It's not just about basketball. Sure, this HBO documentary series is focused on the Boston Celtics - the most decorated NBA franchise of all time - but, like the outstanding sports documentaries before it (i.e. Hoop Dreams, ESPN's 30 for 30, The Battered Bastards of Baseball), it's about history, culture, people. Besides having a flare for the dramatic like The Last Dance (Netflix, ESPN), it doesn't shy away from the good, the bad, and the ugly when it comes to truths about race relations in Boston - a central theme throughout. Or the mental and physical toll of high-level competition. Or causing me to reflect on my own journey.
I grew up playing basketball. I loved it. Yes, I was always tall for my age, but I would have played regardless. My grandfather, Henry Bishop, played for the University of Minnesota. That was my first life goal that I remember making: To play Division 1 basketball. I never reached that goal. I ended being recruited by Division 3 schools and ultimately chose Gustavus Adolphus College (St. Peter, MN) over St. Olaf College (Northfield, MN) because they had a better basketball team and gave a more enthusiastic campus tour. I didn't even end up playing my Freshmen year because I was diagnosed with Marfans Syndrome and was recommended not to. After my first year of college, I sought out a second opinion. This time my doctor communicated with an expert from Johns Hopkins and cleared me to play under one condition: No weightlifting. Perfect, I thought, I hate weightlifting. After varsity try-outs with the assumption that I'd make it, I was humbled to find out I that I'd start the season on JV. That's right, D3 schools have JV teams. I started, but was still embarrassed. I quickly realized that without hitting the weights, I'd never be bumped up to varsity. I had underestimated how strong, talented, and competitive D3 schools actually were. My altered dream of transferring to a small D1 school like Drake after a few successful years at Gustavus started to slip away. In late December of that sophomore year, I twisted my ankle pretty badly in a pick-up game. I needed to have my ankle taped the rest of the season and after losing my starting spot, I hobbled out of the game I thought I loved. I shifted gears to focus on theater and extra-curricular activities and organizations that I wouldn't have had the time for if I was dedicated to the sport that had engulfed me since 3rd grade. But I didn't just love the game. I loved what I got out of basketball: teamwork, service, exercise, strategy, camaraderie, problem solving, understanding assholes (basketball players are some of the biggest punks I've ever met), character, dealing with disappointment, selflessness, taking direction, toughness, flexibility- I can go on and on. Sports are a crash course on what kind of person you decide to become. The lessons I learned on the court have served me well as an actor, teacher, manager, driver, and all the other odd jobs I've had over the years.
Celtics City is compelling because it's relatable. And you don't have to have been an athlete. It pulls the curtain back on why people act the way they do. It digs deeper. I could relate to Celtic Great Bill Russell. Maybe not the player (I can't imagine the weight of winning 11 championships and being a Player/Coach) or the black civil rights activist in the '60s, but as a person who questions his purpose beyond a day-to-day job. What's my responsibility to my community, our country, the world? Am I doing enough with the platform I have? What do you do if you don't receive the respect you know you've earned? Now Russell's sudden retirement makes a lot more sense. Sometimes you need to remove yourself from a situation when you're not getting as much as you're giving. I could relate to former guard Quinn Buckner saying "We're all trying to prove we're worthy." He's right. This is why Larry Bird played through back issues towards the end of his career. This is why I continue to act in Los Angeles instead of heading home to Minnesota to become a full-time teacher. I could relate to journalist Howard Bryant reminding us "There are certain sounds and certain games that don't just take you back to the game. They take you back to where you were at that point in your life." These time markers stir up memories of who we were and remind us of who we are. I can name dozens of games I played in and attended that make me reflect on my past: Am I honoring my 9th grade self who never quit and fearlessly led the charge to slay the giant (aka Mounds View) in my middle school back gym? Additionally, I appreciated the idea that the fans love a guy who was unapologetically themselves: Bob Cousy, Russell, John Havlicek, Dave Cowens, Robert Parish, Bird, Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett, Rajon Rondo, Jrue Holiday. These Celtic legends encourage me to continue to push back against impulses to be a people-pleaser. The right people will like you, Michael, when you stop trying to be everything to everyone. "You can't change who you are," sportswriter Jackie MacMullan muses (in reference to Bird who many speculate would have had a longer career if didn't recklessly throw around his body as much). These lessons go beyond basketball.
Sports, and basketball is no different, have been branded as gritty and tough as a marketing tool, but Celtics City celebrates sensitive moments throughout: Interviews with daughters and wives of deceased players and coaches, honoring the tragic deaths of Len Bias and Reggie Lewis, former Celtics fondly sharing stories about their beloved teammates, and a memory lane conversation between Bill Simmons and his dad, William, who shared "It was neat to have this common thing to go to that we both enjoyed watching. We enjoyed being together. And that was the most important reason for me to have the [season] tickets." Yep. It's not just about basketball.
This docuseries is a beautiful tribute to what basketball represents. It's a sport that will continue to teach life lessons long after I'm gone. Its history will not be forgotten because of films like these. Most admirably, Celtics City has something in it for everyone. It holds a mirror up to a slowly changing culture. It's a reminder. What did racism look like in the 50s? What does it look like today? Are we getting better as a society? What did a team, a family look like in the 80s? What does it look like today? Are we coming together or moving apart? Is winning a true mark of success? Like any great work of art, Celtics City asks the questions, provides some insight, and by the end, challenges us to consider what kind of future we want to see chronicled in a documentary 50 years from now. The ball is our court.
