Ray Allen, I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down

Dear Ray Ray,

Congratulations on a killer season. As always, it was a pleasure to watch, even when the bone spurs were hemming you up. I’ve been living in Kenya for the last year and haven’t been able to see you play as much as usual, but I followed the season closely. It was a mess.

I have to say thank you for drawing me, almost single handedly, into professional basketball. Having never played I didn’t really have a connection to the game until a friend waxed rhapsodical about your jump shot. There must be something to basketball, I thought, and there was. I’ve developed into a purely emotional fan. My knowledge of the game is limited, at best. I’ve absorbed a nominal number of facts considering how much I watch, mostly because I’m wringing my hands, cupping my head, closing my eyes or yelling. But I love to watch you play. I love to read about your routines, your preparation. I check your stats after every game, hoping you’ve had a good night. I wear your jersey when I run in the morning. Being from Massachusetts, of course I’m a Celtics fan, but I love the Celtics because you are a part of them.

So I’m really trying to be a grown up about this, to understand why you made this move that breaks my heart. Maybe you wanted to try something new. Maybe, playing basketball is your job and you can do it better in Miami. Maybe you want to win another Championship and you think this is the best way. Maybe you’re tired, frustrated, angry, bitter or bored. Maybe money isn’t enough. Maybe you don’t like the bench. Maybe you actually enjoy Miami. Maybe Flo wants to be somewhere warmer. Maybe you want to be part of something else great, great in a different way, something once in a lifetime. I’m trying hard to understand why you would do this, this upsetting thing. Maybe it isn’t upsetting to you.  Maybe it’s what needs to happen. Maybe you don’t give a shit what people will say. Maybe you want to play with LeBron. I’m trying to learn how work can be separate from your life, how it can not define you, how you can keep it in its place. Maybe Miami will let you do that. You’ve left teams before. You know what you need to be comfortable, to succeed. Just because you play for a soulless, black hole of a team doesn’t mean you are a black hole. I just have a hard time with change, which is something I think you know a little bit about.

So here’s what I need from you Ray. Here’s what I need to be ok with this horrible, go-against-everything-that-I-stand-for move. I need you. I need you to be your smooth, three-draining, pre-game head shaving, shoe laces perfectly tied, 133 shots three hours out, slight-drawling, son of a bedazzled mother, upstanding, fight-breaker-upper, Kobe and Dwayne guarding, occasional lay-up, deep-breath he’s got it, RAYYY ALLEN FOR THREEEEEEEE self. I need you to remind me why I started watching basketball. Why I woke up at 3am to watch the Playoffs this year. Why I went to a Nets-Celtics game by myself and paid $100 to sit in the fourth row. Why I will put on your jersey tomorrow morning when I wake up to go running at dawn, because I think for an instant it will give me power. I will try and have it not matter that you are wearing red instead of green, that you are now guarding Rondo, that KG will no longer help you up when you trip into the stands. I’ll try. Because I respect you, I’ll try.

But I won’t become a Heat fan. Don’t ask me for that. Good luck with the ankle. 

Thanks for everything.