Chapter 808: Chapter 26 Bird out_2
When Gavitt became the CEO of the team, I was incredibly excited. I was sure he would be the man to lead us to our next championship—our operations in 1990 were indeed excellent.
But just after the end of the 91 season, two months before the surgery, I walked into Dave’s office and told him: "Dave, I can’t go on like this. I am no longer my old self. I can’t play as I wish anymore, I think I should retire."
Dave is a very persuasive person; he can really fire you up.
He spoke passionately, recalling the glorious history of the Celtics and hoping to win another championship next year.
Honestly, I was somewhat tempted; our team was indeed strong, Parrish and McHale still had fuel in their tanks, Hornacek and Divac were still developing, and we had great backups.
If I were still the player I was from 1984 to 1986, I would certainly lead the team to 60 wins and continue the pursuit of the championship.
As long as there was a slight chance, I would not give up. Never. I hadn’t tasted the championship for too long, and I was so thirsty for it.
The closest I got to the third championship was in 1986 when we had an almost perfect season but fell short in the finals.
In the Boston Garden, we witnessed Ah Gan ascend to greatness, and I knew then that the entire League might be dominated by this number 11.
Turned out I was right, but I never expected that we would never make it back to the finals again; we were always a little short, always just a bit more to go.
In 1991 I was exhausted; deep down I no longer believed we could work miracles, especially since we kept losing to the Trail Blazers and Bulls during the regular season.
Facing these top teams, I could no longer decide the outcome of the game at critical moments; injuries and age were limiting me.
I told Dave, "I’m afraid I’m not up to it anymore, I can’t score over Ah Gan in one-on-one battles."
Dave said, "Almost no one can score on Ah Gan in one-on-one, is everyone supposed to retire?"
"But to win the championship, one must have that ability... Sorry, Dave."
After this conversation, I resolved to leave the beloved NBA court.
I didn’t inform my teammates or talk to most of my friends, but went directly to hold a press conference, announcing the news.
At the time, my wife Diana had returned to Indiana; there was some family matter, so she didn’t join me at the press conference. I think she really didn’t want to see it all come to an end.
I remember after the press conference that night she called me and said she was at a beauty salon getting her hair done, and they broadcasted the news on the radio.
She said she wept, it’s a huge change for both of us, we’ve been through all the pain and sweat, and now suddenly everything has ended.
There were many reporters at the press conference, even though we hadn’t informed them in advance.
They wanted to know how I spent the night before preparing to announce my retirement.
I told them, I sat alone at home in Brookline, watching old game videos, watching myself cry uncontrollably.
Well, that was pure nonsense, I lied to them, I didn’t cry at all.
I did sit at home, not watching videos, but telling myself: "My god, it’s really over. I’m really leaving here!"
Then I began to recall when I first came here, how much I loved this house, and the many happy years I spent here.
Then I reviewed everything that had happened in the past decade in my mind, feeling grateful that I spent my entire professional career in one place.
I once told people, "If you haven’t played for the Boston Celtics, you haven’t played professional basketball."
Of course, I know that’s an exaggeration; the Celtics are no different essentially from any other team.
But that’s how I feel, I never thought of wearing another jersey; if so, I would retire first.
Some of my friends think it’s a pity that fans didn’t know that one game was my last because they didn’t get a chance to say goodbye, but they did say goodbye.
The Celtics held a retirement night for me, one of the best experiences I’ve ever had.
This was Dave Gavitt’s idea, initially I didn’t want to participate, as the Celtics usually retire jerseys during halftime.
But Dave said, it was nearly impossible to conduct the ceremony in such a short time without disrupting the game.
His idea was to sell tickets for "Larry Bird Night" and donate all proceeds to charity.
His vision was for me to stand on the stage in uniform, and various people important to my career would come up and talk to me.
He wanted to invite Magic Johnson from Los Angeles; I thought it was a great idea, because throughout our careers, our relationship was very close—so close that I didn’t expect he would retire just two months after I did.
Once I agreed to "Larry Bird Night", I started to worry, who would come? There wasn’t a game to watch.
But once the news was announced, tickets sold out in minutes, everyone was incredibly excited.
Mark Leaf from the Boston marketing department came up with an idea: to sell 1033 signed, limited edition Leroy Neiman artworks, priced at 1033 US dollars each, proceeds also going to charity (33 was my jersey number).
