Boston Celtics hype session, NBA Finals edition

It is time.

I am not president of Boston Celtics Nation, nor am I the judge, jury, and/or executioner. There are a few claimants for those titles, though they boast about as much support as Jean d’Orléans has today for the French throne.

(For those interested, yes, there is literally a guy who claims the right to the French throne in 2024, over 200 years after his great-great-great-great uncle Louis XVI had his head chopped off during the French Revolution. There’s actually four guys who claim the throne, which just proves that European politics is the funniest thing ever.)

That’s because Celtics Nation is unlike the defunct French monarchy. We don’t have any golden palaces or fancy silk robes. We don’t claim our right to succeed from God or from our ancestors. And we certainly don’t have a vast colonial empire making sweet fur trade deals with local inhabita—jeez, now we’re really getting off-topic. No more French Revolution metaphors for the rest of the article, I promise.

What were we talking about? Oh yeah, it’s time. It’s actually time for the 2024 NBA Finals, in which the Celtics will be pitted against the Dallas Mavericks, the NBA equivalent of Maximilian Robespie—whoops, sorry. They’re the Mavericks. They’re a really good basketball team.

I am positively giddy for this series to start. It isn’t just the culmination of a playoff run, season, or even everyone’s-favorite-cliché “everything since the final buzzer sounded in Game 7 of the 2023 Eastern Conference Finals.” Okay, maybe that’s not everyone’s favorite cliché, but it’s none of those things.

This is actually the culmination of everything since the final buzzer sounded in Game 7 of the 2022 Eastern Conference Finals. I know, you’re probably like “hey smart guy, the Celtics won that game and played six Finals games after that, so how on earth is that the cutoff point for the era leading up to this series?”

Well, I’ll tell you. When the Celtics advanced to the 2022 NBA Finals, I remarked to my sister sitting next to me at the time, “we did it! We actually did it!” The Celtics had finally advanced past the third round for the first time in what felt like my entire life, and for all intents and purposes, it was my entire life because I was seven years old the last time they did it.

Mentally, the goal was to get over the hump, break through the ceiling and reach new heights with this group. As soon as that buzzer sounded, they did just that.

Some would say the goal was always to win the Finals, but let’s be honest with ourselves. Until that buzzer sounded, nothing was truly “championship or bust.” We all needed evidence that the Celtics could actually win the East before locking in for the all-or-nothing chase that has come to define the past two years.

Weirdly, that exclamation that “we did it!” was the downfall of that season, and it would be the downfall of the next. When Derrick White saved the Celtics in Game 6 against Miami with his legendary put back, the Celtics players and myself celebrated as if we had just won the Finals. The players were emotional wrecks after the game, unable to say the customary “the job’s not finished,” locked instead in speechless bliss.

It was glorious, but a karmic red flag. The true disaster of the Celtics’ 3-0 deficit was how it killed their hope of winning a championship. Taking their eyes off the prize may have helped them battle back, but Game 7 saw a stressed out team completely unprepared for anything to go wrong.

To be a champion, you have to minimize or altogether eliminate these moral victories. Winning the NBA Finals demands unwavering focus and an almost sociopathic determination. If I was prepared to say “we did it!” after anything less than ultimate victory, it showed Celtics Nation wasn’t ready… yet.

Celtics Nation isn’t an absolute monar… (remembers ban on French Revolution metaphors)—Celtics Nation isn’t a single thing. We’re a multi-leveled organism with synapses firing in every direction. A lot can come from very little, and both the endless downward spirals and euphoric optimism comes with the territory.

But I haven’t heard a single person say “we did it!” yet.

(Side note: in an attempt to not purger myself, I made sure I didn’t text “we did it!” to any of my friends or family at any point during the Celtics’ playoff run… and it is with great sadness that I report that I texted “we actually did it!” to my friend Graham after the Celtics swept the Indiana Pacers. IN MY DEFENSE, I was referring to the Celtics sweeping the Pacers—as I wrote a column predicting such an outcome—not celebrating the Celtics’ conference finals win. In any case, I’m not super proud of this.)

Because we haven’t done it. We haven’t done anything yet, and this team understands it. There haven’t been any moral victories or mass releases of stress from all our bodies. The stress is palpable (cliché #1) you can cut it with a knife (cliché #2), and a rising tide lifts all boats (cliché #3, but what does that last one have to do with anything?).

Great, I’m so stressed about this series that I’m failing to properly organize my clichés. I’ve made more French Revolution metaphors than actual revolutionaries, and I’m starting to wonder if the restoration of the monarchy isn’t the worst idea. I’m a mess, and this ten-day break has wreaked havoc on my central nervous system. I need the Celtics to play some basketball before I—before I start freaking out. Guys, I think I’m freaking ou… (hyperventilates)

(Angel in a Jayson Tatum jersey descends from heaven)

“Breathe. Let your fears be shouldered by the rest of Celtics Nation, ensuring that none will face the terrors of championship anxiety alone. Allow yourself to relax and enjoy this peaceful calm before the storm.”

I guess you’re right, Jayson Tatum Angel. This may be the last time for a while we get to wonder what the future will hold for this team, so I’m going to try to enjoy these final few hours of meditative anticipation. Hopefully, we can all walk away from tonight’s game as happy as a lamb, and not running in fear like an unfortunate nobleman in Paris during the Mavericks’ Reign of Terro—I did it again, didn’t I?