Rajon Rondo suffered a sprained ankle the other game, but he missed only one game before returning to his magnificent form.
Saturday afternoon, playing less than the entire game, he still had 20 assists.
To what do we attribute the healing powers that Rondo emits. Like some kind of god turning water into wine, he now can turn twisted ankles into pirouttes that would make Nijinski blush.
In the old days a player would tape up his delicate ankles and hope for the best. The 21st century has changed all that.
Rondo has found technology to embrace, or to embrace him. He sets his legs into a contraption not seen since the Inquisition in Spain several hundred years ago.
Duct tape might have been the remedy of choice for the astronauts facing peril in Apollo 13, but that too was more than a generation ago. Today old fashioned “duck tape” has gone the way of the Hula Hoop and the Twinkie.
Thanks to NormTec, Rondo employs pneumatic compression on his bony ankle that brings new medical miracles to a Celtic who thrives on performing them.
While tweeting and texting on his laptop and smartphone, Rondo can lay back in his bed on the off day and find that he not only will return in record time, but will be continuing to set records.
Move over Flash Gordon and Buzz Lightyear. There is a new bionic man in Boston who thrives on electrodes.
Tweets, tweets, everywhere, but not a friend to be had. In an age when tweeting wins you more followers than friends, Celtic leader Rajon Rondo wants to be alone.
In an effort to meet the high standards of his favorite role model, Greta Garbo, Rajon Rondo admitted this week he was friendless.
This is no mean feat in an age when people on Facebook have thousands of friends they never met.
Rondo gave an interview in which he admitted that he did not have time for friends, and likely we presume the old “vice versa” applies.
Despite his unfriendly demeanor, we still love Rajon, but he will always hold us at arm’s length, if not further away.
Ever since his beloved Kendrick Perkins was sent into exile by the mean forces of the universe, Rondo has been a man alone. His time is spent with angles and arcs of basketball passes. His worthwhile time is given over to finding better ways to score than to find better ways to smell the roses.
Rondo is unapologetic about his unfriendly smile. He told ESPN, “There’s no friends on the court.”
If you think Rondo has a face only his mother could love, you would be wrong. He admits if he played against his mother he would still go out and try to beat her.
This may lead a few to think Rondo needs a dog. As he noted, he does not talk to other players during the offseason, and he sees no need to talk to them on the court.
We fear that if Rondo had a dog, he would toss the dog a bone and race him to see who would get it first.
Dwyane Wade called the Celtic guard nasty names after the first game of the NBA season. Using the old ‘sticks and stones’ aphorism, Rondo declined to be offended by the harsh characterization of saying Rondo had a “punk play” arsenal.
After being manhandled like a punk in San Quentin by Wade and his compatriot Lebron James, Rondo turned the tables on a surprised Wade by hanging him out to dry on a clothesline.
With two minutes left in the game, Rondo decided to be flagrant—and not with his usually dubious wardrobe. You don’t hit boys who wear glasses, but Wade forgot his lenses, as usual.
In fact, Rajon was sending a message by pony express to his teammates that this is what they should have done after the half-time break. This was no game for a man called horse or horsing around.
Because the NBA protects its lambs like Lebron James and Wade, many opposing players won’t bother to swat at the fly-in-the-ointment in every game.
That like a little shepherd boy, Rondo stands tall as a Gronk when he takes on the bigwig Goliaths of David Stern’s stable.
Lebron and Dwyane may wear attitude frames without glass, but Rondo has the true attitude. He won’t break glass with his fist, like Amare Stoudemire, but he will punch out the lights of the biggest NBA towers.
Boston hasn’t seen this kind of heated rivalry since Jason Varitek stuck his mitt into A-Rod’s face.
After this game, Rondo won more acolytes in Boston. He has definitely become punky with plenty of boosters.
Doc Rivers of the Boston Celtics dishes out the ball like Rajon Rondo.
He ignores Ray Allen.
When the late Celtic #20 took to the Boston media maven named Jackie MacMullen and ranked the Celtics are purely rank, they were fighting words.
Allen turned down a no-trade contract and twice the money to jump ship. The no-trade clause came after he was practically in another uniform twice in two years. The yo-yo treatment came back to bite the Celtics.
Rondo himself responded to the Allen comments by having no comment and not even identifying Allen as anything more than “Number Twenty.” Ray has become the man without a name in Boston.
Worse yet, the Allen attack on Rivers noted that the beloved coach and affable basketball mentor had never called Ray to tell him he wanted the future Hall of Famer to stay in Boston. This was apparently the final straw in Allen’s straw poll of friends and family.
Doc amplified on his snub this week by saying the team would not concentrate on Ray during the up-coming season. There would be no gunfight at the OK Corral for the Celtics. They will let the gunslinging Allen fire his three-pointers ad nauseum.
Rivers noted in his own volley at #20 that there were two or three better players on the Miami Heat than Allen. Now we know why Ray never received that courtesy call from the coach.
If Halloween and the NBA season seem to be coinciding this year, we have seen the former Celtic and his long lost teammates take off the masks in preparation for a scary shooting match.
The Celtics had a tradition last season of having only one person wear a specially colored sneakers. It is usually Paul Pierce or Rajon Rondo, and last season they wore a bright green sneaker.
The idea seemed limited. Perhaps it was in a rotation or because one player was meant to be seen easily racing up the parquet. In any respect, the one wearing the bright green sneakers was not always the high scorer.
This season again only Rondo or Pierce was shod in the shamrock suede shoes. That is, until the trees went to Brooklyn.
Neon colored sneakers do make the peripheral vision jump—and if you know who’s in Cinderella’s slippers, you may better make a pass. Taste in footwear in the NBA seems to be in eye of the beholder.
