A championship is a championship. It’s the greatest feeling in the world. It doesn’t matter that the series wasn’t a classic, that the opponent wasn’t Boston… or even Cleveland. I wasn’t thinking about rubbing it in the faces of all the haters out there; I just wasn’t thinking about them at all. The Lakers won, 29 other teams didn’t, and that’s all that matters.
A championship is euphoria. I’ve spent the last week humming “We are the champions” – when I wasn’t outright singing it. I keep pumping my fists and raising my arms in triumph, and I’m just giddy. The night of the clincher, we rolled down Hollywood and Downtown Los Angeles, screaming at people on the street, woo-ing, bursting with happiness. Complete, utter happiness. You just can’t contain it.
A championship is a parade. A PARADE! Where tens and hundreds of thousands of people come onto the streets and yell and scream and just bask in the glow of it all. Everyone’s wearing purple and gold, everyone’s thrilled, and it’s the greatest environment in the world. It’s already over – we’re the champs. The champs!