Yesterday, I walked into the Apple Store to see a man who was approximately the size of the Eiffel Tower.

“Good God, that guy could scale Mt. Everest in one step,” my mom said, staring. At the time, we could only see the man’s back. I nodded yes, then proceeded to look for a car charger for my new iPhone. After years of rocking a simple LG flip phone that could barely send text messages never mind search the internet, I have finally joined the 21st century.

Circling the store in search of the charger, I finally caught a glimpse of Eiffel Tower’s face. He was Hasheem Thabeet.

“That guy’s an NBA player,” I told my mom. “He played at UConn before that.”

“You should get his autograph,” she responded.

“It wouldn’t be worth much,” quipped my brother Tommy.

“I think I’ll pass,” I concluded.

So why do I include the story of seeing Thabeet in the Apple store, where he was presumably begging them to design an iPhone app which could make him resemble a real NBA player? Four reasons:

1) It’s a good story.

2) He could probably play big minutes for the Knicks.

3) It’s Easter, so I’m celebrating with family rather than slaving on the blog.

And…

4) While other teams participate in the postseason, it must really suck to be in an Apple store in Holyoke, MA, getting ogled at by everyone who walks in the store and made fun of by anyone who understands basketball. If all goes right today, Ronny Turiaf will soon be coming to an Apple store near you.

The quirkiness. The brilliance. The vision. The ability to compensate for one profound flaw by excelling in so many other areas. The scene was Rajon Rondo, or at least playoff Rajon Rondo, in a nutshell. Two offensive rebounds, two passes that could have led to assists, one that did, saving the possession twice, making his teammates happy twice more, and a flare that made it all so captivating.

When Rondo’s on his game, when he’s whipping assists over the back of his head, slinging them with both hands, carving a knife through the opposing defense, and controlling both ends of the court like the game’s on a string only Rondo can touch, the Celtics take on the look of a champion. He can make the game so easy for his teammates, so difficult on his opponent, and no team has an answer. Certainly not the Heat, who likely watched last night’s Celtics-Knicks game with the wide-eyed look of a man standing in the on-deck circle against Nolan Ryan.

Rondo’s a hodgepodge of basketball’s best and worst traits, an intelligent and daring maestro with Stockton’s vision, an artist’s creativity, a drunken center’s jump shot, a frustrating ability to play down to the occasion and yet a habit of achieving new heights when the Celtics require it. He’s a jigsaw puzzle, a dizzying combination of pieces that only fit because they’re together.

Because of his broken jumper, his game needed to compensate. The long arms; the speed of a man running across fire; the flitting bounces from one loose ball to the next; the vision that makes most players look like Stevie Wonder in comparison; the stubborn confidence of a player who believes he’s the world’s best guard; the intelligence of a man who sees in advance—without the entire package of rare qualities that compose the most unique point guard in the NBA, Rondo wouldn’t succeed. Not to the extent he does, at least. Only because all those traits came together can Rondo do what he does, which is to excel despite a flaw that should have been fatal, which is to establish himself as Boston’s most important player even while playing alongside three certain Hall of Famers.

“”When you have a point guard as talented as Rondo, he makes it look easy,” said Jeff Green last night. The rim looked like an ocean to Ray Allen and Paul Pierce last night, but Rondo simplifies everything for his running mates. He finds them when they’re open. He hits them in their shooting pocket. He turns a difficult shot into an easy one by drawing the defense. He attacks, he probes, he exposes an opponent’s weaknesses, and he dictates the game with beautiful chaos.

He doesn’t always play that way, of course. During the regular season, Rondo snores through certain games like a man whose girlfriend forced him to watch Pride & Prejudice. He can play down to competition, and he can frustrate Boston fans for weeks at a time. After the Kendrick Perkins trade, maybe because of the trade, Rondo went into a funk. He stopped playing each game with passion. He stopped winning games for the Celtics and started to hold them back. He was visibly bothered by something, we’ll probably never know what. Yet when the playoffs arrive, Rondo becomes a different man, a better man, one who forgets boredom and begins to paint pictures of domination.

If John Stockton was Gustave Courbet, an artist who specialized in realism, Rondo is Picasso, sweeping his brush maniacally while creating a different type of masterpiece. He’s become the Celtics’ leader, their most crucial piece to a title, their one biggest strength against the rest of the league’s elite. They go as he go, and they will follow him to Miami, and if they beat Miami it will likely be because the Heat, like the Knicks, have no answer for the quirky point guard whose flaws only make his achievements more impressive.

