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I became a fan of the Boston Celtics the same way a lot of people growing up around Boston did in the 80’s. Because of Larry Bird.
Obviously Kevin McHale, Robert Parish, Danny Ainge, Dennis Johnson, K.C. Jones, and all the rest helped as well. But mostly it was about Larry.
Larry Bird was a magician, a bulldog, a hick, and hotshot all rolled into one. His passing was both creative and efficient. His shooting was automatic (can you imagine him in today’s spread offense?). He was simply on another level with how he saw the game. Others were playing chess, he was playing thermonuclear war games.
There was a brief period there in the mid-80’s where all the local sports teams were at least competing for titles. The Red Sox famously lost when Bill Buckner let the ball roll between his legs. The Patriots got blown out by the Super Bowl Shuffling Bears. The Bruins lost in the Stanley Cup Finals. The Celtics, however, were the ones that won it all. Not just once, but multiple times.
I don’t honestly remember much about the 1984 title (hey, I was only 9 at the time) but I remember the Lakers winning in ‘85. When the Celtics loaded up for the 1985-86 season by adding some old guy named Bill Walton, I was singularly focused on beating the Lakers so I was disappointed when the Rockets crashed the party. I watched every game of the 1986 Finals with the TV on mute and the radio playing Johnny Most. I can still hear him calling Ralph Sampson a “coward.” I can still feel the texture of my parents’ carpet under my elbows as I propped my head up. I still remember WBCN playing “We Are The Champions” 16 straight times (one for each banner).
That was my team. I begged my parents to buy me anything that had the Celtics logo on it. I watched as many games as I could. When it was past my bedtime, I snuck a radio into my room and listened to the games with the volume turned down. I eagerly awaited the Sunday newspaper to read legends like Bob Ryan wax poetic in words I barely understood.
I rooted for them the way only a child could. I fully believed that if I sat in the right spot, cheered at the right time, and really, truly believed, then things would turn out well. And sure enough, they did.
Basically, from that moment on, I was hooked.
Of course, it wasn’t long before harsh reality hit. We had the number 2 pick in the draft and selected a young sensation named Len Bias. I didn’t know anything about him, but people were comparing him to Michael Jordan (“but taller!”). I don’t remember if I cried when I heard that he died, but only because I was so young and didn’t fully understand the tragedy of it all. I did learn, however, that there are no guarantees in sports or in life.
The following years taught me more humbling lessons. As the old saying goes, “Father Time is undefeated.” It was sad seeing my heroes grow older, develop injuries, and ultimately retire. It was also hard to endure some decidedly un-championship quality players wearing Celtics uniforms in the darkest years. In my college years I actually tuned the team out so I don’t have many reflections on Marty Conlon or Brett Szabo.
There was one event, however, that brought me back. Drafting Paul Pierce. The rest is all part of a story that I’ve told on here many times. It involved long emails written to friends who didn’t care about the Celtics, seeking out message boards to find online communities of Celtics fans, and eventually starting this blog.
Pierce and Antoine Walker made the game fun again and they reminded me of the old days when I was rooting for a team that had aspirations of greatness. It was a few more years before that became a reality, but I learned another valuable lesson along the way. The journey can make the destination that much sweeter in the end.
It makes me wonder how many young fans fell in love with the Celtics in 2008. It must have been hard for them to see Ray Allen leave and confusing to see Pierce and Garnett traded. Of course, they’ve also seen the team bounce back to the Eastern Conference Finals in 5 short years. It’s enough to make me want to old-man-preach at these young whipper-snappers who don’t know what it is like to suffer through decades of rebuilding. I want to remind people that getting the number one pick doesn’t guarantee anything. But mostly I just want to experience the rise to greatness again.
In theory, I know that it doesn’t matter where I sit or how I cheer or what shirt I wear on game day. But a little part of me isn’t convinced. I little voice inside of me is still saying “come on Larry, you can do it!” I think it always will.