Title No. 17 Has A Familiar Smell For Celtics
BOSTON -- Cigar smoke.
The smell was unmistakable, wafting through the air some 15 feet from the Celtics' bench as Paul Pierce joined in on the Gino dance and Kevin Garnett bounded up and down with joy.
There were still two minutes and 21 seconds remaining in a Game 6 that for all intents and purposes had been over for at least an hour, the fans were chanting "Se-ven-teen" and coach Doc Rivers was still a few moments away from being doused with a bucket of orange Gatorade.
Security guards were already lined up along the perimeter of the court, holding a long rope that would serve as a crowd control device for any ruffians who dared try to rush the celebration, and a fan nearby was holding up a sign that read: "Light One Up for Red."
Somebody had already lit one up, though the source of the cigar smoke could not be located. And to me, that was just as well, because I'd like to close this season with just the slightest belief that the source of that smell was a ghost, a ghost with nine championship rings who will be able to rest in peace a little longer knowing that the man chasing ring No. 10, Lakers coach Phil Jackson, would be flying back to Los Angeles without the record for most NBA championships by a coach.
The game itself was extraordinary only for being so anticlimactic. The Lakers showed no urge to fight after Boston's lead grew from four at the end of one quarter to 23 at halftime to 29 at the end of three quarters and to 39 by the end -- making it the most lopsided Finals game since the Chicago Bulls destroyed the Utah Jazz by 42 in Game 3 of the 1998 Finals, and the most lopsided clincher ever.
"I thought we played on our heels from the get-go. They overran us," Jackson said. "Garnett knocked Pau [Gasol] down in the lane and scored an easy basket on one of the first four or five possessions, and it kind of set a tone that they were going to establish an aggressive form, and we never met that energy all night."
For a long time, the Celtics' steals total was keeping pace with the Lakers' field goal total. Rajon Rondo ended up with six of Boston's 18 thefts to go along with his 21 points, eight assists and seven rebounds. Kevin Garnett, Ray Allen and James Posey added three steals apiece, while Paul Pierce had a pair to go along with his 17 points and 10 assists (and the Finals MVP award).
The Celtics' 18 steals were a Finals record, Allen tied a Finals record by making seven 3-pointers (and 22 in the series, also a Finals record), and the championship came in Boston's 26th postseason game -- yet another NBA record. Let's also not forget that the Celtics won this title after making the biggest single-season turnaround ever, going from 24 victories last season(when fans were openly rooting against them, hoping to secure a better lottery pick) to 66 this season following the franchise-altering deals that brought Garnett and Allen aboard.
There was almost a sense of disbelief running through the building as the game got away from the Lakers in the second quarter, the signature stretch coming when Bryant threw away a pass and Garnett scored on a one-handed half-hook shot at the other end, drawing a foul and completing the three-point play to make it 56-35. Kendrick Perkins then blocked a shot at the other end, came downcourt and dunked off a fancy look-away pass from the nether reaches of Garnett's repertoire.
Pierce, Allen and Garnett exited together with 4:01 left, the celebration already in full swing.
"I took a deep breath, looked up and said 'Hey, it finally happened, man,'" Pierce said. "So many things were running though our heads on the sidelines. We were just in awe over there, can't believe what was going on. I still can't believe right now that I've got a championship under my belt."
Every championship looks a little different, and not every title-clinching moment sounds the same.
But what's really different from time to time -- not every year, but often enough for it to strike me anew from time to time in the middle of each June -- is the way a title can assault the one sense you wouldn't expect to be assaulted.
Two years ago in Dallas, the stinky-sweet odor of champagne emanating from the Miami Heat's locker room was so overwhelming it bordered on the repulsive, and that was just from outside the door. Once you got inside, the smell was so noxious you actually felt sorry for the poor cleaning people who were probably going to have to bathe the room in bleach to get rid of the stench and who had to pick up the thousands of small pieces of paper bearing the words "15 Strong."
A year ago in Cleveland it wasn't champagne, it was beer. The visitors from San Antonio were flinging it around the place like it was a frat party, but their celebration was muted enough that you walked away not remembering one snapshot moment, but rather one snapshot smell.
This time, it was the cigar smoke.
And that smell stayed in my nostrils as the clock ticked down to 30 seconds and I made my way down an exit stairwell to the parking lot outside the new Garden, a parking lot that lies in the footprint of the old Garden, where the Celtics' first 16 championship banners were won. In that parking lot stood at least 100 police officers in riot gear, many carrying canisters of tear gas, all holding strips of plastic handcuffs and 4-foot long wooden billy clubs that thankfully they never needed to use.
There were a couple high-fives among the cops as the game ended, but the scene outside remained strangely quiet aside from the noise produced by two helicopters overhead, along with a "Se-ven-teen" chant that eventually went up from the bar patrons who emptied out of the pubs across the street but were kept behind metal barricades on the other side of Causeway Street.
Most of the fans stayed inside to take in the celebration, and the cops ended up not having to push or shove anyone.
The same couldn't be said of referees Bennett Salvatore and Joey Crawford, who were forced to move cameramen and photographers off the court in front of the Celtics' bench with 2:21 remaining in order to clear up a certain corner of the parquet floor where the victory celebration had already begun.
I trailed Pierce as he left the locker room and made the walk to the postgame interview area, the unmistakable scent of champagne emanating from his soaked jersey and cap.
But that's not the smell I'll forever associate this night with.
Instead, it's the smell of a cigar -- the source of which I'll never truly know, even though a part of me will always suspect it came from an area just above the Celtics' end of the court, right where Red Auerbach's spirit was floating.
