The NBA will have the option to postpone, rather than cancel, the first two weeks of the regular season if progress is made on the collective bargaining front today but no deal can be reached, according to Adrian Wojarowski.

“How could postponement of season work?” he tweeted. “Nov 15 tip; more back to backs, make ups at end of reg season; shorter layoffs between playoff games.”

Needless to say, such a development would give the rest of the NBA a head start over the Boston Celtics. The Cs are already the Tony Romos of the NBA regular season, prone to breaking down at inopportune times. If David Stern compresses the season, adds extra back-to-backs and decreases layoffs between playoff games, the Celtics (8-11 on the second night of back-to-backs last season) stand to be harmed more than any other team.

If Wyc Grousbeck is listening, he should beg David Stern — bribe him if you have to, Wyc (wink, wink) — not to postpone the start of the regular season. The old, creaky Celtics might still be able to compete this season. But the prospect of facing additional back-to-back games and shorter postseason layoffs likely makes Kevin Garnett’s knee twinge in anticipation.

(This column was fueled by a piece Adrian Wojnarowski wrote yesterday about Kevin Garnett’s unselfishness during this lockout. It’s a great read, so go read it.)

Let Kevin Garnett be unselfish. Let him rally his colleagues and urge them not to cave into the league’s demands, even though Garnett personally would benefit if the players caved. Let him rally the union in solidarity and lead his peers into a better deal, even if that means missing games. Let him care more about the NBA’s future than his own self-interest. Let him risk $21.2 million so Avery Bradley, JaJuan Johnson and Jimmer Fredette can receive fair contracts a few years from now. Let Garnett do all that, and respect him for it.

But I’m not joining him. I want the lockout to end and I wanted it to end three months ago. Not just for me, for NBA fans everywhere, for the success of my website, for Tuesday nights when I’d rather not watch baseball, for mornings I would prefer not to view a top ten plays filled with hockey saves and only hockey saves, or for the hoards of NBA employees whose jobs have been slashed because millionaires and billionaires won’t settle on a labor deal. I certainly want the lockout to end for all the previous reasons. But I also want the lockout to end for the Boston Celtics.

One last chance. That’s been a repeating chorus for years now, but this year, that chorus makes more sense than ever. The Celtics looked older than ever while losing to the Miami Heat. Garnett and Ray Allen have one year left on their contracts. The Celtics have only three players signed beyond the upcoming season. Danny Ainge will have many more reasons to blow up the Big Three nucleus after this year than he will have to keep the nucleus together for 2012 and beyond.

All of which means we might have just one more year to watch Ray Allen spot up on the perimeter, his legs bent, ready to spring from the floor, his eyes set on the rim, his body squared perfectly toward his target, the flawless cock of his wrist and the follow through covered in gold and the resulting swish. We might have just one more year to watch Rajon Rondo run the pick-and-roll with Garnett, to see Garnett knowingly slip the pick, bee-line for the rim and rise to catch Rondo’s pass, floating down from the rafters so Garnett can secure it and slam it into the hoop. Or to watch Garnett pound his chest and mutter a stream of obscenities directed to nobody and everybody all at once, to watch his eyes that could stare a hole straight through the Great Wall of China, to see his focus and determination and know he wants to win more than many people want anything at all. Or to watch Garnett and Paul Pierce’s joint press conferences, the way they play off each other like they were best friends since childhood. Or to watch Allen interviewed at his locker, always impeccably dressed, always willing to answer questions longer than anyone else, as classy as a top-notch country club. Or to see the C’s in the playoffs, bloody and battered, fighting desperately to outlast a younger, fresher team, and knowing, win or lose, this is a Celtics team to have pride in.

A year from now, the Celtics organization could be almost anywhere. Rebuilding around Rajon Rondo with young players and draft picks. Hoping Jeff Green pans out. Following Dwight Howard to the NBA Finals. Trying to relive the glory days after resigning Garnett and Allen to smaller contracts. The Celtics’ future is cloudier and less predictable than a lightning storm.

Yet Wyc Grousbeck is reportedly one of the hard-line owners willing to risk this entire season. Garnett is clamoring for players to hold out until they get the right deal. Pierce is joining Garnett at the meetings and likely echoing his sentiments. I get why they’re doing it — Grousbeck wants more money, Garnett and Pierce want to ensure the fair treatment of NBA players for years to come.

But if Garnett isn’t going to be selfish, I will. I want this lockout to end. For the Boston Celtics, and yes, of course, for me.

