Read the Random Thoughts and Musings from WCF’s Resident American Sports Guru, Twilight.
I sit here on the heels of one of the most memorable All-Star Breaks in Major League Baseball history. We saw the bright lights upon the game’s new stars. We witnessed the love radiating from the Yankee Stadium faithful as the Legends of Summer poured onto the hallowed Bronx grass. We stood in awe as Josh Hamilton – one of the greatest comeback stories the game has ever seen – dazzled us with blast after towering blast. We stayed up to all hours of the night as the best from each league slugged it out in an epic fifteen-inning war to determine home-field advantage in this year’s Fall Classic.
And yet, I feel unfulfilled.
Perhaps it was the absence of Mariano Rivera notching the save in his backyard’s final hurrah. Or maybe it was the fact that, had the game progressed to the sixteenth inning, play may have been stopped. We were a heartbeat away from the same fiasco that plagued the 2002 All-Star Game in Milwaukee. We were a blink from Bud Selig calling the game a tie. Seven years ago, the game had no real significance attached to it. In more recent years, however, the victorious league earns his World Series representative the all-important home-field advantage. I’m not going to sit here and propose a solution to this problem. I’ll simply sum up my feelings with one thought.
Let home-field in the World Series be awarded to the team with the better record!
In other news, we’re about a month removed from the Boston Celtics capturing their record-17th NBA Championship in a dominant Game 6 performance over the Los Angeles Lakers. As a Boston native and lifelong Celtic fan, this championship means a great deal to me, considering how long ago the 16th banner was raised to the Garden rafters.
There are a select few fans from my generation that remember the 1986 NBA Finals — I’m not one of them. I don’t remember the original “Big Three” of Bird, McHale and Parish. I can barely hear the echoes of Johnny Most in the old Boston Garden, and I can’t see mental snapshots of Red Auerbach lighting up another victory cigar.
I do remember a number 40 jersey in white with “RADJA” draped across the back. I remember Dino’s second-best offensive weapon being Andrew DeClercq. I remember owning an Eric Montross jersey and feeling like he was one of the elite big men in the game. I remember Kenny Anderson running the point as he tried to lead a playoff charge. I remember Danny Ainge giving Jiri Welsch the blessing to wear his number 44. I remember Antoine Walker shimmying up and down the parquet floor and Paul Pierce standing on the announcer’s table as I watched them lead an historic comeback over Jason Kidd’s New Jersey Nets on a lazy weekend afternoon. I remember proclaiming “We’re going to the Eastern Conference Finals!” as I watched a game conclude in 2002. I remember Pierce waving his jersey over his head as he left the floor of the Conseco Field House. I remember Rick Pitino walking out on the franchise, only to be replaced by his assistant, Jim O’Brien. I remember being devastated when O’Brien left the team a few years later. I remember wondering why Antoine was traded in order to acquire Raef LaFrentz. I remember re-acquiring him years later, slapping the number 88 on his chest and thinking that the next banner was imminent. I remember watching the Celtics draft Ryan Gomes from a bar stool at the Cask n’ Flagon. I remember Draft Day 2007, and wondering why Ainge traded away Delonte West and Wally Szczerbiak to acquire an aging Ray Allen. I remember being just as upset giving up Al Jefferson, Gomes and Gerald Green to acquire Kevin Garnett.
These have been superceded by Ray Allen drilling a buzzer-beater in Charlotte. By Glen “Big Baby” Davis making a name for himself at the Palace of Auburn Hills. By wondering how an amazing home team could possibly lose every game my family attended this season. By a clean, convincing sweep of the Texas Triangle. By Kevin Garnett laying out an obliterating pick on Zaza Pachulia in the First Round. By Paul Pierce challenging, hanging with, and out-performing LeBron James in the Second Round. By the team joining together for an improbable road win in the Conference Finals. By the greatest comeback in Finals history. By the landmark blowout that clinched the banner I’d waited two decades to see raised.
Many people my age became Celtic fans last month. Even more will become fans in the near future. That, friends, is the nature of sports, for better or worse.
Until next time.
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