Paul Pierce always knew how much time he had

Quick story.

It’s 2010 and we’re in Miami for Game 3 of a first-round series between the Celtics and Heat. Boston’s up 2-0, but the C’s still seem a bit shaky after stumbling into the postseason looking old and worn out. It’s a tie game with 10 seconds left and it’s been that way for well over an incredibly hectic minute of action.

The ball’s in Paul Pierce’s hands, as it always is when things get tense. We all know what he’s going to do, how he’s going to work his way over to his sweet spot at the elbow extended and pull up from 21 feet. This is the ballgame and it’s all on him.

Pierce goes to work. Slowly. Too slow.

“Gotta go,” someone says on press row.

Pierce starts to go. He gets to his spot and, leaving absolutely zero time left on the clock, he pulls up from 21 feet and buries it. The place is stunned. Pierce is triumphant. He struts to mid-court with his head high and his chest pumped out until he’s mobbed by teammates.

Flying down three flights of stairs to the tunnel leading to the locker rooms, I spot Bob Ryan and double-up my stride to catch him. There’s no better resource in times like this than the Commish. Just as I catch up to Bob and ask him where this one ranked in the Pierce pantheon of kill shots, we run smack into Warren Sapp. Randomly.

We all look at each other and say at the same time, “I thought he waited too long.”

Pierce always knew when to go. He played at his own speed and his own rhythm. He was never in a hurry, always ready to wait that extra split second just so he could really rub it in your face when he buried that buzzer-beater.

He retired after 20 years, and in truth, he may have stayed a little too long. He didn’t have much left in his final two seasons for the Clippers, although he flashed an occasional sign in their first-round series loss to Utah.

That he didn’t get to finish his career in Boston was the cost of doing business. The Celtics got a cornucopia of draft picks to begin their rebuilding process and Pierce got the last year of his contract fully guaranteed by Brooklyn. It was a win-win that fended off a potentially difficult set of decisions. That didn’t make the last five years feel any less odd as he bounced from Brooklyn to Washington, and finally home to Los Angeles.

Pierce had his moments in those other stops, particularly in Washington, where he helped guide the young Wizards while raining down clutch shots during the postseason. His season with the Wizards was memorable in that he finally reached the age where he gave exactly zero f--ks.

He gave hilariously cranky interviews where he ripped old teammates and trashed upcoming opponents. He couldn’t figure out social media to save his life, but always managed to post charmingly corny photos dressed up for Halloween or a Kansas NCAA Tournament run. The further he was removed from Boston, Pierce became oddly endearing to the rest of the country.

But it was those 15 years in the Hub where Pierce is best remembered. It was a time that began under tumultuous circumstances and remained that way for a decade. So many things happened between the time he was drafted in 1997 and the moment when Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen made the Celtics relevant again. There was Rick Pitino and Antoine Walker. There was a stabbing. There was Jim O’Brien and a frosty early relationship with Doc Rivers. There was bubbling trade talk and frustration.

Pierce was the best thing about those Celtic teams, and while they enjoyed some success, they never put together a serious contender. The brightest moment came in a Game 4 comeback against the Nets in the 2002 conference finals that was punctuated by Pierce jumping on the scorer’s table and communing with the frenzied crowd. That moment made Pierce with a generation of younger fans who had grown up with the legends of Red, Russell, Havlicek, and Bird, but never got to witness it for themselves.

To them, Pierce was their Bird; a notion that was scoffed at dismissively by older fans and observers. Hang a couple of banners and get back to us. But that missed the point. It’s not that this generation expected to live up to the past, they just wanted a little taste of the legend for themselves.

They finally got it in 2008, and it was then that Pierce earned a piece of the franchise lore for himself. His Game 7 duel against LeBron James in the second round of the playoffs was worthy of Bird and Dominique. He made a huge play to close out the Pistons on the road and later won the Finals MVP against the Lakers. When he raised the banner that fall, he broke down on the court.

Pierce had long been the team’s Captain, but now he was The Celtics Captain the way Havlicek served that role. As he climbed the ranks of the franchise’s leaderboard, he passed legends and Hall of Famers. Only John Havlicek and Bill Russell played more minutes in a Celtics’ uniform and only Hondo scored more points. No less an authority than Ryan called him the best pure scorer in Celtic history — which caused a considerable local stir — and placed him in his all-time Top Five.

We can argue about where Pierce ranks among the Celtic immortals, but no one can deny that in those 15 years in Boston, Pierce became family. There were genuine tears shed on his first return to Boston in a visiting uniform and subsequent visits felt like catching up with an old friend.

It’s fitting that his last great NBA moment came in the Garden, with the last shot he’d ever take on the parquet. Pierce buried it, as he does. There was no game on the line. There was just Pierce, doing what he does best. He slowly jogged back with his hand in the air, waving to the crowd and soaking in the adulation. His head was high and his chest was proud. He smiled. He was home.