Let me get this out of the way: I’m a Los Angeles Lakers fan from Massachusetts.
I know, strange. And believe me, I've paid for it. Given the Celtics-Lakers rivalry, cheering on Kobe Bryant and Pau Gasol in the mid-2000s didn’t make my life any easier. Just ask my college friends.
But every year, my hometown team, the Boston Celtics, visits Salt Lake City to play the Utah Jazz. I’ve seen the Celtics play at the Delta Center, EnergySolutions Arena and now, on Saturday, Vivint Arena.
The Celtics won, 112-104, and it was by far the best Jazz game I ever attended. Here are four wicked huge reasons why.
1. A woman next to us said she was Isaiah Thomas’ mom
You never know what life is going to throw your way. When we took our seats in the 12th row behind the hoop, we spoke with a woman dressed in a Boston Celtics jersey. We asked her if she was from Boston. She said she was actually from Washington and then told us her son played for the team.
Isaiah Thomas, she said, was her son.
So casual, so cool.
We chatted with her the entire game. She shared tidbits but seemed completely down to earth for the mother of an NBA superstar (and potential MVP candidate).
One cool tidbit: Isaiah wishes he could grow a beard.
She also said he probably wouldn't wear the sneakers he wore Saturday night again because he kept sliding around.
2. People care about Boston sports
Two people to our left chanted the same phrase every time the Celtics had the ball — “Beantown. Stay down!” Now, I don’t know if they saw the score, but Boston held a lead through much of it. The liquid courage resting in their hands may have influenced the chant.
Similarly, in the fourth quarter, a crowd camera landed on a man with a New England Patriots jersey. A chorus of boos followed. We’re talking on the same level as Kevin Durant’s return to Oklahoma City.
OK, maybe not that much. But still petty bad.
I'm not sure how good it sounds to enjoy seeing your hometown booed. But at the same time, it makes you feel more connected. Your loyalty for your sports teams and your home shines.
Plus, the Pats are the GOAT. So ...
3. We weren't alone. Celtics Nation exists
You hear a lot about sports teams and their national fans, especially when you’re from Massachusetts. Red Sox Nation is a big thing, so too is Pats Nation. Lo and behold, on Saturday night, a young boy shouted “Celtics Nation” at me as I walked around in a Paul Pierce jersey.
Earlier at the box office, a group of Celtics fans greeted us with chants of “The Truth” — that’s Pierce’s nickname — as they stood behind us in line.
Not to mention, it was comfortable seeing so many Celtics fans walking around the arena. A light head nod or slight handwave was enough to acknowledge each other.
Otherwise, we let the C’s do the talking.
4. I realized where my basketball allegiances lie
My fandom for the Lakers will never waver. I will cheer for them until the day I die, or until I’m asked to cover them on the NBA beat. Because, you know, that’s still a possibility.
But on Saturday night, something about where my fandom rests hit me smack in the head. A friend of mine told me I had to cheer for the Celtics in order to get the tickets. And so I did, dressed in a Celtics jersey.
And it made realize, quite suddenly, that the Celtics deserve my fandom, in a sense, because they’re my home team.
You could call the Jazz my home team now. But maybe it’s the lack of a Utah culture connection that distances me from the team. I’ve gone back and forth about whether to be a Jazz fan, but they’re not Boston. They’re not New England. They don’t represent my home.
When the Celtics play the Lakers, they won’t get my cheers. I’ve cheered for Kobe, Shaq and the litany of L.A. legends since I was a kid, and that won’t stop now.
But otherwise, doesn’t it makes sense to support your home team? After all they represent something more than just a good opponent on the court that can win (because, you know, Boston sports always win) — they represent the people you know back home, the cities you’ve left behind, the lifestyle and culture you love.
For a second, your hometown team brings you back. They forge a connection between where you are and where you were — between the person who you’ve become and who you were growing up.
L.A. may be forever, but Boston is for home.
I may not be a full-blooded Celtics fan. But next time they come to town, you know I’ll don my shamrock green jersey and bring out my Boston accent.
And it’ll be a wicked good time.