The bane of every Bostonian. Quote, Bill Simmons:
Jermaine finished his Celtics career as the team’s least popular player, internally, since Vin Baker. The general feeling is, “He stole money from us.” Just dumping O’Neal from the trainer’s room so the players didn’t have to disgustedly look at him anymore and wonder things like, “Wait a second, isn’t his LEFT wrist the wrist that’s hurt? He can’t play with that? Isn’t he right-handed? He’s really that big of a pussy?” was probably worth a few extra wins already. It’s hard to understand why one of the league’s most thoughtful players — a real warrior once upon a time — felt good about finishing his career with his last set of teammates and coaches believing he was something of a fraud. Just know that, on the slight chance that this Celtics team wins a title or comes close, Jermaine shouldn’t expect a full playoff share.
I applaud Jermaine for a.) having ranked amongst my top five favorite bigs of all childhood, b.) sporting some of the more revered cornrows of the early millennium, c.) unsurprisingly laying considerable groundwork for “Most-Impactful-Signee-at-the-Veteran’s-Minimum” (as expected because Jermaine O’Neal spent several summer weeks in Germany doping his ass off), and d.) invoking abstract comparisons between the 2013-14 Warriors and the 2004 Pacers of Malice at the Palace old—I’ll, however, take Ron Artest pre-collosal 86 game suspension/pre-requesting a month off of basketball to pursue a career as the artist formally known as Schizophrenic Brian McKnight over Andre Iguodala all day every day, and those stating otherwise do not remember Ron Artest of 2004 as one of the more debatable figments of what could-have-been borderline superstar in NBA history; I’ll also take Jamaal Tinsely over Steph Curry because he tossed dimes and apparently drank more vodka than water. Nonetheless, I’m a Celtic. And anyone who fucks with this archaic circle of champions, American Heroes and James Posey’s is an inexcusable loser. A generous $12 million over two years to play in the house that Red, Bill and Bird built and you go from training camp MVP to Vin Baker depths of character depreciation to modeled, storied veteran on a contender basking in character revelation FOUR YEARS LATER? Sans the booze? Painfully nostalgic loss for words.
I’m not here to debate whether any 2010 through 2012 Celtics team was a fully engaged Jermaine O’Neal away from turning the single most catastrophic move in the Garnett-Pierce-Allen era into a plight of brilliance; Regardless of who was on the floor on June 7th, 2012, there was never stopping Lebron’s transcendency. I’m just here to say such fraudulence made an ass of myself, yourself, the city of Boston and Ryan Hollins; watching Doc Rivers–who stated during 2012′s run that he’d take anything 6’6 and above as long as that 6’6 could stay on the floor–have no other choice to but to employ the most inept reserve in playoff history for eight minute stints fucked my shit up and continues to fuck my shit up. Grit and balls are the most celestial substances of this city, capable of turning designated “bums” into the real life embodiment of how hard work prevails upon those who work hard. Jermaine O’Neal never “sucked it up and fought the fight,” thus shitting on the very concept. And for that, I award you no points.
If Bill Simmons did in fact never actually have the Celtic locker room scoop on such underlying attitudes, then I thoroughly apologize. But until that falsified day, in the most relevant of hollywood allusions, I’m Sargent Elias and you, Jermaine O’Neal, are my Sargent Barnes. Shot through the heart, and Charlie Sheen is too late.
P.S. If I was to work for one these ho-hum Celtics blogs and I had a media pass for March 5th, I’d appropriately probe Jermaine O’Neal for all he’s worth. Even at the expense of having my nose shoved in.
“If you want to get to the bottom of something, just look someone in they eye and see how they speak to you”