Sports

NBA MVP? guess again

Shaquille O’Neal. Kareem. Magic Johnson. Larry Bird. Michael Jordan. MVP’s list of hardware winners includes only those who have brought their game and their team to the top many times. The holy grail of personal honors, earned through canvas, perseverance, and leadership. This season, one will rise up to achieve what the rest of the NBA yearns for.

Those in line are anxious. Stars who feel that the time has come to shine more than their counterparts. LeBron James, with long strides befitting his 6’8″ frame, has an early leap on the field. He carries his team on his sculpted shoulders for another season.

As he matured into the team leader Ohio faithfully prayed for when he emerged, King James did, of St. Vincent-St. Mary High School, the pride and joy of Akron. What is that you say? Isn’t it LeBron’s year? That seems fine to me. His hour is drawing near. Strong dose of competition for the MVP, that is understood.

So it has to be The Big Ticket. Pummeled all the way to Boston by way of Minnesota, Celtics fans couldn’t trust their Irish eyes as the Boston papers yelled that Kevin Garnett would likely be wearing green and white for the rest of his career. Great season for the great man so far. The best player of the best team in the league. Leadership plus…. Doesn’t it happen to KG? Boy, who’s having the year to beat Garnett?

Is it a skinny whiteguard that takes home the prize? Oh, of course. Nash is a great choice. Little Stevie Wonder, Phoenix’s floor general, with his sights set on a title, dazzling assists and as selfless as possible. Neither did Nash? The Arizona sun must be reaching your head, you say. The list of skinny white guys as MVPs starts and ends with Nash. If not Nash, then who?

Heading back east, our NBA MVP quest finds us meandering through Haymarket and Freedom Trail, heading to the Boston Celtics practice. The shooting has begun as the rays of morning light slide across the beige court. Kevin Garnett notices that someone has entered the equipment space. Bald head shoots up, Garnett is wielding an orange and black Spalding in his gigantic right hand. Beads of moisture fall to the shiny strips of parquet from his chin like a New England autumn drizzle.

He starts to move slowly in my direction, maybe two or three steps, then stops. His teammates have left their dribbles, their shots, their morning chores. The team stares at their new leader, who seems to have been there for years.

Garnett glows for a moment, fire in his eyes, beads burning from deep within. He nods slightly, turning slowly towards his teammates. “Work to do,” Garnett says to no one in particular, but everyone listens…and listens. The sound of Spaldings hitting the board again begins to echo through the gym. Paul Pierce dribbles left-handed twice, flips the ball to the right, and pulls out a jumper from the key as I slowly walk out of the room.

I take the elevator up to the team’s executive offices. A beautiful redhead greets me at the reception. Her curly hair falls smoothly to the middle of her back, her attractive legs wrapped around each other, clearly visible through the expensive glass desk. I tell you who I’m here to see. She smiles knowingly and points a well-manicured fingernail toward the corner office, where he’s waiting for me to arrive.

Home of the Boston Celtics. Moving through the pile of green carpeting, I pass the smaller, windowed offices where the business of running an NBA team is done. Finally, I get to his office. Standing there saying good morning to me, 6’4 and still close to his playing weight of 175 pounds, he is the NBA MVP not only for this season, but for years to come. The memory of his career .220 batting average is a dim memory of a former sporting life.

Once the forgotten man in a hall of fame started five, the only way he was said to get into Springfield as a player is to reach into his pocket, pull out his wallet, and shell out the admission fee. Don’t you think Danny Ainge is still a player in the NBA?

It was Ainge, as Boston’s Executive Director of Basketball Operations and General Manager, fighting through traffic, calling for the ball against the 28-GM defense in the Kevin Garnett draft. 29 if you count the last line of defense, Ainge’s old Boston teammate Kevin McHale, who concluded negotiations with Ainge when Minnesota parted ways with the best player the team has ever had.

That shot, perhaps a season winner, brought instant karma to the Celtics in what was a streak of Irish bad luck that spanned nearly two decades. This team is now stamped with his signature next to the shamrock.