The Boston Celtics captured its first NBA Finals berth since before my birth.
Boston’s legendary tradition and history of 16 championships ended back in my father’s college era – a time well before high definition and TiVo.
None of today’s on demand mentality during the 80s, just a keg of beer and a small television of classic Celtics-Lakers.
Tomorrow night marks my generation’s first experience of such great tradition. We’ve grown up as a unique breed as underprivileged and brutally suffering Celtics fans.
For some, the Red Sox and Patriots combined five championships spoiled the New England fan base enough. Sure, I had seen a few parades by the time I finished high school, but deep down, the NBA Finals always lurked and intrigued my native Boston fan hood. (Personally, if the Sox and Pats never won again, but the Celtics continued a dynasty, I would be perfectly content – a drastically different mindset than most Sox bandwagoners.)
And now, it’s finally here. Something I’ve been waiting years to witness firsthand. Rather than spending countless hours on YouTube watching Bird, McHale and Russell, Tuesday night at 9 p.m. will forever lose my basketball relevance virginity.
But no. The front-runner soccer moms must voice their obnoxiously irrelevant take on anything that could ever affect their children.
“Oh my god 9 o’clock that’s way too late!”
Shut the hell up.
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