For the Love of the Game

The analogies are endless. I could tell you that the Boston Celtics played out of their shoes and out of their minds. They were in the zone. They were in the moment. I could recount the ways in which this game karmically righted the wrongs we felt the morning following this year's Superbowl. I might espouse the importance of faith- because I certainly had none in Danny Ainge after watching him dismantle a decent team in favor of a catastrophic one, en route to a magnificent one. We could koombaya about the importance of teamwork or evaluate the effectiveness of mantras, particularly when thousands of people throw their whole souls into chanting them ("Beat LA" worked like a charm, no?). There are plenty of opportunities to wax poetic about Paul Pierce's drive or KG's passion or Ray Allen's finesse. Perhaps I'd make a clever pun about hOMe court advantage, sealing the deal at home sweet "om," or I could quip that O.G.'s S.O. has taken to calling Boston "Athens," as in the greatest city of its time.

Or, I could just say this: I love sports because, in their best, purest, most distilled form, they are an expression of love. Love for a game, a team, a town, and a common goal.

It's often said that there are truly only two human emotions on the planet- love and fear. At any given moment, we're operating out of one or the other. I'd like to think that it's love that wins championships.