Pistons’ Goal: Make Celtics Play Their 1st Series Of ’08 Playoffs

The Boston Celtics are the first team to reach the conference finals without having played even one series on the way there. Pretty slick, huh?

Oh, I know the record books will show otherwise. There it is, forever captured for posterity: Celtics 4, Hawks 3. Celtics 4, Cavaliers 3. But neither of these were series.

It’s been said that a best-of-seven series doesn’t really get going until a road team captures a game. Not a bad notion, really. The games definitely seem to ratchet up in pressure when a favorite has to scramble to win home court back. The Celtics have yet to have to do that; then again, they’ve yet to win on the road. But that’s why you go out and win more games than anyone else in the league — to afford to go winless on the road. As long as you TCB at home. History says, though, that sooner or later the Celtics will have to actually play a playoff series before they entertain thoughts of hoisting the Larry O’Brien Trophy.

The Pistons are just the team to force the Celtics into a series.

They didn’t do it last night — didn’t really come close, actually — falling to Boston, 88-79 in Game 1 of the Eastern Conference Finals. But, with all due disrespect to the Atlanta Hawks and none to the Cleveland LeBrons, the Celtics aren’t playing a tune-up any longer. The Pistons, despite last night’s hiccup, aren’t likely to go 0-for-4 in Boston. Which means the Celtics have to figure out a way to win a road game in the post-season (they’re 0-6 so far), and you could pick some easier places to do that than in Detroit.

The Pistons lost at home to Boston way back in the wintertime, but that was mainly due to the out-of-the-blue contribution from rookie Glenn Davis, who has been relegated to spot duty in the playoffs. And, as far as that goes, the Pistons snatched a game in Boston in January.

But the Pistons won’t make it a real series with Rasheed Wallace continuing his confounding tendency to go into hiding at the most inopportune moments. Sheed was sheet in Game 1, and it’s anybody’s guess why. Sometimes I think the world of Rasheed Wallace is a world that none of us have ever inhabited. Which is fine, except that in that world, something obviously grabs his attention more than the task at hand on the basketball court — you know, in our little place called the real world. I won’t regurgitate Wallace’s numbers here because I’m sure you’d rather not sneer at your computer, but let’s just say that it’s also just as likely that Game 2′s Wallace numbers will dwarf Game 1′s. Because Sheed’s World Order rarely allows two sub-par performances in a row. So that’s good.

Oh, and Boston’s Ray Allen still isn’t off the dime yet. He went 3-for-9 last night, his shooting woes continuing. Chasing Rip Hamilton around isn’t exactly the tonic to fix that, either — despite Rip’s rather quiet presence last night.

This Eastern final isn’t a series yet. Chances are that it may not become one until Game 7. But the Pistons will take 1-for-4 in Beantown, because they’re a good bet to go 3-for-3 in Detroit. Even I know that adds up to four.

This Version Of "Scrubs" You Can Cancel, As Far As I’m Concerned

Watching the Pistons-Celtics game Sunday evening, a carrot-topped player caught my eye, and I had some ghoulish memories. Then, moments later, history repeated itself. But more on that in a second.

One of the reasons why I had no significant problem with LeBron James’s explosion and single-handed dismantling of the Pistons in Game 5 of last year’s conference final was because he’s … LeBron James. Yes, the Pistons could have defended him better. Yes, it was still inexcusable at times, the way they seemed to let James score on them at will. But he’s still LeBron James, and sometimes the great ones do that. I remember watching second-year pro Michael Jordan drop some 63 points on the vaunted Celtics in a playoff game in 1986. Of course, the Celtics won the game, but they were still helpless against young MJ.

No, getting beat by the other team’s stars I can stomach. It’s all part of the game. When Ray Allen hit a clutch triple off the dribble against the Pistons in Boston last month, tying the game, I just shook my head in admiration. Great shot, under pressure. But it was made by Ray Allen. That’s what he does.

It’s getting your rear end handed to you by a scrub or an unheralded rookie that I can’t abide.

Add Celtics rookie Glen Davis, who looks like a Cro-magnum man with those slightly crossed eyes, to the list of nobodies who’ve splattered diarrhea all over a Detroit sports team.

Davis laid in 16 points in the fourth quarter of the Celtics’ win Sunday, and just about every bucket seemed to be accompanied by a free throw as the too-late Pistons defense tried unsuccessfully to hack “Big Baby”, Davis’s apparent nickname — which possesses cruel irony, since our own Big Baby, the Lions’ Shaun Rogers, was as unproductive in the second half of the season as Davis was productive in Sunday’s fourth quarter.

