Wob: The Boston Celtics and the Recipe of an NBA Meltdown

I want to re-introduce you to Boo.

Remember her? The adorable little girl from "Monsters Inc." who accidentally stumbled into the middle of Monstropolis in the middle of the night.

In fear of being persecuted for allowing a human to infiltrate the Monsters Inc. workplace, Mike and Sully bring Boo back to their apartment, where they frantically brainstorm ideas to calm down this notoriously feared apex predator.

Boo finds a stuffed animal, which makes her very happy and the situation appears to be subdued. But that’s Little Mikey, Mike’s favorite. No one is allowed to have Little Mikey in their possession but Mike, so he rips it out of her hands.

It was at this moment, Mike knew he messed up.

We’ve all been there at least once, in childhood or as an adult. Nothing can make you feel better except the Earth scorching at the mercy of your tears.

Meltdowns are the culmination of the perfect storm of emotion: desire, anxiety, jealousy, shock, injustice.

Nobody is immune to them, they apply to almost any and every situation in life.

The reason why I’m even having this conversation in the first place is because after the Celtics got boo’d (😎) off the floor after losing their fifth game in their last six contests — free-falling three losses out of fourth place in the Eastern Conference playoff standings — I started wondering: How the hell did we get here?

How did this team go from championship contender to “are we sure they’re getting out of the first round?” overnight?

How are fans this upset with a team currently 12 games OVER .500?

How are the players seemingly this unhappy with each other with such an extensive track record of success?

It is time to brew up the ingredients of an NBA team meltdown.

On the dish, surrounding our entree, are always the same couple of side items that supplement and enrich the flavor of the main course:

• Losing steak
• Memegtables
• Fanbase french cries

Those are always the constants, but for the meltdown: let’s use the 2019 Boston Celtics situation to determine the perfect recipe.

1 oz free agency dark cloud

Every NBA heavyweight that melts down has one of their best players on an expiring contract.

Not only is this player due to become an unrestricted free agent, “#HeGone” rumors are sprinkled into the consistency of the sauce throughout the season.

The player in question may or may not be responsible for the gossip — so his team not only has to deal with the burden of high expectations, but this never-ending drama of a superstar flirting with either other stars under contract with different franchises or the freedom of free agency itself.

It’s an impossible situation, regardless of the truth.

Take Kyrie Irving, for example: First, he declares “If you guys will have me back, I plan on re-signing here" …

… Then, months later, a different tune:

And a whole lot of clickbait nonsense in between:

When you combine everything and pour it into the same cauldron, nobody knows what to believe anymore. And even if the players know something that the public doesn’t, they still see everything being said about the situation — all of the hot takes, all of the jokes, all of the viral comments.

It’s poison until the day arrives that the re-signing is official and declarations of loyalty are replaced with action. When chaos becomes the only ally, then and only then do you have the beginning of the end.

2 tbsp cryptic answers

When shit hits the fan, one of two things happen:

1. The team rallies around its leader and they overcome the adversity

2. The team’s trust in its leader is exhausted, and it starts subtweeting each other through the media.

These players know whatever they say is going to be taken out of context by content consumers and aggregation websites.

But sometimes these guys just don’t care: They know exactly what they’re doing, and they're going to use the platform given to them by reporters and camera phones and Twitter to spray venom at teammates, coaches, and/or executives while not violating the sacred brotherhood code of the locker room.

Cryptic subtweet answers are not poison that kills on contact; it is time-released. They have your colleagues pondering if your answers are trolling or truthful denials.

The uncertainty of trust is pernicious. Humans willingly accept the pain associated with closure to quench the thirst of the unknown.

100 ML extremely overpaid player who will be reason why some guys have to leave

Listen, Gordon Hayward did not chose to break his ankle. The fact that he was able to return to play basketball — let alone walk again — is a miracle, which he, the Celtics, and sports fans in general should applaud and never take for granted.

However, despite his tremendous story, we have to view this ingredient in strict business terms: Hayward has been a shadow of his old, pre-injury Utah Jazz self.

He has the lowest player efficiency rating of his career other than his rookie season. That's not great for a guy who entered this season owed $98,102,070 over the next three years.

He is the highest-paid player on the roster and makes a number so significant it occupies approximately 30.6% of the franchise’s entire salary cap.

