A calm, measured 76ers fan’s diary: Despair will test us, but it won’t break us

Editor’s note: writer Tyler Tynes is a ... let’s say, enthusiastic Philadelphia 76ers fan.

Previous Round 1 diaries: Game 2 | Game 3 | Game 4 | Game 5

Before his death in 1987, James Baldwin amassed a collection of work likely to rival anyone. His 1985 encyclopedia of essays and commentary on race in America, The Price of the Ticket, highlights a relatable section for this moment in my life.

“You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, or who had ever been alive.”

Baldwin offers a reminder that my pain is momentary. I read of the heartbreak of so many more sports fans. Imagine being a Wizards fan. How sad. Or even rooting for teams in Dallas? Tragic. The pain of a 2-0 deficit to the Celtics is worth it compared to something as horrible as that.

I have not felt despair in a while, but it is nice to feel it’s touch. The gentle reminder recalls a time when we were beatable, where teams cowered at our might, where Ben Simmons wasn’t afraid to bend a basketball with his sheer will.

But, I cannot fathom those days anymore. Apocalypse is felt on the horizon. Everything else so far was a tease. Starting a playoff series on the road, combating Scary Terry Rozier, it has all become too much.

My optimism keeps me from believing this valiant effort has died. Philadelphia awaits champions and there we must re-capture our crown as “Darlings of the East,” or all of this will have been for nothing.

It is not enough being here. I do not want a participation trophy for showing up to the semifinals. We must win. We must persevere. Because if not, we, as Philadelphians, are no better than Tom Brady and his shitty pair of hands that couldn’t catch the ball in our Eagles’ Super Bowl victory. And no one wants to be like Brady. He looks like a human avocado and loses big games.

It is hard to remain hopeful going into Game 3, but i must do it. My spirit has not died yet at the hands of an ugly Al Horford jump shot. My fire has not been put out after silky dribble moves and euro steps from the best Louisville guard in the NBA (all hate to Donovan Mitchell). Jayson Tatum will have to do more to kill me and stop my pumping heart.

But, I will offer Kevin Hart as tribute, if it means finally bringing back the team we grew to know over the last 20 games or so.

The Sixers must recover. Not just because I want them too. It is their destiny, or it feels like it is.

And something else is just as important, whether you are a Sixers fan or not. Admit it: nobody wants to fucking watch the Celtics lose to LeBron James again.

In the meantime, light a candle. Play some Swae Lee. Come, children. Mourn with me.