Paul Revered: A Show of My Full Appreciation for Boston's Paul Pierce

(Photo by Sam Greenwood/Getty Images)

Remember a few years back, when Ron Artest was playing for the Indiana Pacers and he pulled Paul Pierce's shorts down in an effort to subdue his scoring prowess? Well, if you do in fact remember that, you should also remember that it didn't work.

Pierce came off a screen, received the ball at the top of the key, went left, pulled up, and buried a three-pointer with Artest right in his face.

It's been an unmatched work ethic, a prodigious set of skills, and blood icier than the Alaskan tundra that has made Pierce the greatest player I have ever seen play the game of basketball.

I missed out on John Havlicek and Dave Cowens and Larry Bird, but I take a deep sense of satisfaction that I can one day tell the young people of tomorrow that I was fortunate enough to watch Pierce, night in and night out.

82 games. 82 nights.

I'd be blessed to see more than just 82 games. But sometimes, the playoffs aren't always in the cards for Pierce.

Slowly yet surely, I've arrived at the stunning realization that the majority of Pierce's career is now behind him. It's a sickening thought and one that I try to abolish to the far reaches of my mind, to a place where I can no longer access it.

Unfortunately, I'm losing such a battle. For no matter how much I try to suppress it, it's there nonetheless.

There is some good news which corresponds with this. It makes the upcoming season that much more special for me.

Now that I can freely acknowledge that Pierce's best days are arguably occurring, I can appreciate them that much more. And that is my goal.

I will watch the 2009-2010 NBA season with a steadfast hunger that has never quite enveloped me before. I want to soak up every single second Pierce is on the floor, and marvel at the subtle nuances with which he graces the game.

Whether it's the inside-out dribble followed by a quick pull up, or the aggressive spin in the lane leading to an "And 1," or the patience of waiting just above the three-point line, in a tie game, until the clock reads five seconds and he makes his move.

Call me a sponge. Because I'm soaking up every bit of it.

Now, this is by no means Pierce's last season. He turns 32 October 13. Unfortunately, 32 in basketball years makes him roughly 67.

Realistically, with him becoming wiser as the seasons roll on and the advancements in treatments for even the most basic of basketball-related aches and pains, Pierce has another five legitimate seasons left in him.

If you seek any further proof, look at Ray Allen, who, at 34, is coming off one of his best statistical seasons ever. Or even Michael Jordan, who won the majority of his championships after he reached the dreaded 30-year plateau.

By all accounts, Pierce is still a young man, learning the ins and outs of fatherhood and soon (one would assume) husbandry. He can still spring and leap and defend with the best of them.

Yet, as one grows closer to the end, I suppose it's only appropriate to contemplate the beginning. It's simply human nature, if nothing else. All good things must come to an end, or so they say. But as I mature myself, what will I do when it's finally time for Pierce to hang it up for good?

Because no matter how many NBA basketball games I watch, or how many players I witness or dunks I see or buzzer beaters I endure, there will never, ever be another Paul Pierce.

And that thought scares me.

For it was Pierce who opened my eyes to the world of basketball. While I lacked the height and natural ability to make something of myself in the sport, it's one that still captivates me and has had a profound effect on my life.

Up until last year, I played the game nearly every day in my driveway. I shoveled the snow out of the way in the winter and subjected myself to the blazing heat in the summer; all the while practicing the Pierce-like pull-ups and spin moves around invisible defenders.

As much as I appreciate Kevin Garnett's tenacity and Ray Allen's smoothness, as well as Rajon Rondo's Rondo-ness, it's been Pierce who has defined me as a Celtics fan.

No matter how often they lost or how grizzly the losing effort was, I would tune in the following game to witness Pierce go at it again. No matter whom else he played with or what little talent surrounded him, I knew he was bringing it each and every night.

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