The Boston Celtics Won a Title and All I Got Were These Two Tickets I Can't Use

There they are, sitting on my desk: Boston Celtics vs. Western Conference Champion, Round 4 Game 4. Section 9, Row 18, Seats 1 and 2.

As I watched the final seconds tick down and the Celtics begin celebrating their NBA title, two feelings came over me. First, there was the sheer excitement of a Boston team winning another title and the manner in which they did it. Second, the complete and utter disappointment of knowing I have two tickets to a game that never happened.

That’s right. I have two tickets to game seven of the NBA finals.

Before the series started, I was given the opportunity to get tickets to one game through a program that I’m a part of. By the time I could make a selection, all that remained was game seven.

I figured, no big deal. The way the Celtics had played the entire postseason, I assumed that a game seven was almost a given. Every analyst out there, whether picking Boston or Los Angeles, predicted a seven-game series. It was going to be a classic. And I was going to be there.

As it all unfolded, nothing really swayed me. The Celtics' game one win added up, because that’s what they do at home. Game two looked like it would be stolen by the Lakers, but again, the Celtics held serve.

Heading to L.A., I knew it was very likely Boston would take one of the games, but I wasn’t convinced. Then game three happened. Even with some of the most atrocious officiating of the playoffs, the Celtics made it a game and had a chance to steal it. I knew that this was trouble.

We all saw the comeback in game four and even how well they played in game five. Still, a 3-2 edge coming back to Boston was what I assumed. But nothing prepared me for last night.

I was torn all day. How do you balance wanting your team to win a title with your own selfish desires to see them do it two nights later? In reality, you can’t. You can tell yourself that you want it to go seven, but any self-respecting fan wants to see his team win.

I told myself, I’d rather have them win in six than witness a loss in game seven. That would be far worse.

When Bennett Salvatore, Joey Crawford, and Ed Rush came out as the officials, though, I thought there was a shot. The Lakers even teased me a bit, with Kobe coming out red-hot and the Lakers going toe-to-toe with Boston for the first quarter.

Then something happened. I have no idea what. I don’t know if someone said something about Kevin Garnett’s mother, or someone called Paul Pierce’s fiancée fat, or Red Auerbach felt it was time to lend a hand. Whatever happened, though, the Lakers seemed to forget that the game was 48 minutes long.

Bryant disappeared. Gasol spent more time on the ground than defending anyone. Sasha Vujacic looked like a scared school girl. And the Celtics took over.

I could feel it start slipping away. I was thrilled with every positive play, even as a part of me was hoping for some mini-Laker run to at least make this a game and give me even a false sense of hope.

That didn’t come before halftime. With the lead at 18, I looked at my tickets and knew they would never be used.

Sure, there was another half to play, but the Lakers and Celtics had played seven times already and the Celtics had won the third quarter in six of those meetings. Last night was no exception.

They came out strong, quick, and setting the tempo. I felt ready to throw up. It took Lamar Odom 44 minutes to show any emotion. Kobe Bryant couldn’t get free and Trevor Ariza must have done something wrong to not get into the game until the fourth quarter.

As the lead swelled to 43, I reconciled myself to the reality that this was how it was meant to be. This is the way the Celtics needed to win it. On June 17, in their 117th game, they won their 17th NBA title.

Like any fan, I wanted to be there and witness this history. But I wouldn’t trade today’s Boston Globe cover for any selfish reasons or any chance at watching the Lakers win their 15th title on the Celtics’ floor.

Besides, I probably have one of the coolest souvenirs you could ask for—two tickets to a game that never really happened.

I wonder if this is how those kids in Africa feel when they get the t-shirts from the NFL Super Bowl losers.