We used to walk a LOT.

The school we both attended rested all the way atop the hill on Trapelo Road, and the closest thing to it was a Papa Gino’s about a mile or so down the road.

I hate Papa Gino’s.

The old Wal-Lex roller skating rink was 3 or 4 miles away, so everyone who was fortunate enough to have a reliable mode of transportation had their parent’s take them there. Some kids would go to the water park about a ten minute drive away, some would go play pickle on in a neighborhood that was too far for us to walk, and some had parents who would even drive them all the way across town to the movie theater.

Not us.

We had our own two feet, the clothes on our backs, and whatever we could carry with us. From first thing in the morning until the sun first touched the horizon to create an orange New England summer night, we were on our own. This is not a fault to our parents. His father was a limousine driver with odd hours and his mother worked all day and night. My mother was a school teacher who also worked night school and tutored just to GIVE me the shoes on my feet.

Without the means of travel, and without really any supervision, we usually kept ourselves out of trouble by spending all of our time in one place. That place was the local park, fully equipped with older kids, ice cream trucks, and of course, the oldest and most respected blacktop in the entire city.

We were way too young to hop into those pickup games, but we used to always come ready. We would each carry with us a basketball wherever we went. Mine, the old NeverFlat Paul Pierce Classic, his a Boston Celtics old horrible rubber basketball that he won at the school carnival. When the game would go to one end of the court we would sprint on the opposite end and see who could make a shot first…

I guess you could say it started there…

Everyone has their own story similar to this one. When they grew up and fell in love with a sports franchise. That is what makes being able to blog and share opinions with others so truly special. We get to see and hear from people where they fell in love with the same franchise. To root together for the team you love with those around you is a special bond you form with someone. The arena’s and stadiums these teams play in serve as a place of congregation for like-minded fanatics.

When the Celtics are relevant, the entire city takes on a new light. The courts I grew up on become crowded, kids wear the generic jersey’s their parents bought for them, and young players idolize hometown heroes instead of worldwide celebrities.

This year’s Celtics crop is poised for a run at a high playoff seed, and I believe home court advantage in the first round of the playoffs is a totally achievable goal. They are continuing the improvement of young back court talent when re-bolstering the front court with instant impact players.

There are children just like us, who are growing up with this years Boston Celtics team. We have a chance at something special in the near future, and you can feel the change happening within the city whenever you go by the Garden.

It really does take us back…

When the sun started to finally descend past the point where our parents’ were starting to get nervous, we would begin our walk to his house. He had his own hoop in his driveway, so we could finally put up our own shots without the bigger guys starting to yell at us. He was much better than I was, so I used to marvel at his ability to hit the outside shot when I barely had the arm strength to reach the 8 foot hoop. I was sure he was going to be a pro someday. That my best friend would be able to wear that Boston Celtics jersey. We wanted nothing more than to be our own heroes.

We would play until my mother got there, which usually only took a half hour. In that small amount of time, however, we were Paul Pierce, we were Antoine Walker, and we were Walter McCarty.

We were Dana Barros, Tony Battie, Kenny Anderson.

We were best friends and we were the Boston Celtics.

Love is a strong word, but powerful when used fleeting and correctly. Love is not something you anticipate, plan, or resist. It is something that comes from deep down inside you and cements itself in your heart as time goes by.

It is formed by hours of the ball pounding on the driveway, each time deepening the longing for success.

It is formed by every moment of laughter you share with those who mean the most to you.

It is formed by the Boston Celtics players you pretended to be everyday, all showing up for the Make-A-Wish Foundation just weeks before it got really tough.

It does not go away when cancer first comes. It does not go away when you skip the park and just go to his house because there is no story that does not have a “we” in it. It most certainly does not go away when the deep red New England night turns to dark, and you are left shooting hoops without any light on.

We all have a story, each one worth telling, about what the Boston Celtics mean to us. Take some time today to think about the reason you fell in love. I know I will.

This Post Dedicated to the Memory of Raffi Boyadjian Jr. (1991-200) 14 Years Ago Today