The Celtics, My Dad, and Learning to Enjoy the End
Memory is a weird thing. I hadn’t thought about the time I brought my dad to a Celtics game in 2010 for close to a decade. It was, until recently, a fairly benign event. Recent events infused that memory with a lot more meaning than it once had. On June 8th, I went to Game 3 of the NBA finals with my guy from the Celtics Reddit Podcast, Ben. Ben and I “explored’ Boston for a solid workday leading up to the game. With the benefit of hindsight, I can tell you that the apex of the experience, and possibly my life, was the walk into the Garden an hour before tipoff. Do you know the anticipatory buzz at a concert when the lights dim right before the headliner gets on stage? It was like that for an entire city block. Someone, or perhaps several people, were banging on war drums on a balcony overhanging the entrance. Random “Let’s Go Celtics” chants started, sputtered to death, and started anew. I turned to Ben and simply said “we can’t lose.” The atmosphere was that electric.
As I took the new escalator up to the Garden that day, and in spite of the fact I was with a strange Australian man, I couldn’t help but think about my dad. Memories of our trip in 2010 flooded my thoughts. I’ve been to many games at the Garden. I’ve been to one with my dad. All of the sudden I was back in the underbelly of North Station. A diminutive 5’3” 120 pound man stands next to me with dirty jeans, a red sox t-shirt, and a baseball cap. That’s my dad, Jimmy. He turns to me and asks if we are in the right place. If you never experienced the Garden pre-renovation, you might think that’s a weird question. At the time, it wasn’t. It was easier to catch the commuter rail to Leominster than it was to find the court back then. It was much more train station than it was NBA arena.
This was the last season of true relevance for the Big 3, a fact he didn’t, and never would, care about. The man loved the Red Sox and only rarely acknowledged the Celtics’ existence. I bought him tickets for his birthday that August with a promise that I’d get him to love the Celtics by the end of the game. That mission failed. You see, my dad’s reality orbited around one fundamental axiom: spend as much time on your boat on Lake Winnipesaukee as possible. Every decision he made in life was ultimately a means to that end. Not caring about a sport that occurs decidedly outside of boat season was one symptom. How can you focus on basketball when December and January are prime boat accessory buying season? Baseball on the other hand, is easily accessible on said boat via the radio. It was his favorite.
Anyway, back to the game. I remember almost nothing except we sat in one of the first handful of rows in the balcony. There was also a nice 30 something guy behind us that chatted with us throughout the game. He did judge us for leaving RIGHT before Gino time started, and playfully admonished me for not having my dad witness Gino in all his glory. My dad hated traffic much more than he cared about Gino time. As Darth Vader might say, “let the hate guide you, or something.” So we missed Gino, but did manage to beat the traffic, and thank God for that because I was driving. It was commonplace for me to drive when he and I did something together, a rare occurrence in and of itself. The irony of having your 22 year old son drive his mid-50s father home from a basketball game was not lost on me. It also wasn’t lost on my dad, but that’s only because you have to acknowledge and understand something exists before you can lose it.
The reason I was forced to drive was simple. My dad was an alcoholic. Not in a “this guy is the life of the party” way. In a “this is fundamentally altering our family life for the worse” way. It’s hard to bond and create memories with someone who doesn’t remember what occurred after 5 PM for the last 20 years. I wish that were an exaggeration. I have 20-year-old memories of being called pizza face during dinner while my family sat uncomfortably around the table. Alcohol is an emotional tranquilizer. Those experiences didn’t exist for him, but they still hang over me.
Some scars never heal, but they don’t have to define you. It was with this mindset that I wanted to craft some memorable experiences of my own, with my father, even if they wouldn’t stick with him. I knew, even then, that he wouldn’t be around forever, and I was determined to shift my perception of him for my own good. I’m sure he wanted those memories too, even if his disease robbed him of the ability to actually create them. Which brings us to why I forced him to attend a Celtics game with me.
I did manage to create a lasting memory with him from that game. It occurred in between the 1st and 2nd quarter. My dad, a smoker, asked me “where you can smoke around here.” I had already informed him that there’s no smoking lounge, which he understood. He meant “where do you smoke without getting kicked out.” I gave him the skinny on the stairwell. The smoking crew always walked to the bottom of the stairwell in-between quarters and choked down a cigarette as fast as they could before security arrived. “Nah, I’m just going to smoke one in the bathroom.” I had expected the resistance to walking all the way down from the balcony to the bottom of the stairwell. If there’s one thing he hated more than traffic, it was stairs. I hadn’t expected the braggadocios exclamation that he was going to get away with toking one down in the bathroom. My father was an engineer and he put his schooling to work. He explained his fool proof plan as such.
