What a ride.
I’m not one to wax poetic. I don’t tend to experience the grand in the finite. For me, a rose is a rose is a rose. Symbolism, in my personal experience, is usually lost on me. I can see it in movies, literature, music, etc, quite easily. But in my day-to-day life, it goes unobserved. That equation is never collapsed. The symbolism cat is both alive AND dead.
Usually.
I watched game 7 this weekend. Celtics-Heat, eastern conference finals. The game that would decide which team earned the right to face the Oklahoma City Thunder in the NBA Finals.
Oh yeah, I’m a Celtics fan. That’s important to the narrative. I have been since probably the 1984 Finals against the Rockets, although perhaps before that. I most likely inherited it from my sister, 5 years older and a Celtics fan as a child as well.
Miami had taken a two games to none lead heading into Game 3. Boston had been pretty soundly beaten in Game 1, and had a victory likely stolen from them in Game 2 by broken officiating. A bitter defeat, to be sure.
The series came back to Boston, where they held serve in Games 3 and 4. The Celtics then overcame the Heat in Game 5 in Miami. Boston was firmly in command of the series after looking battered in the first two games.
Back to Boston for Game 6. A game I felt the Celtics had to win. They did not, and it wasn’t ever really close.
So the series was to return to Miami. Game 7. For the chance at Finals.
I watched the game intently. Boston built a decent lead in the first half, and Miami started chipping away in the third, with the wheels really coming off in the fourth. Boston was out of answers. No tricks left in the bag.
As the clock ticked down on their season and the starters pulled from the game with time left, I became somewhat introspective. I started to think about this team. From the lockout of the previous fall all the way to improbable and extremely enjoyable run in the playoffs.
This has been, without a doubt, my favorite group of Celtics players since the 1987 team. Another team with a bitter loss in the playoffs (that Magic Johnson skyhook over Kevin McHale you see in all the highlight montages all the time...yeah...that team...although, it should be noted that McHale was basically playing on one foot by that point).
My mind returned to the acrimony of the lockout. The dark cloud of possibility of a cancelled season. Then, the lockout lifted and a short free-agency period and training camp followed. The never-consummated trade of Rondo for Chris Paul. The failed attempted signing of David West. Jeff Green being lost for the season to a heart ailment. A dark fog to start the season.
My mind was starting to see something. What that was, I had no idea.
The veterans showed up out of shape. It seemed as if they expected the lockout to wipe out the season. They struggled at the beginning. Flashes of brilliance, but nothing that stuck. No tipping point. The low point of that early season for me was a complete shellacking at the hands of the Chicago Bulls. The Celtics were the Celtics of recent memory on paper alone. The names on the stat sheet were familiar. Rondo. Pierce. Garnett. Allen. The cadre that had steered the team through a 2008 championship and another Finals berth in 2010, stolen away from them by the arch-enemy Lakers, looked...old. Failing.
The supporting cast had changed from year to year. Browns and Wallaces and various O’Neals. Poseys, Houses, Trick-or-Treat Tony, the Big Baby, Perkins and his never-changing scowl. But those four. The Cadre. They were constant.
Trade talks started. First for Rondo (who honestly never seems to be OUT of trade rumors), then Allen. Pierce and Garnett were mentioned as well. Even I started to think that a change was needed.
They were 15-17 at the midway point.
But this team, this team, minus an O’Neal, a Wilcox, added pieces. Important ones. Bradley, a furious ball-hawk and increasingly smart basketball player as the season went on, eventually becoming a starter. Pietrus was added, as a smart defender and outside shooter. A 26 year old rookie with two bad feet, Greg Stiemsma, provided shot-blocking off the bench. Keyon Dooling, an NBA journeyman, and Sasha Pavlovic, past his prime, but still a hounding defender and passable shooter provided some stability to the second unit.
But changes needed to be made.
Changes always need to be made. There’s those ties. Thin gossamer strands of recognition. Of familiarity. I’m still not sure what my mind was reaching for. It was making connections though, as my thoughts traversed the season.
After the all-star break, Garnett moved to the center position. Possibly Boston’s most important offseason acquisition, Brandon Bass, stepped in to start at power forward. Ray Allen moved to the bench, to provide offense and stability to the second unit.
They made a run. They went from fighting for 8th place and a spot in the playoffs to control of the Atlantic Division. Ray Allen’s bone spurs robbed him of many games, and the famous shooting form. But it was ok. Bradley was phenomenal as a starter. Pietrus suffered a concussion, but Marquis Daniels was there to provide depth.
As they neared the playoffs, I fell in love with this team, and the first round against Atlanta solidified that. Rondo and Pierce both delivered amazing spectacular games. Pierce’s game with Rondo going through his suspension was sublime. Basketball as art.
The series against Philadelphia was more of the same. Each player stepping up in turns, Rondo navigating them all through the breakers.
And then, Bradley was injured. His shoulder dislocating seemingly at will. He tried to gut it out. It was too much for him, too much for any basketball player, I’d wager.
Allen was back into the starting role. Unfortunately, his shooting was still at a backup level.
There was no quit. They finished Philadelphia off.
They just didn’t have the cards against Miami. Every trick exhausted. No more bar fights, all the grit and balls used up. They left the court Saturday night not as champions, but not defeated either. Not in my mind. I’ll never forget this team, and what they’ve won, what they’ve achieved this season isn’t the kind of thing that can be measured in trophies.
I love this team. And my mind wants to draw parallels. It sees symbolism. It wants me to think I’ve shared those struggles over the last year. I can’t close those threads on my own. I can’t make the links. Not consciously. I’ve been wrapped up in this team all year. Living and dying with each shot. Maybe I subconsciously WANT there to be metaphors. Perhaps I see them as conquerors and with such respect because I want to see myself there as well.
I don’t know. I’m not that deep.
A rose is a rose is a rose.
