We, not me, all you suckah mc's

"We not me" were the words printed in white letters upon a green Boston Celtics shirt. Energy Solutions Arena was quickly filled with Celtics fans. After a long thread of boos that accompanied the Boston player introductions, the lights dimmed. The fans stood up and the entire atmosphere shifted. As Matthews said after the game, it was as close to a playoff game as could be expected in March. Rajon Rondo lost no time and continued to work on his shot, in the dark, and ignore any introductions from players not on his side of the court. The lines were drawn and the anticipation was palpable.

The first quarter began and Paul Pierce took over. He made it clear that it was CJ Miles guarding him instead of Ronnie Brewer. He scored often and at will. Inversely, the Celtics defense was something unprecedented. I've never seen such skill and pressure and the Jazz were clearly shaken. Korver, desperately dancing to avoid an ever-persistent Ray Allen, threw the ball away on multiple occasions. Deron Williams shot poorly and missed when he would normally score. It was evident which team was championship caliber and which was not (but more on that later). This slow-paced, body-shot game dragged on as the Jazz continued to look outmatched on both ends of the court. Finally, Sloan had enough. After a timeout, Utah still trailed by 12 points and the playoff crowd was worried.

Something then happened. Listening to the interviews of players and coaches after the game, fans and commentators alike knew that they were witnesses, but of what no one was sure. One reporter asked five different Jazz players what was said that sparked this dramatic change, and each Jazz player had a different answer that orbited around one idea: no one knows. Nothing special was said by Sloan or Williams. No magic play was drawn up to penetrate the long and darting arms of the Celtics defense. Although I hesitate to claim knowledge of what happened, I would guess that it was Williams' pacing. He began to fly down the court at full speed, leaving Rondo to either foul him or helplessly watch as Williams soared to the rim and bounced the ball delicately off the glass or walked to the free throw line to make two shots. At the end of this flurry, the Jazz went into the half only down five. Despite the utter domination orchestrated by the Celtics, the score was close.

In the third quarter, the Association at its best exploded on the court. I sneaked down to the lower bowl to sit in an empty seat near my parents. The crowd roared itself awake as if it had been held in an unwarranted slumber. The Jazz began to run an offense that was unstoppable. The pacing was far to fast for the aging Celtics and Okur got very hot. He made two three point shots in a row and the building was as loud as I have ever heard it, the crowd roaring its support as Okur evidently and emphatically shook off his illness from the weekend. Williams whipped the ball around and Miles hit a big three that ended any hope of the Celtics evening the score. Before anyone noticed, the Jazz had unleashed a 10 point lead that would not be surrendered for the remainder of the game. We not me adequately sums up the play. None of players was sufficient, and each was necessary to advance the onslaught.

The brilliance of this moment existed in a strange extended and combined consciousness. Everyone was unified in the singular cause of defeating the other team. Although the Jazz executed perfectly and managed to consistently find an open player, this fails to explain what we witnessed. As Boozer made a good defensive rotation and smacked a would-be Ray Allen three half way across the court, no one thought of the words "defense" or "rotation". As he chased down the loose ball and slammed it through the rim, lifting himself high into the air literally kicking and screaming, his voice was lost in a deafening roar of voices, none of which spoke of a two point shot or a steal. We were taken away from understanding in any cerebral sense what was happening and instead watched as a reaction of athleticism and primal emotions yielded before our eyes.

This is what the NBA brings me that nothing else can. It is a numbers game in which probability is king, but it also more. It is a state of pure feeling in which you forget what is happening and are transported to the exact moment in which it happens. There is no context, no past and no future. There is only the silence as Okur takes a shot and the noise after it is made. Thurl Bailey ("Big T") claimed that what we witnessed was a championship caliber team in the second half of this game. I won't go that far; in fact, I won't go far at all since I cannot explain what I witnessed. I could have filled this post with important facts such as how well Wesley Matthews guarded both Ray Allen and the much bigger Paul Pierce (this rookie astounds me). I could have talked more about Deron Williams and how he was able to make every free throw attempt. I could even apologize to CJ Miles and explain that he is simply inconsistent rather than a bad player and that without his diligence and skill, the Jazz would have never survived the first half and been within striking distance. These are all true facts, but they miss what was most important about this game. All I can say is that something was there and I was a part of it, and this something is what sports are really all about.