As July 1 approaches and some of the other key role players on the Celtics (Terry Rozier, Aron Baynes, Marcus Morris) are due to become unrestricted/restricted free agents, they understand their performance this season will drastically impact the size of their next deal.

Do the math here: This guy, who is not playing well, is averaging 26 minutes per game and is regularly on the floor in clutch fourth-quarter moments.

If he wasn’t making $31,214,295 this season, would he be out there?

Nobody knows the answer to this question besides Celtics executives — and nobody knows if this sentiment is actually shared by Hayward’s teammates — but greed and competition are natural human qualities.

If even a hint of them enters the locker room, no need to run — it’s already too late.

2 cups young star trade block burden

Here’s one thing we don’t always remember about NBA players: Almost every single one of them, from the end of the bench guys all the way up to the level of LeBron James, was likely the best player on a team at one point. JV, AAU, college, Mr. Basketball, Europe, international — you don’t make it to the NBA unless you’re one of the best at what you do.

And when you’re the best of the best, egos naturally get inflated, “I got this” complexes run rampant through brains, and swollen levels of trust in oneself are prevalent.

I don’t blame any of these players: They’ve established proven track records of success their entire lives.

But there’s only one ball.

And when someone thinks they should have gotten said ball in an important moment instead of a teammate, the meltdown ingredients begin to waft throughout the locker room.

When you have a team stacked with All-Stars and standout rookies/key players still on rookie contracts, a couple of things materialize:

1. Other franchises with All-Stars on the roster and no hope of winning a title begin to inquire about trading their assets for a long-term payout.

2. The championship-contending franchises holding the long-term payouts consider liquidating these mortgages to win now.

It is no secret Boston is interested in acquiring Anthony Davis, one of the most talented basketball players on Planet Earth.

The New Orleans Pelicans, Davis’ current team, aren’t winning anything anytime soon. To part with their star and send him to Boston, they are going to want Jayson Tatum, Jaylen Brown, draft picks, and any promising young player on the roster.

Whether this actually happens or not is a conversation is for another time, but these young guys are going to have to show up to work every day (starting on draft night) prepared for the possibility of getting traded for Davis.

Battling with veterans for crunch-time usage + readjusting to a new role + the strain of the unknown = a formula of apprehension.

Having ambitious rising stars playing alongside multiple All-Stars is a great problem to have, until…

50 milligrams of “This isn’t fun anymore”

Alas, the chef’s kiss of death.

“We don’t have no attitude. We don’t have no toughness. We ain’t having fun. It’s going to be a long season .… I watch all these other teams around the league and guys are up on the bench, they’re jumping on the court, they’re doing all other stuff that looks like they’re enjoying their teammates’ success. They’re enjoying everything and they’re playing together and they’re playing to win. And when I look at us, I just see a bunch of individuals,”

When a player declares the team is not having fun anymore, it is the basketball equivalent of getting called sent to the principal’s office.

There’s nothing that can make you feel better during the long walk, you just want it to end. Just sentence me already, the wait is worse than any punishment you can deliver.

The NBA is a business, and it honestly would not surprise me if a majority of the players don’t find playing professional basketball “fun” regardless of their team’s standing — but to say it publicly is the epitome of "misery loves company."

It carries some precedent across all pro sports:

It’s one of the most notable signs of an imminent team meltdown, and a declaration of apathy toward resolving the situation, which is arguably more dangerous than any swing of emotion.

Before we dive into this delicious meal, everyone please hold hands and let’s say grace.

Meltdowns often unite good teams and evolve them into great ones. Look at what the Warriors meltdown did for them earlier in the season — on the surface, they seems stronger than ever after Draymond and Durant settled their differences and are laying waste to anyone or everything in their path.

Public scrutiny, media peer pressure, and jokes have been the most nutritious source of bulletin board material since the beginning of basketball.

The Celtics can and will likely turn it around at some point, so this recipe formulation is not meant to be served as a death certificate or dish best served cold by any means.

But the flame is burning.

There is an aroma of spice in the air, but it’s not healthy to breathe.

To prevent the meltdown from becoming Chernobyl, just remember: Find a way to convert Boo into laughter and your franchise will wield enough power to save the city…

… a recipe that, finally, the whole family can enjoy.