Christmas is supposed to be a time overflowing with warm memories, family traditions and enough food to feed either a village in Africa or one of Charles Barkley’s faces. Between waking up in the morning and 5:17pm ET, Christmas Day was very similar to what many of you may have experienced. We opened a few gifts, cracked some jokes at each others expense and I personally ate food as though it would not cost me hours and hours in the gym.

For my sister and I, all of this was done with a tentative awareness of what was lurking later in the afternoon. Just around the corner was the injustice of the NBA schedule, a bitter rival evil enough to elicit hundreds of horror film like memories and suck the Christmas spirit out of Christmas like a T-Pain concert. Creeping in the back door of the Staples Center were the Boston Celtics, looking to turn a Christmas celebration into a sequel to last years demolition of the Lakers. I made sure I wished everyone a Merry Chrismukkah before the game started, just in-case things got ugly. I turned my phone off as my sister, her friend Johnny and I slipped into a private, secluded room at my Aunts house to watch the game without distraction.

The Lakers trailed by a point at the end of the first quarter. Kobe was hot (10 points), Gasol couldn’t have thrown a Nerf ball into the Pacific ocean and Ray Allen (8 points) looked like someone had given him a pair of new legs for Christmas. Still, the Lakers were playing this little thing called, umm, oh yeah: Defense. How weird. Despite the small deficit, I still felt pretty good about their chances.

By halftime, the Lakers had opened up a small lead (51-45) that should have been much larger. Kobe still had it going (16 points), Luke Walton was surprisingly effective in the scoring column (8 points) and the Lakers held the lead for almost the entire quarter. During the short breaks between his profanity-laced fits of rage, Kevin Garnett (12 points) also managed to knock down every single shot he took. Still, I felt good enough about the lead to eat more unnecessary food. That, of course, led to short-term diabetes and prolonged obesity. I’m writing this article from my throne. All food must pass or face the threat of being burned off by a treadmill.

At the 3:32 mark of the 3rd quarter, Paul Pierce knocked down a jumper to give Boston the lead, 64-62. Silence filled the room. My poor sister looked like someone had just told her Twilight was a fictional story and Edward Cullen didn’t really live in Washington. After a closely contested few minutes, the Lakers survived the quarter with a small lead, 71-67. You could feel the tension in the room. I ate M&M’s like they were Tums. Rachel curled up into a little ball on the floor and began weeping hysterically. Or, maybe that didn’t happen. But she wanted to, I could tell.

The fourth quarter started with a dud. Both teams exchanged turnovers and missed jumpers. By the official timeout a quarter of the way through, the Lakers were clinging to a two point lead, 75-73. I did not feel good about this. KG, Allen and Pierce were all on the bench. Somehow, the Lakers couldn’t put a run together against a crying Glen Davis and the rest of the Celtics reserves. Both teams continued to play each other to a stand still as my nerves tightened up like Jamal Crawford with the game on the line. With 3 minutes left, the game was all knotted at 81.

The Celtics were swarming Kobe, making it near impossible for him to get a decent look at the basket. Instead of forcing the issue, Kobe found Gasol, and then he found him again, and for an encore, he found him for a third time. Pau made the most of it, scoring 7 straight points to give the Lakers an 88-83 advantage with 1:28 left. Cheers and angry fist pumps emerged from the isolated room. Rachel and I could taste victory even stronger than the three pounds of cake we had just consumed. Two clutch blocks by Pau and an Ariza exclamation point later, the Lakers got a small taste of revenge with a 92-83 Christmas Day victory over the Boston Celtics.

It may only be one out of eighty-two regular season games, but for the Riley household, it was a wonderful and satisfying Christmas gift to open. It’s just too bad Championships aren’t won on Christmas Day.