Goddamn, it’s nice to see The Magician back at work. Tossing dimes, pulling rabbits out of his hat and passing up open layups just like a normal day at the office.

I may be a hopeless optimist, but did I see Rondo’s elbow directly beneath the ball on his jump shot? Maybe it was just a fluke. But man, for ten minutes, it’s nice to think about basketball rather than the NBA lockout.

Then again, highlights like these are what we’re missing on a regular basis because the lockout continues. Without the lockout, the Celtics would have played seven preseason games already and be scheduled to start the regular season in one week.

Damn it. I’m already sad again.

Yes, this alley-oop pass from Rajon Rondo to Kenneth Faried was ridiculous. Yes, I’m excited to be writing about a real life basketball play rather than a make-believe deadline David Stern pulled out of his you-know-what. Yes, the announcer — “I’ve gotta see it again. I’ve gotta see it again! Oh, and the dunk. Onions!” — was almost as awesome as the play.

But who in the world are Rondo and Faried playing? It looks like my college alumni game, not an All-Star exhibition that should be featuring NBA players. Either that, or it looks like a beer league softball team won some kind of lottery and got to try its hand against Rondo and the Kentucky All-Stars.

The Kentucky “Big Blue All-Stars” were playing the Union College Bulldogs — yes, that’s right, the Division II Union College Bulldogs, and beat them 125-104. Union spends most of its time trying to defeat teams like Milligan College, Alice Loyd College and Bluefield College, finishing .500 last season, and then, oh yeah, why don’t they try to stop Rajon Rondo and DeMarcus Cousins?

No matter what, that’s a sick pass. But if Rajon Rondo ever gets hurt while playing an exhibition game against the freaking Union College Bulldogs, I’m personally marching to David Stern’s house and becoming an arsonist. If Wyc Grousbeck isn’t going to protect his assets, somebody has to do it.

Despite this play, the Celtics didn’t exactly bring their ‘A’ effort yesterday. According to Doc Rivers, “I told our guys I thought overall it was probably our worst defensive effort in three, four years as far as overall effort.”

Rivers apparently, like me, attempted to wipe the latter part of last season out of his memory. Because there’s no way last night’s loss equaled the embarrassing 104-96 loss to the previously 5-52 New Jersey Nets. No way.

At the same time, last night’s effort cannot be excused. Snap out of it, Celtics. Please.

I bet this is what Perk’s dunks looked like yesterday.

In other news, the recap will be a little late tonight. My 3-0 high school JV squad has a game against the best team in our league. I’ll learn a lot about my team tonight, win or lose. Wish us luck.

Austin Rivers’ offensive arsenal is destructive. (h/t SLAM)

In other news, Jermaine O’Neal said he is “50-50″ for Wednesday’s game but will play Saturday if he doesn’t Wednesday.

Also, there’s this:

“My body is going to be a little sore, I’ve been ot a month and a half,” said O’Neal. “But there’s a difference between soreness and pain. I’m just a little sore. This is who I am right now. This is what God has given me right now. You deal with it and move forward. With the brace, it’s going to help, but I can’t guarantee that the knee is not going to flare up. But right now I feel good, I feel strong, I feel capable of helping the team.”

“I’m just a little sore. This is who I am right now. This is what God has given me right now.” – The story of Jermaine O’Neal’s career.

(Quote from ESPN Boston)

Before I continue treating Antoine Walker like ESPN treats Brett Favre, just look at the Celtics’ headbands. They damn near cover their eyeballs. Then, if you really want to puke, check out Mark Blount.

Okay, now back to the task at hand — Brett Favre’ing Antoine Walker’s return to competitive basketball.

Why do I still write about Antoine Walker? Why don’t I hate him for, or at least be more disturbed by, his miserable shot selection or occasional unwillingness to rebound? When it comes to Antoine Walker, why do I still care?

The first reason is simple. Walker’s actions were often misguided, but his intentions were pure. This was a player who backed his teammates, who wanted desperately to win, who showed passion every time he stepped onto a basketball court. The Walker Wiggle wasn’t just an immature player celebrating his greatness for an entire crowd to see — it was the pure reaction of a player wholly engrossed in a game’s joy.

Walker never cared enough about certain things he should have, such as staying in shape or taking two-pointers. But though he didn’t go about improving the right way, basketball never seemed like a chore to him, or a job. As soon as he touched a Spalding ball, Walker became like a kid on a playground. Basketball was always a game to him, always something that brought him joy in a way few things could.

I never had a conversation with Walker; he never explained his love of basketball to me. I gathered all these opinions from watching him play, from observing all the nights he brought his shimmying excitement to the court. And yes, those were often the same nights he chucked far too many bad shots. Nobody ever said watching ‘Toine play basketball was a smooth ride. There were certainly times I wondered, “Why, Antoine? Why???” But even through all the frustration, seeing Antoine Walker play could also be a nice reminder that, to some NBA players, the game was more than just a paycheck.

I could now discuss why using “Antoine Walker” and “paycheck” in the same sentence brings up an interesting conversation, but, instead, on to my second reason for loving Walker.

When I was a young student, I was once forced to read a poem about age. I forget the name of the poem, and I forget the poet’s exact words, but I remember the premise. When I become 77 years old, I won’t just be shaped by my latest memories. I am not just a 77 year-old. Part of me, part of my memories, will always be five years old, riding a bicycle for the first time. Part of me will always be 14, stepping through my high school halls. Part of me will always be 22, graduating from college with a tight group of friends.

And part of me will forever be 11 years old, overlooking Antoine Walker’s obvious flaws because of his love for the game, his desire to win. No matter how many times Walker screwed up, he always meant well. For 11 year-old me, that was good enough.