So back to the carrot top on the Celtics bench — which is where he belongs, and has been ensconced ever since he ripped out the Pistons’ hearts in 2004.

Remember Brian Scalabrine? He torched the Pistons in Game 5 of the Eastern semis, when he played for New Jersey. Unlike Davis, though, Scalabrine’s poison was the three-point shot. Oh, how many triples he rained on the Pistons that night! Nobody had heard of him before his outburst, and not many have heard of him since. But there he was, in the familiar sweats of the bench player, as my TV tube flickered the images to me Sunday night.

Scalabrine as a Net: don’t remind me

Hey, how about Luke Walton? Remember his ridiculous display of shooting, passing, rebounding, and general annoyance that he provided for the Lakers in Game 2 of the Finals in ’04? Yes, the Lakers won that game on Kobe Bryant’s shooting at the end, but it was Walton and his 15 minutes of fame — almost literally — that set the stage. I attended Game 3 in Detroit, and Walton was a complete non-factor, having returned to normalcy. I haven’t heard much from the kid since.

Again, I can tolerate getting beat by Bryant, or Allen, or Jason Kidd, or any other star from any other team in any other sport. But it’s unacceptable to let the Glen Davises and Brian Scalabrines and Luke Waltons do you in. Thank goodness the Scalabrine and Walton games came in series in which the Pistons won, or else I may have been suicidal.

It doesn’t stop with basketball. Set your time machine back to 2006, when Vikings running back Artose Pinner, a former Lion and a certified non-star, ran wild at Ford Field. Of course, the Lions are good at making every back look like Jim Brown and backup QBs look like Joe Montana. Or you can take just about any Indians-Tigers game last season and set your sights on Casey Blake. Blecch. I still can’t say (or type) the name Fernando Pisani without getting a nervous tick. SSEe WhAt I MeAn? Edmonton’s Pisani actually led the NHL playoffs in goal scoring for much of the 2006 post-season, including his way-above-his-head performance against the Red Wings in Round One. Fernando Pis — forget it, I can’t bring myself to mention him again in his entirety. Besides, it’s not even CLOSE to being a hockey name. No one named Fernando should be on skates in the NHL, I’m sorry.

I firmly believe that the pain of Red Sox fans over their 1978 playoff loss to the Yankees would be significantly reduced if the home run that beat them at Fenway Park was hit by, say, Reggie Jackson. Or Thurman Munson. Or Lou Piniella. But it was hit by Bucky Dent (or as Red Sox fans know him, Bucky F***ing Dent), and I think that’s just not something Red Sox faithful can stomach, and I can’t blame them. If Reggie had beaten them, then you just tip your hat and say, “Well, he IS Mr. October, after all.” But Bucky Dent? I’m a little annoyed with that, too — and I am by no means a Red Sox man.

The Pirates lost the 1992 pennant to the Braves thanks to a ninth-inning single by little-used Francisco Cabrera, who had 10 — TEN — at-bats in the regular season. How’d ya think that would play with your tummy?

One of my favorite coaches of all-time, in any sport, was the NBA’s Doug Moe. He was one of the last to wear open-collared shirts and pace up and down the sidelines with his hands on his hips, like the 1970s coaches. And he was great copy. Once, after some nobody beat his team with an unexpected great performance, Moe said of the dude, “He completely ate our lunch. It was embarrassing. He’ll never make another basket the rest of his life.”

The Celtics’ Glen Davis certainly will make more baskets, but I hope they won’t be as frequent or as lethal as the ones he made Sunday in Auburn Hills. Kevin Garnett or Paul Pierce are free to go crazy all they want. But not Glen F***ing Davis.

Too Early To Hate These Celtics

(note: this column was written Saturday morning, prior to last night’s game)

OK, so just who ARE these Boston Celtics, anyway? Who are these guys who are 28-3 and running amok in the NBA?

One of those “3″ in the right-hand column came courtesy of the Pistons, a couple weeks or so ago, in Boston. And the Celts come to town Saturday evening, to take on our streaking hoop heroes, who are 26-7 and on an 11-game winning spiel.

This is supposed to be a rivalry in the making. I say it’s only by default. And it’s far too early for that rivalry stuff, anyway.

Why default? Look at the Eastern Conference standings. Pretty pathetic, ain’t it? Only a handful of teams north of .500. A whole bunch of them far south of it. The Pistons and Celtics, along with the suspicious Orlando Magic, are the only ballclubs with some cushion above the break-even mark. So if there’s a “rivalry” brewing between the Pistons and Celtics, it’s from process of elimination.

