This story was originally published in a Facebook post in May 2016 following the retirement of Boston Celtics great Paul Pierce. On Feb. 11, Pierce’s number #34 will be retired in the rafters at TD Garden in Boston during the Celtics-Cleveland Cavaliers game.
Harrison Ingels, 30, is from Leominster and attended Frontier Regional High School in Deerfield. The following story took place in 2000 when Ingels was a freshman at Frontier. He is currently a high school football coach.
Paul Pierce. I saw you retired today, you snake.
You thought I would forget about the trauma from when I was in ninth grade, did you?
This is a completely true story about your “hero” and how he acts with his fans.
Hey, Paul Pierce. Welcome to your Tape.
So here I am as a young Harrison.
Does everyone remember when you used to sell the boxes of candy for a fundraiser?
I sold two which gave me two drawings into a raffle to ‘meet Paul Pierce and play basketball with him at Yankee Candle in South Deerfield.
They had an ’employee gymnasium’. Imagine my shock when I win the raffle. I swallow my pride — which makes this that much more painful — pretend I’m a Celtics fan. That’s right. I was too afraid to let the man know I repped New Jersey Nets all day. I was a Kansas fan though, so I loved me “The Truth.”
So the day finally comes. I go and meet Paul Pierce. He gives me an autographed picture of him with a basketball and a fu%*ing candle [Yankee Candle clearly had a promo]. He gave me an arm band that said “The Truth #34” and autographed my fu%*ing t-shirt without me even asking.
Ruined a shirt I wore a lot, to be honest.
I know what you’re thinking: ‘Harry, he seems like a good dude. Why the hate?’
Let me tell you what the fu%* happened next.
We go the gym for the highlight of the raffle prize. I get to shoot around with Paul. We start shooting. Everything is cool. Paul asks if I wanna play HORSE. You damn right I do. I slid on the arm band to give myself some extra juice..
LET ME TELL YOU WHAT TOOK PLACE. PAUL PIERCE DID NOT GIVE TWO FU%*S WHO I WAS.
We start playing horse and this fuc%*head immediately sinks a three-pointer from 15 feet behind the three-point line.
I air-balled, naturally.
HE LAUGHS AND SAYS, ‘ALL STOMACH, NO ARMS, HUH?’
This fu%*ing guy doesn’t step within 10 feet of the three- point line until the last letter (E).
I think he missed one shot.
Then when he’s on the final letter.. HE DRIVES IN FOR A FU%*ING DUNK.
Guy fu%*ing smashed the s$$t through the rim like it was NBA jam on Sega Genesis. Wouldn’t even let me lay it up. I miss, and this dude legit laughed and said he had fun then left.
No ‘Hey keep working.’ He didn’t even let me try to feel good with a free throw shot. He came out swinging and made sure I’d never so much as dribble a basketball again.
He beat me in horse on six shots and called me fat.
Paul, if you’re reading this, I hate your guts.. I want a fu%*ing REMATCH. No dunks allowed.
I’ll put up $100 to any charity he wants. If I win, he’s donating $1,000 to the Suicide Prevention Hotline.