And now, the bad news version...

I'm going to find the PA announcer at Phillips Arena and commit assault and battery.

It's embarrassing just to begin with to lose to a team that chants "SEVEN! SEVEN! SEVEN!" as if just making it back to Boston would be a success. It's even more frustrating when Paul Pierce gets fouled out on a terrible call, then gets a T for agreeing with me a little too much in the crucial moments of the 4th quarter.

But to see the Celtics run around like chickens with their heads cut off - a point never more clear than when Rajon Rondo, he of the non-existent jump shot, dribbles down on the final possession down 3 with plenty of time to set something up, and waits, and waits, and panics, and panics, and then jacks up an air ball at the buzzer. Well done.

And I'm worried that I'm not worried. It still breeds only anger and not fear, and that breeds fear. Because my brain hasn't processed the fact that all the good things that've happened to the Celtics since November could somehow now inexplicably be over in 48 hours, were the Hawks to win game seven in what would be the greatest postseason upset in the history of professional sports.

So let's not even talk about stopping LeBron, or the fact that Kevin Garnett gets huge offensive rebounds and nine times out of ten turns and kicks right back out instead of asserting his will like the man he should be, or the way that, especially without Pierce, everyone looks scared, half of them won't shoot and the ones that will jack contested threes quicker than Chris Lofton...

...and speaking of Tennessee Basketball, did you know Duke Crews and Ramar Smith are kicked off the team?