But the fact is I've been around for far longer than Kevin Garnett.
I watched more than 30 games in their entirety on TV last season, first to see the Celtics angle for position in the Greg Oden/Kevin Durant sweepstakes and second to see which young star would put up 20 points alongside Paul Pierce.
The Ray Allen trade and the KG Seven-for-One megadeal have finally shed light on Danny Ainge's mysterious rebuilding plan. Years of collecting young players and overpaid bargaining chips are about to pay significant dividends for a once-proud organization.
After a series of perplexing and at times irrational moves, Boston fans finally have a team to call their own.
My problem, though, is that casual fans in New England and around the country are calling the Celtics their "own" in the wake of the Garnett deal—and I don't like it.
At Fenway Park last week, a mere 72 hours after the trade was finalized, I saw no less than a dozen Kevin Garnett Timberwolves jerseys that had been rescued from the darkest corners of people's closets.
An acquaintance of mine contacted me earlier this week to deliver the message that "Kevin Garnett is my freakin' favorite player ever times freakin' 100,000,000!"
Grammatical difficulties aside, the two developments riled me to the point of epiphany:
Massachusetts natives are nothing but sports bandwagon-hoppers.
Boston fans are widely regarded for their fiery passion and expansive knowledge. I'm certain, however, that I'm rightfully cynical about this recent display of "Green Pride."
Last season, Celtics diehards were few and far between. The sudden resurgence of support is strangely reminiscent of situations surrounding other Boston-area teams.
Before 2001, Foxboro Stadium was a graveyard. Only the most devoted fan would show up to sit on subfreezing metal benches eight times a season, knowing that the odds were stacked against his beloved Patriots.
Following three Super Bowl championships in five years, though, support for the Patriots is at an all-time high, with every game at the newly-constructed Gillette Stadium sold out well in advance.
My father and grandfather never fail to remind of the 60s and 70s, when the Pats were so bad they'd get blacked-out on local TV. Old-time fans were certainly a far cry from today's fair-weather faithful.
The Red Sox, meanwhile, attracted their own flock of fake fans during their playoff runs in 2003 and 2004. Women in pink hats and men in newly-purchased jerseys came out of the woodwork claiming to be the pulse of "Red Sox Nation"—but couldn't have named the team's fourth outfielder had their lives depended on it.
Living in a game-to-game, season-to-season, what-have-you-done- for-me-lately world, such posers contaminate what's otherwise the most loyal and dedicated fanbase in the country.
They do, however, get their message out: As long as management puts together a winner, a Boston team can always count on fan support.
Now if only the Bruins could manage back-to-back wins this season...they'd have fans from all corners of New England flocking to the Garden and pledging their allegiance to the Black-and-Gold.
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