I’ve long maintained that Springsteen was about the only good thing to come out of the 80s – both music-wise and in general.

Yes, it’s a sweeping indictment of an entire decade, and I certainly go way out on the probervial limb by painting all those years with such a broad brush.

The thing is, I can’t recall anything terrible happening to me during the 80s – yeah, I turned the then-dreaded 30 that decade, but I turned 60 last decade and I don’t have an issue with that one.

Who knows. Maybe the constant exposure to big hair and generally crappy music left lasting scars.

Thank goodness for The Boss.

But now, thanks to this pandemic (four words I never thought I’d use together), I’m reminded, somewhat sheepishly, that some of my favorite memories as a lifelong Celtics fan came out of that very same 80s decade.

I “thank” the pandemic because, had it not forced the shutdown of every game in every sport from T-ball to the pros, I wouldn’t be sitting here whiling away the evenings under house arr-I mean, doing my part by sheltering in place – and being so pleasantly reminded of how the game of basketball was meant to be played.

“Bird … finds Parish inside. Parish spins, goes under Jabbar, up-fakes … a step-back pop, it’s good off the glass!” a young-ish Dick Stockton intoned with the kind of steady precision that impressed this critic enough to admit, “jeez, he was pretty good back then.”

Believe me, when it comes to sports announcers, that’s a ringing endorsement coming from a guy who insists the best play-by-play guys are the ones no longer with us, with a small handful of very worthy exceptions like Vin Scully, Mike “Doc” Emrich and Kevin Harlan.

Now, I’ve been accused of being the “old man on the park bench” who believes the 17-foot set-shot is the key to a successful offense, and that the 3-point line should be erased from every court.

Not so. If you make at least 35 percent of your 3-point shots and you’re wide open, I say take the shot. A little “showboating” in the right moment is OK, as long as you don’t miss an open teammate or throw the ball away.

In other words, do not abandon the fundamentals that got you here. And this one tends to drive me nuts: There’s no excuse, if you’re at least a decent NBA or college player, for shooting less than 80 percent from the free throw line.

How awesome it is to sit back in the recliner, beverage and the remote each occupying a hand, watching those classic Celtics-Lakers battles.

The fact the outcome is known doesn’t even make it any less enjoyable. My theory is that the first time around, we were naturally so wrapped up in coaxing every Celtics shot through the hoop and stomping our feet each time the refs made another call favoring the Lakers that we couldn’t pay a lot of attention to the way the players, individually as well as collectively, put together and executed each play, beginning with the throw-in at the other end of the court.

In that memorable Game 7 of the 1984 finals – won by the Celtics, thank you very much – I think I saw three, maybe four 3-point attempts in the roughly three quarters I watched.

What I did see a lot of was Bird coming up the floor, his eyes scanning the entire court like a human surveillance system as he diagnosed the situation in front of him.

I saw Parish stalking toward the top of the key, taking a bump from a screen then turning outside and suddenly picking up speed toward the low post to engage Jabbar, or sometimes James Worthy, or on occasion Magic Johnson.

I also saw Kevin McHale, sometimes in the lane, sometimes near the high post, calling for the ball while at the same time getting into it with a Laker at least 50 pounds heavier, then leaving said Laker in the dust as he whirled and drained a little eight-foot pop in the lane.

I must say I marvelled at how much focus the players put on working their way to the hoop, not just the Celtics but the Lakers too. I’m struggling a bit to write this, but who can deny the magnificence of a patented Jabbar “skyhook” as it floats off his fingers toward the hoop?

To those of us who bleed Green, of course, the most gorgeous of Jabbar’s skyhooks were the ones that didn’t go in.

——

EDITOR’S NOTE: This content is being provided for free as a public service to our community during the coronavirus outbreak. Please support local journalism by subscribing to The Telegraph at https://home.nashuatelegraph.com/clickshare/checkDelivery.do;jsessionid=40C089D96583CD7318C1C1D9317B6162.