it. Football needs the help of several players to advance the ball and score. But all the goals in basketball are the sole responsibility of the person with the ball. Sure, cutting and picking and rebounding from teammates help in the long run. Yet it's simplest contribution to the glory of sport is the satisfaction only the individual can take when the ball goes through the hoop. At it's core, it is of the individual only. And when this is the case, not much can be said because it's post-modern, it's relative. It matters not what I can suppose or state, it matters only what you, the person with the ball, can effort.
I love basketball. Love scoring. Love passing. Love rebounding. Love getting bothered about a bad call. Love taking jumpers by myself in the gym. Practicing foul shots. Pretending there's three seconds on the clock. Thinking Bird or Jordan has given me the ball and suggested I might be the best in a moment, for a moment. I love basketball. I play it with Isaac's plastic balls and a makeshift hoop in the yard. With socks and the hamper. With trash and the trash can. And there's always a satisfaction when it goes in, a determination to make it go if I miss -- even if what I am throwing away is a dirty diaper.
So for the Celtics, my beloved and followed and pretended-upon Celtics, to make the Finals... To hit shots when they need to... To make passes and play defense when it's all of everything a player can give...Well, it is a joy reserved for those who have ever made a shot. A pleasure this morning that only a person who has ever rolled the leather through his hands and felt, if only for a second or two or three, that all time was about to expire and it was all up to you.
So here we go. Beat L.A.. Rebound. Play defense. Don't be too awed by Kobe -- leave that to the fans. And when the ball goes in the hoop or trash can or bucket or child's bed, love the game you are playing.
Go Celtics.
