Mitchell Robinson's truck is a grown multimillionaire enjoying an expensive, extremely online hobby. It's funny that it doesn't fit in a parking lot precisely because it doesn't need to fit anywhere.
Here's what actually happened at Celtics camp. For media day, Robinson brought a metallic silver Ford to the team's practice facility in Brighton and tried to park it in the lot. It couldn't make it through the entrance, so he left it on the street, where it bulged into traffic. Day two, he tucked it behind the facility on a dead-end street usually kept for box trucks dropping off deliveries. The truck has green lighting under the chassis and a front plate that reads "Farm Use."
There are two ways people are reacting to this, and neither one holds up.
One side says this is a try-hard stunt from a man begging for attention. Wrong. Robinson has been doing this for years. He drove decked-out pickups to and from Madison Square Garden, and when the Knicks threw their championship parade down the Canyon of Heroes in June 2026, he rode in one of his custom trucks that he'd brought in from his White Plains home. He reportedly owns at least three of these things, maybe more. Nobody maintains a fleet of lifted trucks across multiple states for the eight seconds of camera time it buys them at a Celtics practice. This is who he is. "Being from Louisiana, it's kind of all you see, all you get for the most part," he told reporters. "We just like big trucks, country music, and just do outdoor stuff." Believe him.
The other side is worse, because it tries to dignify the truck. The seven-foot-tall man needs a seven-foot-tall truck, they say, as if this is ergonomics. Please. Plenty of enormous athletes fold themselves into normal SUVs every single day. A show truck with underglow lighting exists to be noticed. Pretending the size is some unavoidable physical requirement gives Robinson credit he never asked for and takes the fun out of it. He bought a loud truck on purpose, and good for him.
The truck not fitting is his own fault, nobody else's. No architect designs an NBA practice facility around the hypothetical of a center who collects monster trucks. You don't get to buy a vehicle engineered to not fit anywhere and then act wronged when it doesn't fit somewhere. He parked on a side street and walked in, blocking no one. The guy inconvenienced exactly one person: himself.
"I used to [drive it around] in New York," he said. "Gotta find some spots here. It is a big truck."
It is. He's just a 7-footer finding somewhere to leave a truck that lights up green, and the league's more fun with him in it.