Rajon Rondo and JaJuan Johnson are reportedly among several players working out at the University of Kentucky, where the Oklahoma City Thunder are holding a a Nazr Mohammed-organized training camp of sorts.

Think about Kevin Garnett, and what do you envision?

Probably a scowl, certainly some profanity, a proclivity for midrange jumpers and, less so now than in his prime, a low-post game that more often than not consisted of A) a rip-through move and subsequent drive to the hoop, or B) Garnett’s patented “plant two feet, catch the ball, pivot either way, fade away from the hoop, and shoot over a defender who can’t possibly defend Garnett’s length or high release point.” There’s also Garnett’s willingness to defend, his length that allows him to cover big men, his quickness that allows (or maybe allowed is a more appropriate term now) him to switch onto guards in pick-and-roll situations, his court awareness that turned him into one of the greatest help defenders of all time. And if you think long enough, you’ll inevitably come to Garnett’s unselfishness, his ability to facilitate offense without always calling his own number, his willingness to hit an open teammate combined with the vision to find one.

Think about Blake Griffin, and your mind’s picture is probably less developed. You’ll see a man, or is he a machine, rising from the hardwood, climbing high into the night sky, scaling buildings and Mozgovs and Kia cars to ultimately slam home dunks, 214 of them during his rookie year, more than any human not named Dwight Howard. You’ll see a playful smile and muscles that ripple. You’ll see the potential to conquer the world and the youthfulness to believe anything is possible. If you observe Griffin closely, if you can remember to get past the initial shock factor, if you can for a few seconds stop thinking about Griffin’s dunks, you’ll also see an advanced basketball acumen which sets Griffin apart from all other young pogo sticks in the league.

It’s this intellect, the aspect of Griffin’s game most overshadowed by his “when do you think he’ll come down from there?” athleticism, that leads ESPN Insider’s Tom Haberstroh to compare Griffin and Garnett.

Your collective thoughts: wait, what?

The comparison is difficult to swallow. Garnett is marked by finesse; Griffin is just as likely to run through a defender as he is to soar over one. Garnett relies mostly on his midrange jumper and has been deadly from that range for decades; Griffin is very willing to shoot midrange jumpers but not nearly as capable of making them as Garnett. Garnett is and always has been a reluctant scorer; Griffin already exhibits more of a willingness to dominate the scoring column. But mostly, the comparison fails in one area:

Garnett is one of the greatest defenders ever. Griffin’s team was three points worse defensively whenever he stepped on the court.

Haberstroh does admit his comparison only works to a certain extent:

But to appreciate Griffin’s candidacy as Garnett’s successor, you have to look past the dunks. Ignore the Timofey Mozgov posterization. Put aside the fact that he leaped over an automobile and put a ball through a basket that stood 10 feet off the ground, if you can.

Because to fully appreciate why Griffin ranks as the most qualified contemporary to perform an uncanny Garnett impression, you have to consider Griffin’s softer side: his passing. The list of active players who can drop a nightly 20 points and 10 boards is longer than Joakim Noah’s gnarly mane. But dig deeper and you’ll discover that Griffin resembles Garnett because they mirror each other beyond the standard measuring sticks applied to big men.

Do you know who led the Los Angeles Clippers in assists last season? That distinction belongs to Griffin, a power forward who stands 6-9 and weighs 250 pounds. The 22-year-old plays with his head up, unlike most big men who become a black hole once the ball is entered into the post. Griffin features enough handle and quickness to keep defenders from hounding him out on the high post. It is there in the high post where he flaunts Garnett’s unique versatility. …

But that’s not to say that Griffin already sees eye-to-eye with the early 2000s version of KG. Remember, Garnett has long been the best defending power forward in the game and has a trophy to show for it. Last season, the Clippers were three points worse defensively per 100 possessions with Griffin on the court, which isn’t a crime, but it’s not small potatoes, either.

Griffin has a way to go defensively before we can start projecting him to supplant Garnett in the first-team All-Defensive team, but he’s right on track to compete with him everywhere else. In some respects, he’s already there.

Sure, Griffin’s offensive numbers compare favorably to a 21-year old Garnett, but Garnett’s greatness could never be explained solely by offensive numbers. If it could, Zach Randolph would have obtained All-Star status long ago, and Carlos Boozer and David Lee would actually deserve their ginormous contracts.

Like a young Garnett, Griffin is a double-double machine with the court vision of a much smaller player. In 2004, so was Brad Miller.

