One night in May

Yes, this has, and will, be written about by just about every news outlet and blogger with a pulse - the (at the time) ill-fated fortunes of the Boston Celtics at the draft lottery in May of 2007. Back then, everyone in Celtic Nation had this feeling that this was the year. That the Celtics had gotten screwed over one too many times, and that the basketball gods would finally show some compassion. There was no chance that the C's weren't getting the first or second pick. It was owed to them. For the tragedies of Len Bias and Reggie Lewis. For the days of Carr and Pitino. For the 19-game losing streak that season. For the fact that our beloved Tommy Heinsohn was going to be our representative. And for the 1997 draft lottery. On top of that, the Celtics had damn near a 20% chance of landing the #1 pick, and a 19% chance at the #2. We were alreadyA wondering what number Greg Oden or Kevin Durant would be wearing, with no regard to the reality that it may be a worthless debate. That there was no third, fourth, or, gulp, fifth option.A Back then,A most everyone knew jack-squat about who the hell Yi Jianlian was, nor did they care. That would eventually change.To me, the day of the Lottery was almost like Christmas Eve night, when I used to lay in bed and wonder if I got that one gift that I really wanted, and was fortunate enough to be able to ask for. I remember being confident, almost walking with a swagger at work, counting down the minutes til I could go home and assume the position (a case of Sierra Nevada, a bag of Baked Lays, and a worn-thin gray sweatshirt that simply read "Celtics" in green block letters across the front). I remember thinking how much more I wanted it to be Oden, than Durant, but that the consolation prize wouldn't be all that bad. The anticipation was intense, and 8:30PM ET couldn't come soon enough. Finally, it had arrived, and things were looking good for a little while. Picks 7-14 pretty much fell into place where they were supposed to. It was perfect. As Radiohead would say, "no alarms, and no surprises". Then, NBA Duputy Commissioner Adam Silver gave us the first shock of the night, telling the world that MilwaukeeA hadA received the #6 overall pick (Milwaukee wasA in-line for the third pick). A At first, I was thinking "well, there's the surprise of the night." After all, there's always a team that unexplicably slips in the lottery. At least it wasn't us. But what we didn't know, is that we were next. I can still see it as if it just happened. And I knew, beforeA it was said, that it had happened again. The look on Adam Silver's face as he looked at the card. That little smirk that only us Celtics fans could see.A It was a tell-all. He didn't have to say anything. It was as if Teddy KGB had called my bluff, and I had a handful of rags. I yelled out a bellowing F-bomb that shook the walls in the house. The Celtics' hopes and fortunes had once again been dangled in front of them, and taken away. The Bucks' slide to sixth may have been the surprise of the night, but the Celtics' slide to 5th was, well, like being the first to take a kick in a game of roshambo. The silver-lining of the whole evening, however, was Tommy's expression at the news. It spoke for every Celtics fan on the planet and how they felt - cheated, screwed, and destined for a few more years of mediocrity, at best.The rest, as they say, is history. We all spoke/debated/fumed, at length,A about whether or not the Celtics should draft Yi. Or who we could trade down with, because the difference between 5 and 10 that year was negligible. Could we package Pierce and the pick and land some nice pieces to build around (it almost seems like I will go to hell now for bringing that up again)? ForA a month, we came up with trade possibilities. We wanted Doc and Danny gone, as if somehow it was their fault that the ping-pong balls bounced the wrong way. We wanted to build around Big Al and Rondo and Gomes and Green. It was, in hindsight, pretty fun times to be pissed off about what had happened. The fan in us - the true fans of this team, not the red-hatters - had oozed out of our skin. We had all of the answers to the problems. We were all GMs for a month, until, one night in June, Danny Ainge began paving "Highway 17", and quelled all of our fears.