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What the Boston Celtics Mean to Us – Larry Flynn

By Larry Flynn

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Apr 1, 2015; Boston, MA, USA; General view outside of the TD Garden prior to a game between the Boston Celtics and Indiana Pacers. Mandatory Credit: Bob DeChiara-USA TODAY Sports

Who doesn’t remember their first Boston Celtics game? For most of us, it’s a twinkle in our distant memory; no matter what else clouds our existence, it stands firm, shining.

My first Celtics game was in the early 2000’s, so long ago I can’t remember the year or any of the Celtics’ players (though it’s safe to assume #34 and #8 were out there). I do remember Shaq and Kobe, who traveled across the country to face their historic rivals. At the time, I knew nothing of this rivalry; all I knew was that I enjoyed watching and surrounding myself with the game.

I must admit, I thought those old Lakers teams were fun at the time (gasp). Shaq would shake the backboard with his thunderous dunks. Kobe could score from anywhere on the court. Simply put, the Lakers put the ball in the basket. And I thought that was what mattered most.

* * *

After a few Celtics games under my belt, I started gathering the skills to play against my dad in one-on-one. He was a high school superstar in his hometown state of Kentucky; I only know this looking through old newspaper clippings, not through any bragging of his own. He almost had the opportunity to play at Davidson (where he played division one football as well), but broke his wrist and never made it back onto the court.

As you could imagine, my dad was, and still is, automatic from anywhere on our court (the driveway). In one-on-one, we would usually play games to 11, and I would try my best to use my shooting ability to hoist up a shot over his outstretched arms. When I didn’t have a stroke of luck, I would usually miss. My dad would get the rebound and back me down before shooting a sweet turnaround over his right shoulder.

Except for rare occasions, he would win our backyard competitions. And I admired him, because he won.

* * *

I went to almost half a dozen Celtics games during the dreadful 2006-07 season; I still have the tickets to prove it. Ryan Gomes was my favorite player after meeting him twice at different basketball camps in the area. The first time I met Gomes, I wore my #4 jersey and had him sign it along with a basketball, a t-shirt, a poster, and a pair of shoes.

We proceeded to play knockout in one of the greatest moments of my life. Gomes threw up bricks on purpose when facing off against all the other kids at the camp, but when he lined up behind me we started talking some casual smack (a term I would learn later). I was too nervous – my shot rimmed off and Gomes swished the free throw. I wasn’t so sad I had lost, maybe because my favorite player had turned out to be a winner.

But Gomes and the rest of the Celtics wouldn’t win much the rest of that year. They would crawl to a putrid 24-58, lose Paul Pierce to injury, and endure numerous trade rumors. No matter what, I loved turning on the TV to watch Gomes play. He was business-like in his approach to the game and he had a solid jump shot, but that wasn’t why I still enjoyed his game. From my experience at the camp, I knew that he loved playing the game of basketball, no matter what the scenario or the score. He loved sinking the jumper to knock me out and he loved losing to a 4-foot girl in the final round. I felt that he also loved playing for the Boston Celtics, against the rival Lakers or against the eventual champion San Antonio Spurs. And I loved watching Gomes and the Celtics, win or lose.

* * *

People ask me which Celtics team is my favorite of all-time, expecting to hear the obvious answer. Who couldn’t love the 2007-08 Boston Celtics, seeing the banner raised to the rafters with tears streaming from Paul Pierce’s eyes, watching Kevin Garnett pump his chest into the crowd, hearing the pure “swish” of the net when Ray Allen sank a three?

I loved the ’08 Celtics, but there are three other Celtics teams which will always hold a place in my fondest memory. Somehow, I found a way to love the ’07 Celtics, as well as the 2010 and 2012 teams. The ladder of these two teams gave me the biggest heartache at the time, but also helped me feel that elusive emotion we call “Celtic Pride.” Those teams fought to the brink of extinction.

Playing .500 ball before the break, then a trip to the NBA Finals.

The six-foot, skinny Rajon Rondo recording triple-doubles.

Marquis Daniels returning to play basketball.

The chants of “Let’s Go Celtics” and the ensuing goosebumps.

These were my favorite Celtics moments of all time, not June 17, 2008 when the Celtics finally brought a banner back to Boston.

Feb 23, 2015; Phoenix, AZ, USA; Detailed view as an official Spalding basketball goes through the hoop and net during the Phoenix Suns game against the Boston Celtics at US Airways Center. Mandatory Credit: Mark J. Rebilas-USA TODAY Sports

* * *

My dad and I don’t play one-on-one anymore; we play around-the-world. He can’t really jump anymore, but he can still stroke a mid-range jumper. Following a leg surgery this summer, I can’t jump much either (although I will be able to soon). Both of us are currently shells of the players we used to be: my dad a state legend and myself an three-point guru in AAU.

Over the past few weeks, my dad and I have played a lot of around-the-world. Now I usually beat him, except on rare occasion.

And I could care less who wins.

The winningest franchise in NBA history taught me that winning isn’t everything. Winning doesn’t matter when playing against Ryan Gomes in knock-out. Winning doesn’t matter when courage and pride brought the depleted 2012 Celtics to within a game of the NBA Finals.

And winning certainly means nothing when I play around-the-world with my dad. The meaningful time we spend together has no final score.

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