The NBA lockout is done, people. The league came to a tentative agreement early Saturday morning. Rejoice.
We’re going to see Paul Pierce’s step back jumper. We’re going to see Rajon Rondo in transition, deciding whether to loft an alley-oop for Kevin Garnett or sling a left-handed scoop pass into Ray Allen’s shooting pocket. We’re going to see Jermaine O’Neal, sliding in at the last second to take a charge.
We’ll get to see what Danny Ainge decides regarding Jeff Green and Glen Davis. We’ll get to see whether Delonte West re-signs in Boston. We’ll get to see whether JaJuan Johnson is strong enough to bang with Zach Randolph.
In all honesty, I didn’t know how I would react to a labor agreement. Part of me felt I was too disappointed by the entire process to become jubilant whenever the lockout lifted. I wasn’t sure the end of the lockout would bring me joy, since I was so disgusted by both sides during the whole 148-day ordeal. Screw the players. Screw the owners. Ya know? But then the lockout ended and I realized I will soon see one of Rajon Rondo’s 20-assist games. I’ll soon see Kevin Garnett slam his head against the basket stanchion. I’ll soon see whether Avery Bradley can improve on his rookie season. I’ll soon see Doc Rivers scream at someone for making a mistake, and everything in my world will seem right.
Even a nightmare second half, when the Celtics don’t grab a single rebound, can’t bother themselves with making one damn defensive rotation, and look like a pack of zombies, seems perfect. The final days of Kevin Garnett’s career are going to be spent on a basketball court, ladies and gentleman. Paul Pierce and Ray Allen will age on the court, while we watch. My smile won’t end for months. The lockout is over.