I never thought it would happen. On a night when the Celtics, my Celtics, were collectively shushing every NBA critic who questioned their excellency, I forgot that I should be rooting for them.
All had been great this year. The Celtics and I enjoyed each other’s company. I gushingly bragged about them to my friends in New York, reveling in the beauty of a young, budding relationship that seemed destined for greatness. I have even become so lovestruck that I constantly write about them here for all (all probably meaning two) of you to read here.
Yet, in the closing minutes of the Blazers game last night, I caught myself mumbling an unheard of statement. As KG stepped back from LaMarcus Aldridge just as he tried to initiate body contact in the post, causing Aldridge to travel as he fell to the floor, out came the kernel of my current state of confusion. “Damn,” I almost whispered.
How dare I. Right?
I would like to be able to place this blame on Henry Abbott—certainly he has made his case for loving the Blazers as he does many times over this year. But it’s not his fault.
Nor is it the fact that Brandon Roy is quickly becoming one of my favorite players to watch in the league. Not even Aldridge’s complete game and feathery touch can be justified as the cause.
Instead, I blame the Celtics themselves. Surely every relationship is bound to experience peaks and valleys, and hopefully this just turns out to be a low point, but my familiarity with their now sluggish game is making their negatives glare in comparison to their possibly taken for granted positives.
Ray Allen’s tenacity in attacking the basket last night should have been a joyous experience. Instead I was angered by Pierce’s lack of fire and poor free-throw shooting.
A monster game from KG is normally enough to cancel out any negatives. Yet I still felt unhappy as I watched the C’s again take too many jumpers.
The stars may just have aligned themselves in such a way that Portland’s play plus Boston’s recent skid left me with no choice but to have impure thoughts. Covet not thy opposing team’s youth and potential. But, and this “but” has me reeling, what happens now when I find out that, a day later, I know I’ve done wrong, yet I think I like it?