On Saturday, a buddy and I attended an open Celtics practice at the TD BankNorth Garden. (Before talking about the practice, I have to say: is attaching "Garden" to the name not the stupidest thing that a company could do? With stadium names, people always end up saying only one half of it. "Yo, AB Hoops is goin' to the Fleet!" "Billy, what time you headin' to Gillette?" and so on ... Obviously, "The Garden" will be fun for us to say, while the company name gets left in the dust. Smooth move, bankers.)
So we got to the Derek Jeter Center at 11:15 a.m., received lanyards with laminated official tickets, and were in time for the brunch that the arena had laid out for attendees.
I had not known what to expect just a couple of weeks before; when my dad had told me a guy at his work had gotten these tickets.
"Will anyone be there?" I wondered. "I would rather go to a game," the bratty side of my brain said. When I had heard about this event, the C's had just completed their West coast road trip. You might remember it as a tale of two teams, before Antoine (two horrible losses at the Lakers and at Denver) and after Employee number eight (spirited wins in Utah and Phoenix). But still, why would people want to go see what was then a middle-of-the-road team go through their offense in slow motion when the franchise couldn't even sell out playoff games last year?
Well, I don't need to tell you what has happened to the Celtics since the Toine acquisition (And another thing, did the Hawks really get just a non-lottery first round pick, Tom Gugliotta and Michael Stewart for Twizzle? Is there even a general manager in Atlanta? I guess I'll do it, if nobody else will.) But the crowd who showed up on a lazy, snowy Saturday to watch the Green go through the motions was downright impressive. Not a packed house, not even a packed first level, but I would say there were more people there than at the average Hawks home game.
The C's were just coming off a double-overtime slugfest with defending champion Detroit the night before, and it showed in their demeanor. GP and Davis would just take a seat and talk with fans flat-out in the middle of drills. The trainer tells players to stretch, and they all basically squirmed around on the ground, mimicking the stretching motion. No activity was done in more than a 3-4 jog.
So I guess this is what they talk about when they say "morning shootaround." I can now see the qualms Allen Iverson once had with practice; these guys don't look like they do anything, so why should it be paid any mind?
But most of the fans, unlike those they were there to see, were entranced every minute of it. They yelled to Toine and Pierce, and the players would wave back. Everyone's eyes were fixated on the floor, at the team that is slowly bringing meaning back to "Celtic Pride."
As Boston fans, do we really need the C's to be any good? Obviously not, considering the sporting utopia in which we currently reside (save for Jermaine Watson jumping out of windows). But we'll take it. The bandwagon has already left the driveway, and while it hasn't hit full speed, it should any day now.
At the end of practice, Toine grabbed the PA mic and addressed the throngs of supporters. "Thanks for coming out guys. I know the weather is rough ... We're gonna bring you an Atlantic Division Championship!" Oh, really Mr. Walker? Oh boy, an Atlantic Division Championship. Let's get rid of the Jumbotron to fit that banner in there.
I'm nitpicking.
I'd say the most improbably thrilling part of the day was the private autograph session after the shootaround. I could care less about autographs, but if it's free, it's for me. So we walk into a room where the whole team is lined up at a table, with the Memphis-Louisville Conference Championship Game on the multiple flat screens around the room. The ballers were signing, but their attention was fixed on the college kids on the tube.
And what I saw was a riot for anyone who follows these players as fans, and it was also just what I would expect. Kendrick Perkins and Al Jefferson absorbed in the game and cracking jokes to one another, Paul Pierce whining and looking for a foul on one play, Gary Payton and Ricky Davis looking like they had to be somewhere else.
Except for one moment, when, in maybe an attempt to get in touch with fans or maybe because he is blind, Ricky Davis looks at me and said "What's the score?" There was a TV right in front of him, mind you, with the score already flashing. I gave him the score, chuckled to myself and moved on. Funny guy.
Also as expected, Mark Blount and Raef Lafrentz were sitting by themselves. Blount has ridiculous eyebrows, and Raef should change his last name to "No"Frentz. Get it, "No"Frentz sounds like "No friends"? Let's just move on.
All in all, I was thoroughly entertained, and my favorite basketball team didn't even have to gain a number in the "win" column. The fans are enthusiastic, and the team looks like they have fun with each other.
At the beginning of the season, I wrote a column headlined "Paging Celtic Pride." I think they've answered.