The home crowd hadn’t seen a playoff game in years and seemed poised to blow the roof straight off Madison Square Garden. Spike Lee wore something—how should I say this nicely?—creative, and his Knicks brethren prepared for the game as if it were the Super Bowl. After so much losing, so many bad front office decisions, so much Jerome James and Stephon Marbury and Steve Francis and Isiah Thomas, the fans couldn’t wait to welcome Madison Square Garden to the postseason for the first time since 2004. Until the game started, that is, and Boston took an axe to New York’s neck.

Paul Pierce, Ray Allen and Rajon Rondo took New Yorkers’s collective excitement and bludgeoned it to death. By the time Boston had surgically dismantled the lesser team, New York’s bubbly post-Game 2 optimism had been kicked into hibernation. The Knicks weren’t close to the Celtics on this night. They couldn’t lay claim to playing tough, or playing well, or falling just short against a championship-caliber team. They wouldn’t say this loss was fun. Not after they were outclassed, out-hustled, out-played and out-coached. Not after they played in a way that made 20,000 rabid fans sound like a napping child.

Madison Square Garden was re-introduced to playoff basketball on a night the Celtics showed the Knicks what playoff basketball was all about. Ray Allen’s jump shot smelled like a French vanilla scented candle. Paul Pierce took out his Swiss Army knife and made precise, swift cuts. Rajon Rondo’s triple double was so perfectly Rondo, complete with bricked jumpers, rebounds a point guard should never track down, passes humans can’t normally make, and decisions that were simultaneously questionable and majestic. The Celtics ran a clinic, free of charge for anyone watching on TV, far too expensive for Knicks fans whose hearts were broken in person, and so thoroughly detailed in execution.

The Knicks were never close, not after Boston immediately jumped on top of New York and started swinging haymakers. A first-round knockdown came quickly; not even a quarter into the game, the Knicks laid on the canvas seeing stars after Boston’s original attack. For a brief spell, when Boston’s second unit performed like Boston’s second unit (which is to say poorly), the Knicks crept within single digits. But Boston’s fierce blows kept connecting, the threes kept falling, and the Knicks, with Chauncey Billups out and Amare Stoudemire only halfway functional, never had a chance.

This was how dangerous Boston can be, when all the All-Stars and Hall-of-Famers live up to their billing, when the shots fall and the offense catches up to the defense and the bench doesn’t screw things up too badly. If the NBA ever saw Boston as a team on its last legs, tonight was a reminder why the Celtics should never be counted out, that they’re a legitimate title contender, that the playoffs lift Boston to a different level of play.

Even in the glory of Boston’s first playoff blowout, the bench could not avoid my harsh words. Against teams that aren’t the New York Knicks, a negative plus/minus from every single bench player isn’t going to cut it. Hesitancy from Delonte West; the sense that Jeff Green feels lost; Glen Davis’s prolonged rut—all things the Celtics will have to address for the later rounds. But for tonight, give the bench a free pass and marvel at what the starters can do at their best.

Amare Stoudemire and Kevin Garnett shared shoves. Paul Pierce and Stoudemire bumped chests. Ray Allen—I repeat, Ray Allen—talked crap. The playoffs have been returned to Madison Square Garden, the so-called Mecca of Basketball, the home of a team that hasn’t won a playoff game in ten years, the home of a team on the verge of getting swept, the place where Troy Murphy finally made his first playoff appearance.

The last time the Knicks won a playoff game:

• Vince Carter was a rising superstar for their opponent, the Toronto Raptors
• Carter started alongside Alvin Williams, Antonio Davis, Charles Oakley, and Chris Childs
• Mark Jackson, rather than repeatedly telling his mother where men are going, played point guard for the Knicks
• Dell Curry was not yet “father of Stephen,” but “lights-out shooter and defensive liability off the Toronto bench”
• Curry shared the Raptors bench with, among others, Keon Clark and Jerome “The Junkyard Dog” Williams
• I was in eighth grade, presumably trying to attract girls by growing a splendid peach fuzz mustache
• Allan Houston had not yet signed the most franchise-crippling contract in NBA history
• Isiah Thomas had not yet decided Jerome James was worth $30 million

And…

• Kurt Thomas was still young

Indeed, it’s been a long time since the Knickerbockers last won a playoff game. The Celtics hope that drought doesn’t end tonight, when 20,000+ New York fans—rabid due to the team’s recent lack of success, craving a victory like Michael Sweetney desperately searches for his next chocolate cake, trying to finally wipe away the pain and tears of the Isiah Thomas era—should make the Madison Square Garden ceiling quiver while celebrating playoff basketball’s return to New York.

