Misery loves company, and Celtics fans have had plenty of it recently

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Rick Pitino once famously christened Boston Celtics fandom “the fellowship of the miserable.”

Guilty as charged, sir. Thank you for your meritorious contribution to our chronic, collective colitis, by the way. If you weren’t supporting Louisville’s local economy by spending millions on cough drops, hair gel and wannabe thoroughbreds, I’d swear that you and Danny Ainge are the same person.

Those of us dying for the Celtics to rediscover relevance before we join Johnny Most, Red Auerbach and Dennis Johnson have essentially achieved oneness, ourselves.

We cry alike. We swear alike. We fitfully call talk radio shows and try not to swear alike.

Matter of fact, I don’t need to write this column today. I could slide the keyboard (secure in the knowledge that it doesn’t have any sharp corners) across the altar to one of my fellow, um, shippers, and defy you to discern the difference.

I give you today’s guest contributor, Andy Riordan of Lisbon Falls, courtesy of a heartfelt e-mail that reads like Bob Ryan filtered through Bill Simmons, watered down by Yours Truly, narrated by Tommy Heinsohn on truth serum: “In Boston, Bruins coaches are fired annually. (Red Sox) managers should never make a mistake. Executives in general don’t last long,” he writes. “Now we have Danny Ainge, who has had five years to build a team, which is extraordinary for any team in any league.”

Well, not counting the Detroit Lions, whose general manager Matt Millen must have pictures of a higher-up stuffing counterfeit dollar bills into an exotic dancer’s cleavage to remain gainfully employed. But Ainge’s tenure does set standards of tolerance in Boston approached only by the continued re-election of Ted Kennedy. Point given.

“Having an opportunity to draft a young body with potential to turn things around, he screws it up again,” Andy continues. “He trades for (Ray) Allen.”

Shame on us for believing Jeff Green will be wearing the wrong shade of green in Seattle next winter. I can almost hear Ainge channeling that mad, trading fool of the 1980s, erstwhile Sox GM Lou Gorman: “What would we do with Willie McGee?”

Just kidding, Danny. I’m sure a 31-year-old underachiever with arthritic ankles was worth the No. 5 pick in the deepest professional draft since the one that gave us Elway, Kelly and Marino.

“Now Ainge has been given the opportunity for a 10-year plan,” laments Riordan. “I’ll be dead by then.”

Not sure how old you are, Andy, but take heart: Anyone born the day Len Bias lost his battle with fame was old enough to legally drink away his or her sorrows Thursday night.

Here’s to misery!

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