Cut down the Nets

I've had 24 hours now for my vocal chords and heartrate to recover from Game 3. The Celtics ripped the Nets' hearts out and served them back raw on a plate. But the NBA being what it is, they have to do it all over again tomorrow night.

Some short observations from the Jungle:

I raced over to the Fleet from work and got to North Station at 5:10 (the scheduled start time was 5:30). Unfortunately, they've instituted some new "security measures" (basically, all that means is a halfhearted wave of a metal-detector wand at your crotch) and that threw the whole turnstile area into turmoil. We all had to wait at the escalators for 10 minutes (thanks for the explanation, guys!) and even racing up the steps -- why do people treat escalators like "It's A Small World" at Disneyworld? There's nothing to see folks! Walk and ride! -- I still missed the first minute or so of action. Love it live, indeed. Arrrrrrgh.

The C's in the first half conjured up memories of the bleakest days of the Pitino era. No continuity on offense. No guys running around without the ball. No one getting underneath for offensive boards. With one exception. Antoine Walker. This kid's had some ups and downs, but the miracle comeback was only possible because Antoine singlehandedly kept the Celtics from imploding the first 36 minutes. And after the game, I saw news clips of a timeout where Antoine just ripped into his teammates, screaming at them to try harder and play smart. Well, it worked. We all owe ya, #8.

The crowd at the Jungle...just amazing. Again. Every time the Celtics made another chip in the lead, I thought "This place can't get any louder!" But it did. Over and over again. Then they showed Red, Cousy, and JoJo on the Jumbotron. Then they showed the Red Sox whooping it up in their luxury box (more on this in a second). Then they showed the clip from Braveheart that launches the Celtics' playoff theme song by Guns 'n Roses. And we all found it deep within ourselves to yell a little louder. What an experience.

Postgame: walking down the tunnels, exiting the building, walking out in the streets. Strangers were slapping high-fives, chanting "Beat LA", looking at each other with big goofy grins and shaking their heads. We all knew this team was remarkable...but this was beyond anything.

The Red Sox. God bless 'em. During timeouts, they kept showing Derek Lowe, Brian Daubach, and others (I couldn't make out too many faces) drinking Cokes (I think) in the luxury boxes and dancing. Cheering. You have to be in Boston this year to understand just how magical things are right now. We've seen Patriots -- Ty Law, Willie McGinest, Lawyer Milloy -- at Celtics games all this year. Bob Kraft was in the front row for the Philly series. Bill Belichick's going to be there tomorrow. Nomar was three rows in front of me at a Pacers game last season. Guys on all the local teams are pulling for each other. This is unprecedented. This is amazing. Compare that to the Finals, when you'll see local quasicelebrities like Damon and Affleck, Steve Tyler, and (gulp) Celtics owner Paul Gaston in crowd shots, and you'll hear something along the lines of "everyone in Boston has Celtics fever!" Well, yeah, but some of us didn't just get it last week. I was at the Miami game and the Atlanta game and the Golden State game this year. None of those people were.

But you know what? Who cares? Unless the Nets have incredible resiliance and confidence (hint: they don't), I'll be at a Finals game in two weeks. The Celtics and Lakers will be back in the Finals. Beside that, everything else looks just trivial.