On Wednesday night I entered a movie theater to watch Green Lantern, fully anticipating that it would suck. When my friend first asked me to watch the movie, my response was, “I heard that movie was horrible. But I guess I’m in.” I had nothing else to do, the movie’s special effects didn’t look bad, and if worst came to worst and the flick was as horrendous as advertised, I knew I could just spend two hours staring at Blake Lively on the big screen. Even if the movie lived up to its (miserable) hype, at least I had a fallback plan—ogle a hot chick.

So I strolled into the theater with rock-bottom expectations, expecting this generation’s Gigli. Oddly enough, I didn’t even mind the movie. I’ll be the first to tell you it wasn’t a great movie, or even a good one. The beginning was odd (at best), off-putting, and so poorly made I contemplated walking out after two minutes. Ryan Reynolds still can’t act his way into a fourth-grade class play (though he had certain moments of charm and humor, I guess). Blake Lively looked good, as usual, but brought little else to the table. And the movie’s “corny” factor jumped off the charts, inspiring many “ugh” moments and weird chills.

Despite all that, I almost enjoyed Green Lantern. I went in with expectations lower than Nate Robinson’s toilet seat, and lowered my standards accordingly. By my new standards, the movie was not THAT bad. It was even decently watchable, if only in an “I know this isn’t a good movie, at all, but it’s almost entertaining” way. In the shocker of the century, I actually exited the theater somewhat pleased to have dumped $11 on what will probably go down as the summer’s worst flick. Just two weeks ago, I had watched The Hangover 2; though that movie was certainly better than Green Lantern, I left with a far worst taste in my mouth, mostly because I actually expected a good time.

I entered last night’s NBA Draft with the same feeling I had when I strolled into the theater for Green Lantern. I expected nothing, or at least nothing enjoyable. With the Celtics drafting late in a weak draft, I felt positive Danny Ainge would either trade out of the first round or select someone with little chance of receiving playing time next season. I feared the Celtics might draft BC’s Reggie Jackson, or, in other words, their second straight point guard to keep the bench warm behind Rajon Rondo. I feared they might draft Marquette’s Jimmy Butler, who completely underwhelmed me when I watched him in college. I feared they might draft Jeremy Tyler, a physical freak, yes, but one who averaged 9.8 points for the Tokyo Apache last season. When adding that poor production to his questionable attitude, Tyler has a 98.7% chance of becoming a bust. Hell, my grandmother could average 9.8 points for the Tokyo Apache. I can’t lie—this was the least excited I have been heading into an NBA Draft since, well, ever. I had serious issues about each player the Celtics were rumored to draft.

And then the Celtics made two choices I completely agreed with. JaJuan Johnson and E’Twaun Moore aren’t perfect, don’t get me wrong. But they’re winners, they proved themselves through four years college, and they fit needs. The Celtics need shooters and scorers; Johnson and Moore do just that. They need rookies who know how to commit to defense; if you’ve ever watched Purdue play basketball, you know how Johnson and Moore feel about defense. They need polished rookies who could step right in; they picked up two All-Big Ten players with more wins than any other players in Purdue history. They need size on the interior; Johnson’s 6’11, and he can jump, too.

“We’re very fortunate,” Ainge told WEEI. “We got two really good productive college players. Mature kids, great character and attitude. We got some shooting. We got some length and they’ll be a good fit for us.”

I won’t sit here and tell you Johnson and Moore will become All-Stars. In all likelihood, they will never come close. But the Celtics desperately needed depth for next season, and in Johnson and Moore, the Celtics drafted two players who should at the very least compete for playing time. A franchise-altering draft? No. But after entering the draft with my expectations at Green Lantern status, Boston’s selections brought a smile to my face. And I didn’t even need a hot chick to ogle.