It’s June 6th, 2010. I’m sitting in the patio area of a random bar in downtown Toronto with my parents. It was one of those places that would let minors in as long as they were accompanied by an adult. It’s safe to say that a lot of what I was experiencing was alien to me. This was my second time visiting Toronto but it was the first time I truly fell in love with it. I felt like I had grown since the last time I was here. The noise. The speed. The rush. The life, the inexplicable feeling that the city had a beating heart and a vibrant soul. It was a captivating experience, one that was a welcome contrast from the drudgery called Edmonton. And the game was pretty good, too.
In plain sight, there’s a full-screen television inside the bar and Game 2 of the Lakers-Celtics series is playing. At this point, I’ve been a die-hard NBA fan for about four months. I’m captivated. “Seerat, what are you looking at? Seerat, are you listening? Seerat?” “Sorry, what? I was just… uhh.. what?” If you wrote about this day from my mom’s perspective it would probably end with something along the lines of “… and that’s when we knew we’d lost her forever.”
In reality, I was infatuated with basketball since I was nine years old but it wasn’t often that I cared to watch it. My summers consisted of endless days at the playground trying to master the art of reaching the rim on free throws. My winters consisted of kicking ass and taking names with Steve Nash in whichever NBA video game dictated my life at the time.
This brings me back to 2010. Like almost every 16-year-old girl in high school, I’d recently developed an all-consuming interest in the NBA. Naturally, I began to spend the majority of my time watching highlight reels, “studying” basic statistics and watching every nationally televised game I could get my hands on. I didn’t know much but I had picked up on a few things. I knew I loved the Bulls — familial obligations had figured that out for me years ago — and that Kirk Hinrich was the greatest thing since sliced bread. I knew Kobe had willed himself to be great but that LeBron was destined for a kind of greatness that came naturally. A few nights earlier, Kobe and the Lakers made mincemeat of my beloved Nash-led Suns so I knew I hated them. In response, I knew I loved the Celtics.
The Celtics won that game and Ray Allen hit a bunch of threes, as I’m sure you’ve heard. This was probably my 100th time watching basketball, and I can’t exactly explain why, but it was the first time I fell in love with it. I felt like I had grown since the last time I was here.