All tongue-in-cheek Brad Miller references aside, I understand why Haberstroh made the comparison. Griffin has Garnett’s ability to control games without scoring every possession, and his assist numbers, for a 21-year old power forward, or any power forward for that matter, are gaudy. But until Griffin becomes a real defensive asset — and I’m not saying he won’t, just that he’s not even close now — the comparison holds very little value. Remember, defense is half the game.

Kevin Garnett was fired up. There’s nothing abnormal about that, but this time there was no basket stanchion for Garnett to pound his head, no pick-and-rolls to hedge, just a room full of NBA employees trying to take more of Garnett’s money.

After the latest labor negotiation Tuesday afternoon, Garnett and teammate Paul Pierce emerged with a disgusted look on their faces, according to Chris Mannix. A few minutes later Garnett fielded queries from reporters.

“Garnett is literally staring down every reporter who asks a question,” tweeted Mannix.

The players and owners had closed the gap, we know now. The day began with the players wanting a 53% split of Basketball-Related Income, at least, and the owners offering only 46%. By day’s end the two offers were only 2% apart, with the owner’s unofficially offering a 50-50 split and the players refusing to pass 52-48. That means the two sides are only $80 million apart per season, or, in other words, the lockout is one Rudy Gay away from ending.

Though there was progress during yesterday’s talks, Garnett and Pierce, we expect, hoped to leave yesterday with a labor deal agreed to or at least on the verge. Garnett in particular took on a leadership role during the talks. He was reportedly “extremely emotional” before the meeting, urging the players association to hold firm on the BRI split. But he must be split on whether to accept the owner’s latest 50-50 offer. Though the future of the NBA is certainly a concern for Garnett, even the most selfless superstar of his generation must worry about his own agenda.

For Garnett and to a lesser extent Pierce, the season that rests in the balance could represent the last time they contend for a championship. Garnett has already slowed with old age, and though he showed a renaissance of sorts last year, the days of gobbling double-doubles every night and dominating every opponent are over. There are already nights when Garnett cannot compete the way he used to, nights when the legs exhibit a little rust and the spring in his step just isn’t there. Each day the lockout continues also equates to one more day Garnett ages, one more day Garnett steps closer to his basketball mortality.

Some would argue that a shortened season favors the Celtics, and in effect Garnett. But in reality, a shortened season would come equipped with more back-to-backs, and even back-to-back-to-backs, which drain veterans even more than an 82-game grind. Maybe the Celtics are already beyond the point where they could contend for titles. Maybe last season’s loss to Miami was really the passing of the Eastern Conference torch. But I assume Garnett would like every advantage to prove the critics wrong, and an 82-game season gives Boston its best shot.

And so Garnett looked disgusted when the negotiations ended without agreement on the framework for a deal, and he stared a hole through reporters when they asked him questions. Only $80 million now stand between the lockout and a full NBA season, but a deal was not consummated yesterday and there is no set date for the two sides to meet again.  The sides are closer than before, for sure, and a deal is within reach by Monday, the last day for an agreement to be reached before games start being cancelled.

But for Kevin Garnett, for the Boston Celtics, close isn’t enough. Boston’s title window might be shut already, but I assume Garnett and company would like the chance to find out.

A month to play, and the Red Sox led the Rays by nine games. The Sox couldn’t lose.

Three games to play, headed to Baltimore for a three-game set while the Rays prepared for the Yanks, still ahead by a game. The Sox couldn’t lose.

Tampa down seven runs in the season’s final game heading into the eighth inning, the Sox ahead by one run in a rain delay during the seventh. The Sox couldn’t lose.

Tampa came back, tied the game 7-7 on a home run while down to their last strike, but at least the Sox were still ahead by one, Papelbon on the mound. The Sox could lose, but it was still improbable.

Papelbon worked Baltimore to their last strike, with some Oriole named Nolan Reimold — he of the .246 batting average and warning track power — at the plate. Meanwhile, in Florida, the Rays were still tied with the Yankees in extra innings. Once again, the Sox couldn’t lose.

But they did.

Is there a Celtics equivalent to blowing a nine-game lead in the season’s final month, coughing up a one-game lead during a three-game series against the Baltimore friggin’ Orioles, giving away a ninth-inning lead in a must-win game, a pack of gutless, more-than-well-compensated players playing each game with the intensity of a grandmother knitting a yarn scarf, and meanwhile, Tampa Bay comes back from seven runs down and wins on a walkoff home run in the twelfth?

Probably not, mostly because eight teams make the playoffs in the NBA, but let me try. For the purposes of this exercise, I am throwing out all limitations, such as a salary cap or even common sense.

