DATELINE: All Done in June
Not So Smart After All
It was the bottom of the ninth, and the bases were loaded. Oh, wait, it was draft day—and the Celtics had the third pick.
For weeks the media dogs have been baying at the Moon. They knew the gypsy caravan of Danny Ainge was about to steal somebody’s star from under the bridge.
A funny thing happened on the way to the war room.
The Mighty Ainge struck out.
You really cannot predict what teenage prospect of basketball will turn out to be the next Kobe, Bird, or Paul Pierce. You win some, and you lose some. But, the fans expected something big.
They expected to hit the heights, and oh what heights they hit. It was the epitome of discontent—and winter is still six months away.
The charming young chess whiz, Jay-B, or Jaylen Brown promised he would strive for the heights. He might as well have been speaking of Brooklyn Heights. Call this another mysterious light in the night sky.
Celtics fans felt like someone had told them an exoplanet was in the Goldilocks Zone. It was telling them the next banner was light years away.
The highly vaunted picks that Ainge hoarded like gold bullion at Fort Knox turned out to be more like what King Midas was left with after he cried, “Enough!” And, the fans sent a cacophony of boo to greet the messengers.
Who were these picks? You couldn’t trade them for Rajon Rondo and a ticket to the Greta Garbo Film Festival.
The Mighty Ainge has struck out—and waiting for next year is not yet an option. We stuck our thumbs into the pie and found ourselves plumbing the depths.