“I’m pretty sure it will be crazy,” Carmelo Anthony said. “I think crazy is an understatement but that’s the word I’m going to use right now.”

Say what you want about Anthony and Amare Stoudemire, but they’ve brought excitement back to the so-called Mecca of Basketball. They’ve re-energized a fan base that had been reduced to begging prospective free agents. They’ve brought Spike Lee back to the playoffs. They’ve re-kindled memories of Reggie Miller’s choke sign and Willis Reed’s triumphant return, of Grandmama’s four-point play and John Starks dunking somewhere in the vicinity of Michael Jordan. They won’t win a championship this season, I think it’s safe to say. There’s very little chance they even get past the Celtics. But Madison Square Garden will once again be rocking tonight.

“They’re going to be hostile. They’re going to be raucous. They’re going to be excited,” said Ray Allen. “Regardless of who’s on their team, they’ll just be like, ‘We’re in the playoffs! We’re here.’ I’ve been on a team that hasn’t been to the playoffs in a long time, and when you make it, it’s big for what it does for your fan base, what it does for your city.”

And when that city is New York, it’s a big deal. I’m cautious about calling Madison Square Garden “The Mecca of Basketball.” Something about attributing that nickname to the home of the Knicks, who have won only two championships in 65 years of existence, seems wrong. But there’s no denying the history there. Not just the Knicks, either. Back when CCNY was a college powerhouse and the National Invitation Tournament (NIT) crowned NCAA basketball’s true champion, the Garden etched itself into the annals of basketball lore. And it’s not just the history. In New York City, the spotlight shines brighter than it does anywhere else.

Normally, I wouldn’t care about the media spotlight a city provides. I care about basketball, not “the way people who are paid to react to basketball react to basketball.” In a way, though, and bear with me here, the bright lights might also affect the level of play. Reggie Miller made love to pressure, so is it crazy to believe he saved his best for when the pressure was highest, for when he knew more people were watching? If the Knicks played in Podunk, would Kobe Bryant have gone Roger Maris (61 points) two seasons ago? Keep in mind, this was a more team-oriented Kobe who scored 61, not the “kill everybody and ask questions later” Kobe of the Smush Parker era. Would Lebron James have tried to one-up Bryant with his 52-point, 11-assist, 9-rebound show just two days later? Stars know New York’s different, that Madison Square Garden’s different. Score 55 points against the Orlando Magic, and that’s cool. Score 55 points in Madison Square Garden and your “Double Nickel” will be remembered forever.

Madison Square Garden provides a greater stage, perhaps the greatest stage, for basketball. I’m not calling it the world’s greatest arena and I’m still afraid to call it The Mecca of Basketball. But when playoff basketball returns to the Garden tonight, the NBA will be a better place, and I wouldn’t be surprised if more history gets made.

Jermaine O’Neal had been playing his best basketball of the season— okay, so that’s not the best compliment ever. Let’s try this again:

Jermaine O’Neal had been playing great at the time he left Boston’s bench, found team doctor Brian McKeon, and took a trip to Boston’s locker room.

Immediately my thoughts flooded with concern: “If he’s hurt, that leaves Krstic and Davis as the team’s only centers. … Please, don’t be hurt. … Well, at least the C’s still have Perkins—doh. … They don’t have Perk, but at least they still have Shaq—ugh. … Wait, I care this much about Jermaine O’Neal?”

While my mind raced with the seeds of horrible nightmares, I took solace in two thoughts: 1) He hadn’t limped on the way to the locker room, and 2) I hadn’t seen him get hurt. I figured that was a promising start. But I worried, as I tend to do when my team’s “fragile: handle with care” center seeks the team doctor and heads to the locker room, that Jermaine’s season might be over.

Alas, it wasn’t. He returned to the game a few minutes later and played well. We learned the injury was a mildly sprained wrist, not his knees, which was a welcomed treat. And now, a few days later, he tells us the injury probably won’t have any effect on his play. (ESPN Boston)

“I wore a brace the last two days, just to protect it and make sure I didn’t open the door wrong and irritate it,” said Jermaine O’Neal. “I feel fine. The swelling is down. It’s one of those situations where, I took a charge and I put my hand back before I fell. It irritated [a preexisting injury] a bit. It’s probably not going to have an affect on me.”

In case you were wondering, both Doc and Jermaine agreed that his seven second half minutes had nothing to do with the injury. I would argue with Doc’s decision to play Glen Davis instead, but Doc has earned some leeway with his late-game decisions.

P.S. — Jermaine O’Neal’s one of very few people in the world who can be completely serious while saying, “I wore a wrist brace to make sure I didn’t open the door wrong.”