05/14/2002

It now happens sometime in the fourth quarter, on the message board that hangs over midcourt at the FleetCenter.

Sunday was just the latest example.

First, there was an image of Red Auerbach sitting there in his seat at midcourt, the master builder, the old patriarch. Then it's one of Tommy Heinsohn, the ex-star and coach, now the longtime TV color man. Then it's one of Cedric Maxwell, the ex-player who is the radio color man. Then it's Bill Russell, the prodigal son who now often is at Celtics games after a 30-year absence.

Then it's Jo Jo White, the ex-player who now works for the Celtics. Then it's Bob Cousy, the first superstar back there in the '50s, the crowd responding with a huge roar, a reaffirmation that Celtic icons never die, nor do they fade away.

No matter that these men represent an era that ended more than 30 years ago. The crowd remembers. The thunderous ovations tell you that. This is the Celtics' living history, the human face of all those championships that hang in the rafters, the visible reminder that to the victors belong the spoils.

Is there any better message to a young team?

Is there any better reminder that to win in Boston is a special thing, gives you a sense of immortality?

Is there any stronger statement than this: To play for the Celtics is to be a part of something greater than yourself, be a part of something that's endured for half a century now?

And that's very different than it used to be.

The Celtics had a big problem with their storied past for the last decade or so. Simply put, it overwhelmed their lackluster present. For the last decade or so, the Celtics were all about the past. Or how could anyone get excited about a struggling team that couldn't even make the playoffs when the memories were of the Bird Era?

That was part of the Celtics' problem as they tried to rebuild, tried to get back to spring games that meant something. Their past crushed them. Those banners in the rafters became accusers, as if the greatness of the past was always staring down in judgment at the sorry present, like some scene out of a grim Cotton Mather tale.

That's started to change, both in subtle and not-so-subtle ways.

The FleetCenter has helped change things. It's a younger crowd than it was a few years ago, more raucous, more of a party atmosphere, complete with music and video images of people dancing in the stands during timeouts, basketball game as an event. And the younger the crowd, the less burdened with the baggage of the past.

More subtly, it's the new pre-game introduction on the message board, the one that begins when the lights are dimmed. It used to be a paean to the Celtics' past, a montage of memories, complete with Johnny Most's voice, still the signature voice to innumerable fans. Now the past is still there, but it's interspersed with the present, Larry and Antoine, Pierce and Havlicek stole the ball. As if it's all one big season, going round and round.

A small thing?

No doubt.

But it's all emblematic of a new era, one that's growing in the FleetCenter like flowers creeping through the pavement, the first basketball spring in seven years.

And this team is becoming more and more influenced by it.

Close your eyes now and the FleetCenter sounds like the old Garden. More and more, there's the sense the FeetCenter has become a decided home-court advantage, a place where opposing teams come to wilt. During the Sixers series, Antoine Walker spoke of how it was time for this team to create its own memories.

"We're building our own era," Walker said. "We're accomplishing things as a team."

Yes, they are.

There's no overstating that.

The NBA is full of players who all seem to live in their own individual solar systems, their allegiances to their stats and their agents, not their teams. That always was the knock on Walker and, to a lesser degree, all the Celtics. As though they all were just guys passing through, wearing green uniforms by an accident of fate, playing in Boston as if it were no different than playing in Cleveland. As though they were basketball imposters, having little resemblance to the Celtics who had come before.

We now are seeing that change. We are seeing the transformation of a group of individuals into a team, one that understands that there's something very special about playing in a place where the names of the past still are cheered 30 years later. One that finally understands that playing professional basketball in Boston is different than playing in Cleveland.

For these guys used to simply be a professional basketball team.

Now they've become Celtics.