I’m not a big believer in destiny. I don’t think people’s paths are predetermined; that they are born to be something and the universe guides people down that path through seemingly unrelated life events.

But people like Mike Gorman exist to prove me wrong.

Gorman is a Dorchester kid who snuck into the old Boston Garden to watch his beloved Celtics play. He didn’t sit there and dream of being a TV broadcaster, of being paired up with the larger-than-life Tommy Heinsohn, or of getting standing ovations from people just like him. But destiny brought him that way.

He joined the Navy, and his comfort level with holding a microphone and running the minutes of meetings with naval officers caught an enlisted broadcaster’s attention. He finagled a meeting with Boston radio legend Gil Santos by using a shared military connection with a security guard. That led to a small radio job in New Bedford, which led to a bigger radio gig in Providence with the legendary Salty Brine. Gorman overslept after a night out and Brine turned it into a bit, which was a hit with his boss, leading to a bigger role on the show.

Then a TV sportscaster in Providence left for a bigger market on short notice and Gorman was asked if he wanted to try TV on the weekends. Then another sportcaster left and he was on TV full time. And then the Big East was formed by Rhode Island native Dave Gavitt and they needed someone to do the games. And then Gorman needed a broadcast partner so he called the Celtics to see if Heinsohn was available and the receptionist just offered up Tommy’s home phone number so they could connect. And then … well, you know what happened from there.

A lot of this stuff couldn’t happen today. Security guards aren’t sweet-talking broadcast legends into meeting some rando who showed up at the back gate. Television jobs are coveted, and an open one immediately drops a dump truck full of resumes on someone’s desk. No one is giving out Brian Scalabrine’s personal information to someone who called the team office. The circumstances of this charmed path are born from a simpler time.

But that’s how destiny works. It’s big, cosmic game of Plinko, dropping a human down a wall of pegs until that person bounces into the right spot. When Gorman walked into the building to say goodbye on a night dedicated to him and his 43-year career, it was the culmination of every force around him holding him tight in that role. If there are infinite universes with infinite possibilities about how life goes, all of Mike Gorman’s timelines bring him to this moment.

I remember seeing Gorman on WPRI in Providence when I was growing up. I remember seeing him on Big East broadcasts. I remember Providence College vs. Pittsburgh when Jerome Lane ripped the rim off the backboard. Everyone remembers Bill Raftery’s “SEND IT IN JEROME!” but forgets that was Gorman’s voice on the play-by-play.

The best part about Gorman, though, is who he is as a person. When I first started getting credentialed for Celtics games, I was nothing but a loudmouth blogger and podcaster. But Gorman would always say hi and take time to ask me “so what do you think about tonight?” I was always so excited that he wanted my opinion that I gave him enough analysis to make him regret asking. Nevertheless, whenever I next saw him, he’d stop, say hi, and ask me what I thought about the game.

Why did 19,156 fans (plus another couple hundred team and building employees and assembled media) give him multiple standing ovations on Sunday afternoon? Why did so many broadcasting titans take time out to record their congratulations? Was it just because he has a good cadence and mastery of the moment?

Sure, Gorman is a great play-by-play guy. He feels the game as well as anyone in that seat. But the thing that stands out about him is that his personality and love for the game and this team comes through in every broadcast. We don’t just feel like some perfect baritone is telling us what is going on. We feel like we’re listening to a friend or an uncle. We don’t feel like we’re listening to someone who is just trying to convey a moment. We feel like we’re listening to someone who cares just as much as we do.

The stuff that got Gorman to this point doesn’t happen anymore, and neither does someone like Gorman coming along and finding his way to a 43-year career. He survived ownership changes at the broadcast and team level to stick around this long. He became a Hall of Famer. He is a legend whose name is now permanently attached to the home broadcast table at the TD Garden. He has earned every accolade, every congratulatory salute, and every clap from every fan.

Destiny brought us Mike Gorman, but its work isn’t quite done. A life and career as charmed as his doesn’t end with Boston dispatching a first-round opponent, Gorman saying thank you one more time, and then turning it over to the national outlets for the rest of the games. No, there’s one more ride for him to take.

As his halftime tribute closed, after fighting off tears talking about Tommy Heinsohn, he had one last thing to say.

“To the team, I just want to say … go win this thing, will ya please? Just go win it.”

Let’s hope destiny takes requests.