Dear Boston Celtics...Say Hello to Karma

Dear Boston Celtics,

The NBA Draft Lottery, which took place on Tuesday night, received so much attention that I almost forgot the Conference Finals were going on. 

Then again, can you blame me?  It's not like Utah vs. San Antonio and Cleveland vs. Detroit are going to go down in the annals of NBA history.  In fact, if there was some way to fast forward to the inevitable Pistons-Spurs Finals matchup, I would. 

In the meantime, Celtics, I'll keep myself entertained by basking in the glorious disaster that was your lottery experience. 

  

The ping pong balls lost you Tim Duncan in 1997, you reasoned. There was no way they could screw you again. 

So, with fingers crossed, you watched and hoped and prayed.  Not to God, but to Red Auerbach—who was no doubt keeping an eye out from above (probably with Dennis Johnson by his side) and getting ready to light the first celestial victory cigar of the new Boston Celtics dynasty. 

And that's when it happened. 

That, Celtics, is when things went wrong.  That's when the funny looking bald guy—a.k.a. NBA Deputy Commissioner Adam Silver—opened the big square envelope that sealed your fate. 

As it turns out, you guys won't be picking first or second in this year's draft, despite having a 38.7 percent chance at the top two slots.  Hell, you won't even be picking third or fourth...you'll be picking fifth—which is kind of appropriate, since you did manage to finish fifth in the lackluster Atlantic Division this season.

Thanks to the saturation media coverage, there was no shortage of video showing your anguish.  Or your fans' anguish.  I could joyfully read the looks on the faces of Celtic Nation: "Now what?"  Gone was the chance at Oden or Durant.  Gone was the chance to save the franchise.  Gone was the future of the Boston Celtics.  

Perhaps enjoying the suffering of others makes me a bad person.  But I couldn't help myself.  I felt warm and tingly inside.  I still do.  Maybe it's because I've never liked the Celtics.  Or maybe it's because, for a fleeting moment, I actually believed in karmic justice. 

Danny Ainge's long record of questionable—sometimes horrific—front office moves would not be rewarded. 

It would be punished. 

Doc Rivers' coaching ability, or lack thereof, would not be rewarded. 

It would be punished. 

Best of all, the shameless, blatant, egregious tank job you pulled down the stretch this season would not be rewarded. 

It would be punished.     

Save your breath—I don't want to hear about how Rivers' fourth-quarter substitutions were born of a desire to give young players more game experience.  That's crap.  And since the sin against the basketball gods has already been avenged, you can admit it to yourself: It was crap.  You sold your soul for a shot at greatness...and it came back and bit you on the ass. 

That, Celtics, is karma.

Wherever Red Auerbach is right now, I know one thing—he's not smiling. 

 

But at least one of us is.

 

 

See you in next year's lottery,

 

Dave