I first became a fan of the Boston Celtics sometime in the fall of 2018. It happened around that formative age, somewhere between the third and seventh grades, where our affiliations to professional teams settle themselves in the tribal corners of our minds. I became a Celtics fan largely because I wanted to know who these "Kyrie," and "Brown," and "Tatum" people were that everyone kept talking about. It didn't hurt that the town of Acton was Boston-adjacent, and sports is practically the city's national ethos.
That season, I watched as our star-studded roster struggled to mesh and share touches. The nascent stardom of Jayson Tatum and Jaylen Brown clashed against the established ball-dominance of Kyrie Irving and a returning Gordon Hayward. Even as we slogged through a four-loss streak in March, including a defeat against the dismal Charlotte Hornets, I reminded myself that a regular-season record wasn't indicative of everything. We would be ready when the playoffs rolled around, I thought.
That season, Boston never ended up getting their act together, and I watched in total dismay as our team limped to a second-round loss against the Milwaukee Bucks. No matter, I told myself, they would be back.
Indeed, the C's would return again and again. Tatum and Brown always captained the ship, while the pieces around them—star guard Kemba Walker, sharpshooting Malcolm Brogdon, the undersized but tenacious Grant Williams—shifted from year to year. But despite always being Very Very Good, Boston could never seem to break through. They fell to the Miami Heat in the 2020 Eastern Conference Finals, before sinking to a meager 41-41 record in a 2021 season that saw them lose in just five games to the Brooklyn Nets.
There were brief flashes of promise—the Celtics took a two-one series lead against the Golden State Warriors in the 2022 Finals, and a year later, erased a three-game deficit to tie the Eastern Conference Finals against the Heat. But those brightest moments always burned out. The Warriors would go on to win three straight and take home the championship. Miami bloodied Boston in a 19-point Game 7 win.
During this era, my interest in the Celtics waned. Part of it was a shift in attention; after joining the track team in the fall of sophomore year, I slipped further into the realm of distance running. I was no longer fervidly defending Tatum as a ‘legitimate’ superstar, but rather attempting to convince friends that cocky distance-runner Jakob Ingebrigtsen wouldn't choke another 1500m World Championship.
But the other part of it was that it seemed like the C's were trapped in a perpetual state of being VVG. And being merely very good is just about the worst state a team can be in. Year after year, I watched Boston stand on the precipice of greatness, only to stumble into bad shooting nights or injuries in the most critical moments. And slowly, I began to wonder if the Celtics would forever remain like this: a perpetual contender that could never quite break through on the biggest stages.
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One evening in early June, I opened my inbox to the colorful headline CELTICS TAKE 3-0 SERIES LEAD IN FINALS staring back at me. At this point, I hadn't kept up with basketball in nearly a year—I had no clue that the Finals were even airing, much less how the Celtics were doing.
My old allegiance to the team convinced me to catch Game 4. There, I watched hopes for a Celtics sweep fizzle as the Dallas Mavericks took a 13-point lead in the first quarter alone. By the end of the game, the Mavs had thrashed the Celtics in a 39-point blowout. Mavericks superstar Luka Dončić put up 29 points, outscoring Tatum and Brown combined. Once again, it seemed that Boston's stars couldn't get their game together when the lights were the brightest. The series was headed back to Boston for Game 5.
Realistically though, Boston still had everything but momentum swinging in our favor. We had blown the Mavs out in the first two games. And now, the Green and White were headed back to play in front of a rowdy, hungry home crowd. But I was nervous because these were Celtics, after all. I had seen this story go up in smoke too many times before.
Only, these weren't the Celtics. At least not the ones that I had known. They now employed star forward Kristaps Porziņģis, who, when unbothered by frequent injuries, served as a shooting threat, dominant post scorer, and rim protector. Do-it-all veteran Jrue Holiday brought both a suffocating defensive presence and championship experience to the team. Derrick White, a key piece of the 2022 Finals roster, had blossomed into a full grown star.
But more than just boasting the best starting lineup in the league, the Celtics were putting results on paper. They were dominating, posting the league's third-best defensive rating, best offensive rating, and fifth-best point differential of all time. Pulling up their games from the regular season, I watched Tatum flick no-look kick out passes into White threes, watched Holiday pickpocket opposing guards and flick it up to the court to a soaring Brown—only for him to hand the ball off into a Porziņģis. The Celtics cruised to a 64-18 record, seven games better than any other team that season. They were the best team in the league.
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Heading into halftime in Game 5 of the 2024 NBA Finals, Al Horford snagged a missed Luka Doncic free throw and threw an over-the-head pass to Payton Pritchard. TD Garden could only stare, enraptured, as Pritchard's behind-half-court heave arched through the air before splashing into the hoop. It punctuated a 49-point second quarter for the Celtics, and ballooned their lead to 21. There were still 24 minutes to play, but Pritchard's shot put the game away.
Watching that moment felt like catharsis. It felt like coming home.
There are a lot of reasons to watch basketball. For the last-minute buzzer beaters and impossible shots that still swish through the net. For the rivalries, the trash-talking, the heated get-in-your-face games. For the dunks that baptize. But perhaps the most emotionally raw of all of these moments come as the clock-ticks down of an already-decided game, watching your team solidify their place amongst the gods of the game.
It gives us hope that one day, our stories may reach that same chapter.