1. Go into a stall and make like you’re… going number two. No one with bother you.
2. Light up the cig and blow all the smoke into the bowl itself.
3. As the smoke collects, flush. The water rushing down the poo hole will suck the smoke-filled air down in with it. Science bitch.
4. Repeat 5 to 7 times until cigarette is complete.
5. Walk out like someone else is smoking and you’re trying to figure out who.
I followed him into the bathroom and urinated. I smelled cigarette smoke before I had my fly unzipped. I must hand it to the man though. Despite clearly SMELLING cig, you couldn’t really tell which stall it was coming from. I walked to the sink to wash my hands. The man next to me said the following: “Is someone fucking smoking in here?” I responded simply: “What a fucking madman.” I wasn’t wrong. He did this 3 more times before we left.
When we finally snuck out right before Gino time, I had to help him up and down the stairs because he was too intoxicated to navigate stairs. Unfortunately, that part of the memory will stick with me forever too. In spite of that blemish, I still laugh thinking about his toilet flushing for a third time as I left the bathroom. He slept on the ride home. We would never step foot in TD Garden together again.
….
It’s November 2, 2021. The Celtics are 2–5, the worst winning percentage they would have all season. I’m in my office lamenting the Celtics blowing a 19 point lead to Chicago the night before. “Can’t believe I stayed up for that bullshit” I whisper under my breath while totally paying attention to a Zoom meeting. I get a call from my mom and don’t pick up. She calls again and my stomach drops. Two in a row is never a good sign. I pick this one up. “Your father isn’t doing well, an ambulance picked him up and he’s on his way to the hospital.” The worst call I’ve received in my life up to that point.
It wasn’t completely unexpected though. In the 10 years since we attended that game together his health had deteriorated significantly. It turns out collecting about 70% of your caloric intake from alcohol isn’t good for your body. I drive home quickly from the office and start packing a bag. My mom calls again. I know what’s coming. He’s gone…… it’s over…. Alcoholism claims another victim. I collapse at the top of my steps with my packed bag crashing next to me. Suddenly, the Celtics being 2–5 doesn’t seem like such a big deal.
The worst call I have received in my life.
Here’s the crazy part, it was sad, I was in pain and still am. Ultimately, though, I’m at peace with where he and I were, in large part thanks to what I started with that Celtics game. Once I realized it doesn’t take both of us to make memories, that I don’t need to change him and that I don’t need to fight him over the drinking (which my family and I did, many, many times), I got to truly enjoy the time I had left with him. I made many more memories with him after that game. He got to see me get married and meet my son. I got to hang out with him on Lake Winnipesaukee for a decade worth of summers after that. We fought for him to beat his disease, but unfortunately not every fight is winnable no matter how hard you try.
The memory of my dad and the 2021–22 Celtics will be inexorably linked for the rest of my life. That’s the season my dad died, it’s also the season I went to the NBA Finals in person. It’s more than likely I will never have that opportunity again. Walking into the Garden before Game 3 is one of the most memorable experiences of my life, so is receiving that phone call from my mom on November 2nd. I can still feel the bass of the war drums echoing in my chest when I think about it. I can still hear her voice tell me he’s gone.
My dad passed away the day after one of the worst losses of the season. When you suffer a loss like that (dad not the Celtics, although it was a really bad loss), you are grasping for just about anything to take your mind off it. For me, like it’s been for my entire life, I turned to basketball. I realized, if the Cs win, that shit rules, but just getting 2 hours to distract yourself from reality, even in a loss, is sometimes all you need. Grief’s specter weighs heavily in the days after a loved one passes. The Celtics helped me bear that burden. Death can put things in perspective, so this Celtics season I decided to go along for the ride even if it was headed straight for the play in game. As we all know, that ride went much, much higher than that. I was in the building for what ended up being the highest point for the Celtics in over a decade, and I know my dad would have been enjoyed it, just because he knew I was happy. Even though they lost in the Finals, this was my favorite season yet. At least until next year. Go Cs.
