Fade-Off

For many years during the dark ages of Rick Pitino, basketball was almost dead to my father.  As my passion for the game and the Boston Celtics was budding (at a fairly unusual time, when you consider how dysfunctional and bad the Celtics were when I was growing up), we had many discussions about professional basketball in general, most of which ended with me standing up for the value of today's NBA and my father claiming that the current incarnation was almost unwatchable and had no real appeal to him.  Pointing to the dilution of the talent pool between too many teams, the seemingly never ending regular season, and the prevalence of me-first players that seemed only to want to show off their own skills for fans who would ooh-and-ahh at their crossover, I could hardly blame him for being turned off from the game.  He made good points, but I never conceded, firmly believing that a good brand of basketball still did exist and that if he were exposed to it it could rekindle at least an appreciation if not a love for the game.

He reluctantly showed a flash of interest in 2004 when the Pistons upended the Lakers in the Finals (there's nothing like watching Kobe, Shaq and the Lakers get served to ignite some passion within a Bostonian), and that interest grew somewhat the next year during a hard-fought Finals that went down to the wire between two legitimate teams, the San Antonio Spurs and the Detroit Pistons.  Though the games were brutal and ugly, I can distinctly remember my Dad in awe of Tim Duncan's sheer willpower, Manu Ginoblili's unbelievable ability to get to the rim, and the way both teams played together rather than just standing around and waiting for the superstars to make plays.  But even so, he was still unimpressed by the state of the game, and while he was aware and possibly excited by the basketball he saw, the NBA was still a hard sell for him.

And then, on March 14th of 2007, it happened.  Phoenix played Dallas and made a huge fourth quarter rally, winning 129-127 in double overtime in what was recognized as an instant classic at the time.  Jason Terry and Steve Nash both made ri-damn-diculous three-pointers to continue the game (Terry hit his three with Steve Nash's hand about half an inch from his face), and Nash in particular showed his whole arsenal, finishing with 32/16/8.  Amare had 41/10, Dirk poured in 30/16, and Jason Terry finished with 27 in a game that was hotly contested from start to finish.  Beyond the fact that this game was a high-scoring barn burner of a game, both teams (emphasis on teams) played with a brand of intensity and passion that even as a young NBA fan I could tell had been missing for quite some time.   Dad could tell, too.

Sure enough, the next day, he called me and we both ranted and raved, recounting the heroics on both sides for the better part of an afternoon (afternoon for me, evening for him, I was here in Portland and he was home in Boston).  He conveyed to me the same sentiment that I just conveyed to all of you: this game was vintage NBA, with scoring, defense, and two teams that wanted to beat the pants off a familiar opponent far more than they wanted to make Sports Center.  His passion for basketball was revived, and I could tell through the phone that he was genuinely excited and was left wanting more after that incredible game.  Sure enough, he paid attention whenever Phoenix and Dallas were playing from then on, and I feel like that one game showed him the possibilities of today's NBA and revived his interest in the game of basketball.

So other than the involvement of the Dallas Mavericks, you're probably asking (who is this talentless hack?) what did that long tangent have to do with last night's 99-92 Celtics win in Dallas?  Fear not, baby birds, Daddy's gonna feed you.  I watched the game last night with some friends at home, none of whom are hardcore NBA junkies like myself (though they all have at least an appreciation for the game).  By the end of the game, everybody was hooting, hollering and letting out a chorus of "oohs-and-ahhs" as the Celtics made their comeback behind 18 fourth quarter points from Paul Pierce.  The quality of the game and the level of competition inspired a group of (forgive me, guys) non-fans to get into a regular season game.  

Everybody, including myself, was in awe of the shot making by Dirk Nowitzki, who reached all the way back to 2006 for a dominant 37 point performance, and Paul Pierce, who seemed determine to not only win the game, but to one up Dirk for the most-ridiculous-fade-away award as he summarily abused Devean George and Jason Kidd down the stretch.  Pierce carried the team after both Kevin Garnett and Doc Rivers lost their heads (don't even get me started on them...), providing the kind of leadership, grit and competitive fire that we've grown accustomed to seeing from The Truth.  Most importantly, the Celtics kept pace with the Lakers for the best record in the NBA, and are headed into the All-Star break on a positive note.

But more than the ridiculous shots or the boneheadedness of KG and Doc, I was amazed at the reaction of the friends around me who were watching the game.  I've always believed that a good enough game can turn even the most indifferent observer into a rabid sports fan, if only for a fleeting moment or two.  Whether they knew the names of the players or not was irrelevant, the game turned everyone in the room into an NBA fan, and had everybody on the edge of their seats and hanging on every dribble, fake and shot taken down the stretch.  It wasn't as pretty as the instant classic from March of 2007 between Phoenix and Dallas, but last night's game provoked the same kind of reaction and was an impressive contest on both sides in its own special way.