The Celtics spend the offseason bulking up their roster with big names. They sign Jeff Green (let’s call him Carl Crawford) and Dwight Howard (let’s call him Adrian Gonzalez), entering the season with a Rondo-Allen-Pierce-Garnett-Howard-Green top six that everyone instantly hails “the best lineup ever.”

And then the Celtics start the season 1-7. Jeff “Carl Crawford” Green struggles in his new role and WEEI callers compare him to The Tin Man from Wizard of Oz — no heart. Howard is dominant as usual, at least defensively, but the mainstays — the Fantastic Four — struggle to regain their past magic. It’s as if they’re getting old or something. Everyone begins to jump off the bandwagon… just in time for the Celtics to start playing like the best team in basketball.

For the next three quarters of the season, the Celtics become who we thought they were. Howard swats shots into the fifteenth row. Garnett screams gutturally after every win. Rondo handles the passing, Pierce and Allen handle the scoring, and, well Jeff Green is still doing his best impersonation of The Tin Man. The Celtics enter the final month of the season (12 games remaining) ahead by seven games for the eighth and final playoff spot (remember, this is just an excercise, so pretend they could play like the best team in basketball for three-quarters of the season and still be that close to missing the playoffs).

Suddenly, everything goes wrong. Rondo starts throwing passes into Mark Wahlberg’s courtside seat. Allen gets hurt. Pierce doesn’t seem like he cares very much. Howard smiles too often. Garnett, who we’ll now call Dustin Pedroia, is the only player who acts like he still gives a damn. The ship is sinking and Jeff Green is still coming off the bench, a painful reminder of everything that wasn’t supposed to go wrong. Meanwhile, the Philadelphia 76ers won’t lose a goddamn game and Boston’s seven-game lead isn’t dwindling — it’s being thrown off the Empire State Building and free-falling until it reaches a painful death.

The Celtics are still tied going into the season’s last day. Their opponent is the Minnesota Timberwolves. The 76ers are playing the Lakers, but the Lakers have clinched the West’s top seed and will rest their biggest assholes… err, I mean their biggest stars. Boston trades for Travis “Bruce Chen” Outlaw in case they need some help in a possible one-game playoff.

But it doesn’t look like they’ll need Outlaw. The Lakers jump to a 25-point lead against Philly and maintain it into the fourth-quarter. The Celtics, meanwhile, build a five-point lead against the Wolves. Even though it’s not a huge lead, they seem to have control of the game.

And then hell has its first snowstorm. Andre Iguodala hits two four-point plays. Lou Williams cannot miss. Thaddeus Young dunks on Luke Walton’s head (remember, the Lakers are playing their scrubs). When Iggy scores five points in less than twenty seconds, the 76ers are down only three points with ten seconds to play.

Meanwhile, Boston’s lead is maintaining. But they are missing opportunities to put the game away — or, as my fifth-grade baseball coach used to say, to close the damn door. Garnett misses some bunnies. Howard slams a dunk into the back rim. Rondo misses free throws (surprise, surprise). Pierce’s month-long fog still hasn’t lifted. And Green sits on the bench, where he will stay unless a starter fouls out. With twenty-five seconds left, Boston’s lead is still four. No need for a fire alarm yet.

But the 76ers pull a miracle from their behinds. The Lakers miss two free throws that would have sealed the game (for some reason, we’ll call it “trying to sabotage another team’s season”, Steve Blake shoot both free throws with a blindfold on) and Philly gets one more chance to tie. Iguodala is not a fan of the three-point arc, but he drains one at the buzzer, sending Philly fans into a seizure of celebration.

Then the Celtics surrender a bucket to Ricky Rubio, who scores approximately one bucket every ten games. He’s fouled, too, by Ray Allen, and it’s Allen’s sixth. That means The Tin Man enters the game. Celtics fans everywhere hold their breath. Rubio cans the free throw, cutting the Celtics lead to one with nine seconds left. Michael Beasley steals the ensuing inbounds pass. As time runs out on the clock, he drills a three-pointer while Jeff Green, who was supposed to guard Beasley, saunters after him like a high school bully who enjoys being late to class.

Before the Red Sox can even say “what the fuck just happened?”, Iguodala dunks home a Lou Williams miss as time expires to send Philly into the playoffs. Dwight Howard says something about how “it wasn’t God’s plan” for the Celtics to make the playoffs this season, and millions of viewers think to themselves, “yeah, I imagine God spends most of his time worrying about who gets the 8th seed in the NBA’s Eastern Conference.”

There is good news for the Celtics, though: they still have The Tin Man under contract for six years and $120 million.

Thank God this is only a hypothetical, huh?