Though we seldom make a serious point in our comments, we wonder if there is a uniformity issue. Does the NBA not check on whether sneakers are the new steroid?
Perhaps the players went overboard when they needed custom-made shoes to accommodate their corns and bunions.
When the only choice of footwear was high-tops or low-tops, democracy went out the window and laces needed their own shoebox.
In the latest preseason game, Rondo did indeed have his keynote green sneaks, but Jeff Green went against his own team and name. He wore the fulvous yellow sneaks, which glowed in the dark and made his feet look happy even when he sat on the bench.
Green himself called the color “volt green” on his twitter account and felt that he had created a sensation with his new “kicks.” Mr. Blackwell, the fashion maven, would have said the shoes clashed with the mouthguard.
Since Rondo has interned at GQ, Green might have done well to consult with the only NBA player to own a Star Trek shirt.
Shaquille’s illustrious career really takes on a roller coaster ride similar to some famous TV series you may remember:
Ladies and gentlemen: the story you are about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the losers in the 2011 NBA playoffs...
In the early days of the NBA, a giant roamed the plain basketball teams, searching for truth and justice.
Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear, when from out of the past comes the thundering hoof beats of the great horse Shaquille!
The Green Shamrock rides again!
Slower than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to jump tall trees in a single bound Look up in the sky. It’s a bird! It’s a plane! No, it’s Superman Shaq! (Move over, Dwight.)
Disguised as a mild mannered part-time statue and part-time symphony orchestra conductor in a great metropolitan Hub city, he continues to fight for truth, justice, and the American way.
(Shaq was recently made a deputy sheriff in Worcester County, Massachusetts.)
Name: Shaquille O’Neal. Profession: NBA Legend. Destination: Hall of Fame, Springfield, Massachusetts.
Shaquille O’Neal has been tried and convicted for the character assassination of Kobe Bryant. But, laws are made by men, carried out by NBA flaks and hacks.
And men are imperfect. Shaquille O’Neal is innocent. Proved guilty, what Shaq could not prove was that moments before discovering his Achilles’ tendon was hamstrung, he encountered a man with one arm in a Celtics jersey running up and down the court with a lifeless left arm at TD Garden.
Yes, it was a man with one goal, to help the Celtics win another championship. It was a man Shaq had never seen before. It inspired Shaq to find his own courage.
Shaquille O’Neal ponders his fate as he looks at the world from the trainer’s room. And, he sees only darkness. But in that darkness, fate moves its huge hand.
Shaq will return if a young man with one arm can return.
Shaquille O’Neal is an innocent victim of blind justice, falsely convicted for the collapse of the Celtics, hoping to be reprieved by fate when a train wreck freak injury dogged him en route to the 18th championship; causing him to hide in lonely desperation, to change his identity, to toil at many jobs; allowed him to search for a Los Angeles Laker he saw leave the scene of the crime; freed him to run before the relentless pursuit of his fifth championship ring, obsessed with his victory.
In the locker room of the Boston Celtics comes the booming voice of the Big Shamrock singing:
“Green Gardens is the place for me.
Celtic livin' is the life for me.
Fans spreadin' out so far and wide
Keep Los Angeles, just give me that Bunker Hillside.
Boston is where I'd rather stay.
I get allergic smelling Ko-bay.
I just adore a Garden view.
NBA, I love you but give me 18th Avenue.
Green Champs, we are there.”
Celtics fans pray for one Last Hurrah from the Big Shamrock! He found the one-armed man, and that inspiration is his teammate.
Thank you to Dragnet, The Lone Ranger, Superman, The Fugitive, and Green Acres.
If you enjoy the writing of Willliam Russo, take a look at essays on the heroic Celtics point guard in RAJON RONDO: SUPERSTAR! Now available on amazon.com for download to Kindle, computer, or even smartphone.
Having one’s head served on a silver platter is not always a good sign of life.
Mark Twain, more or less once said, reports of my death are exaggerated, but Celtics reports are understated by the undertakers.
Charles Foster Kane died with “Rosebud” on his lips. Can the Big Three go with the dying word: “LeBron” on their breath?
Julius Caesar reported cried out, “Et Tu, Brute,” when the three-pointed dagger went into the soft spot. Celtics would have to cry out, “Et tu, Glen. Et tu, Jeff, and et tu, to all of tu on the bench.”
In the original Scarface, Eddie G. Robinson called out in a hail of bullets, “Mother of Mercy, can this be the end of Rico?” Shall we hear Doc Rivers in a press conference tell Celtic Nation, “Can this be the end of our Big Three and me?”
Sydney Carton faced the guillotine with the words, “It’s a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done before…” and injured starting Celtics will have to lament, “It was a far, far better team we had three years ago…”
Hamlet himself pondered the inevitable with the age old inquiry, “To be or not to be, that is the question…”
Edgar Allan Poe found a talking bird that told us about mortality with one word, “Nevermore.”
Captain Walter Kurtz in Apocalypse Now watched the end with the words, “Oh, the horror! The horror!” And, Celtic Nation may well see the apocalypse of the Big Three to the cries of “Long Live the Big Three.”
Omar Khayyam once said, “The moving finger, having writ, moves on…” But, we true fans prefer to hear old Peggy Lee singing, “If that’s all there is, then let’s keep dancing, let’s break out the booze and have a ball if that’s all there is.”
William Russo has a new e-book that skewers Rajon Rondo, entitled RAJON RONDO: SUPERSTAR. The old standby SEX, DRUGS, SPORTS & WHIMSY, volumes 1 and 2, are also ready for download to smartphone, computer, or even a Kindle.