The Pistons have outlived all their chief competitors for conference dominance. Remember the Indiana Pacers? The Pistons out muscled them in the Eastern finals back in 2004, on their way to the championship. Then the two teams engaged in a brawl the following November, Reggie Miller retired after that season, and the Pacers haven’t been heard from since. Or how about the New Jersey Nets? The Pistons were swept out of the conference finals by Jersey in 2003, handled them in 2004, and the Nets, too, have been milk carton candidates ever since. The Miami Heat? From 2006 champs to 2008 chumps, with barely a stop in between. The Cleveland Cavaliers? Last spring’s upset of Detroit notwithstanding, the Cavs remain a one-man band, pretty much. When LeBron James missed significant time this season, his teammates struggled to win once every three games.

And don’t EVEN talk to me about the Chicago Bulls.

So now we have the Boston Celtics, who’ve risen dramatically due to the additions of Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen, to join forces with holdover Paul Pierce to form what is being called “The Big Three.” And so far, it’s working well enough. The Big Three are like their automobile counterparts of the 1980s and ‘90s.

Yes, 28-3 isn’t anything to sniff about, I must admit. You play .900 ball for 31 games, you’re on to something, I would say.

But this is no rivalry, this Pistons-Celtics thing of today. Prior to this season’s resurgence, the Celtics were more off the radar than a Dennis Kucinich presidential candidacy. So forgive me for not buying into the hype.
Are these big games, these Detroit-Boston tilts in December and January? Sure, if only because there are so few games of their ilk at this point in the 82-game NBA marathon. Big, because the Pistons and Celtics are two of the three competent teams in their conference. Big, because the Celtics have been horse manure for so long; it’s nice to pair the Pistons up with someone new.

Yet a rivalry isn’t Rip Hamilton versus Ray Allen, nor Rasheed Wallace versus Kevin Garnett. Not now. They’ve only played each other once, for crying out loud — the perennially competitive Pistons and the new-to-the-party Celtics. Let’s let it fester and brew for awhile. Would you eat the chili just after pouring in the tomato sauce and spices? And doesn’t it taste better after it’s sat in the fridge for a day or two?

Let me tell you something. A rivalry is Bill Laimbeer taking Larry Bird down with a body slam in the lane. And Robert Parish slugging Laimbeer to the floor. And Danny Ainge draining another backbreaking long bomb and giving us that combination determined/whiny puss. And Celtics radio announcer Johnny Most screaming into his microphone about the Pistons’ style of play, “Oh, the way they do things here! This is a disgrace!”

A rivalry is breaking a several-year drought in the Boston Garden to capture a crucial Game 5 win in the conference final, a year after losing in the most heartbreaking of ways in the same situation (“Bird steals the ball! Gives it to DJ, who lays it in!”). A rivalry is talk of leprechauns hiding in the Garden and Vinnie Johnson and Adrian Dantley butting heads, knocking themselves out so the Celtics can win another Game 7 on their home floor. A rivalry is Laimbeer carrying a sickle into the Silverdome (true story) in a satchel and declaring that it’s to represent how you must cut the head off the snake (read: Celtics) when its head is twitching.

A rivalry is Vinnie getting hot in the 1985 playoffs, forcing the Celtics to take the Pistons seriously — so much so that Ainge took to calling Johnson “The Microwave.”

“If that guy (William Perry of the Bears) in Chicago is The Fridge, then Johnson is The Microwave,” Ainge said after VJ torched the Celtics at Joe Louis Arena one playoff Sunday afternoon. And a new nickname, a beloved nickname in Detroit, was born. I wonder how many people know that a hated Celtic coined it. Now you do, too.

A rivalry is a thrilling seven-game conference final in 1987, followed by a nearly-as-thrilling one in 1988, which vaulted the Pistons to their first-ever NBA Finals. It’s Chuck Daly taking two suits to Boston in 1989, after the Pistons took a 2-0 lead in a best-of-five first round series, explaining that “I don’t trust the Celtics. I’m taking enough clothes in case we have to play two there.” The Pistons swept, negating the need for the second suit. But it was on hand, because you never know when the leprechauns will strike.

A rivalry is Dennis Rodman suggesting that Bird gets all the praise he does because he’s a white player. And it’s Celtics fans hanging Laimbeer in effigy in the Garden while Big Bill absolutely loved it.

The name on the front of today’s Boston team jerseys might say CELTICS. But the names on the back are still too fresh to have created any animosity and ill-will.

Let ‘em bash each other in the playoffs a few times, then come talk to me.