Blogging on Meds

Paul Pierce scores 41 as Celts win Game 7 of semis vs Cavs, advance to Eastern Conference Championship, first game Tuesday against Detroit…

Paul Pierce. The Truth. Number 34. I love you.

“Tonight was very simple,” quipped Kevin Garnett. “Get the ball to Paul Pierce and get the hell out of the way. That’s exactly what it was. No need for you all to ask me no questions. That was the game plan; this is what we did.”

Sports writing is too hard a concept (with too much jargon and nicknamery) for me to master, so I’ll keep it short. Yesterday Paul Pierce played the game of his career. I’ve loved the guy since his rookie year (I worked as vendor at Fleet Center back then). He never got his due back then, like when he lost Rookie of the Year to the flashier but suckier Vince Carter. Maybe it’s because Pierce isn’t a graceful player. He has runs with a goose step and often looks awkward. Even Celts coach Doc Rivers agrees:

“Before I came here I couldn’t understand how he scored so well,” acknowledged coach Doc Rivers. “He didn’t look that quick. But he’s very strong, and he has great fundamental footwork. He’s never in a hurry, and he knows exactly what he’s trying to do. And he can shoot.”

Pierce just guarded and beat Lebron James, the best player since Jordan. It’s time the rest of America gives Pierce his due. Hopefully the Celts will make (and win) the finals and The Truth will be re-named Prime Time Paul Pierce.

A Decade of Celtic Pride and Urban Myths

Back when I lived in Boston, there were all sorts of quotes we’d shout about Pierce, mainly “Gotta get that shit to Pierce…” He was the only Celtic that mattered and we loved him so.

One season we made a shirt that said “Celtic Pride (front): The Truth 34 (back).” The night the C’s beat Philly in the playoffs, we sold a 1000 of them (at $20 a pop—and I swear it was the ugliest shirt with the worst font in world history).

During the next series, this crazy black guy in a gray jumpsuit and fake diamond watch came running up to us, trying to fight. “I’m Paul Pierce’s roommate,” the guy shouted. “You can’t sell this shit!” Sure, guy, everyone said, as we held him back and the cops broke it up. Of course, the racist Boston cops did nothing to us illegal bootleg t-shirt vendors but tried throwing Pierce’s black roommate in jail.

We obviously didn’t believe that Pierce, a $20 million a year player, would have some crazy roommate running the streets. But the roommate was back the next game. And the next. But we were 25 and he was one, so he couldn’t stop us from selling the shirts. Then the Celts lost. And Paul Pierce’s roommate became the joke of jokes; “I’m Paul Pierce’s roommate…” our slogan.

But next season, there PP’s roomie was again: “I’m Paul Pierce’s roommate. Thought I told all ya’ll that last yeeeearrr. Fuck ya’ll— you goin to jail.”

At some point (I was out of the country), PP’s roommate arranged a federal sting on our The Truth t-shirt crew: 20 cops—state, Fed, BPD—confiscated 300 shirts and one Jeep Wrangler and held 15 kids ages 18-25 in jail. Yup, Paul Pierce really did have a crazy roommate!

The trial lasted months, and my buddy didn’t have a car for the whole time. It cost at least $6000 in legal fees. The NBA’s lawyer did indeed admit she was tipped off by Paul Pierce’s fucking roommate. Really. I mean really, this happened.

Lesson learned: Don’t fuck with the mother fucking Truth. And not just because he has a crazy roommate.

In 2000, Paul Pierce was stabbed 11 times in the face at a Boston nightclub:

At approximately 1:00 this morning Boston police responded to the Buzz Club, which is at 51 Stuart Street in the Theater District. Upon arrival, officers learned that one victim, 24-year-old Paul Pierce, had been stabbed several times during an altercation inside the nightclub.

The victim was attending a private party being held at this location. According to witnesses, the stabbing took place in the pool room located in the rear of the nightclub. The victim was at the Buzz Club with several friends at the time of the stabbing.

The Boston media, eager to protect the heir to the Celtics’ legacy, quickly turned the stabbing into an “accident.” Despite the fact that Paul Pierce comes from C-O-M-P-T-O-N, South Central, Los Angeles, and is a reputed member of the Piru Bloods street gang. In Boston circa Y2k, dudes didn’t just accidentally get stabbed 11 times in the face at rap shows. Still, the story died, and Pierce became a legend for playing with fresh stab wounds.

Eight years pass. Then two weeks ago Pierce flashed a gang sign at the Hawks bench. The NBA tried to keep the story out of the media, and the Celtics said the symbol meant “blood, sweat, and tears.” Yeah, ok. Actually it means “You motherfucking bitches best not fuck with The Truth because my roommate will kill you.”

Anyway, there’s some urban myth to go with the Celts’ Captain’s 41-pt Game 7 masterpiece. I guess we’re lucky Pierce and his Blood roommate didn’t kill us.

That’s not a gang symbol, I swear…Gang members from Compton really hate Zoot Suits too…