Occasionally, an illustration of artistic achievement, a concept often viewed subjectively, emerges as universally dazzling. There is no other conclusion to draw from ESPN's latest "30 for 30" foray, "The Best of Enemies," which aired the past two nights chronicling the pure romance of the Celtics/Lakers rivalry.

Put it this way: If "The Best of Enemies" doesn't win an Emmy, all the Emmy voters should lose their Emmy-voting licenses and be exiled next to Napoleon.

Maybe the best part of all: The documentary's message had almost nothing to do with basketball.

The beauty of the undertaking used sports as a mere backdrop for a study in our country's race relations over the past 50 years. This wasn't some professor regurgitating words from a text book, waging idealism over reality. This was a real-life allegory depicted through Boston's underlying racism, the Watts Riots, the "great white hope" (Larry Bird) vs. Magic Johnson, the plight of Bill Russell (he once came home to his apartment broken into and racial epithets written on his walls) and news stories from the 70s that told of the NBA's image problem because it was "too black."

This was a history lesson played out through the rhythms of rivalry, embodied by blue-collar Boston and glitzy Los Angeles.

"The Best of Enemies" passed the test all influential pieces of art must: It made us think.

How far have we come?

How far must we go?

How do we view people who look and think differently than we do?

Here is my answer: And the children shall lead us.

Because this much I know: Two things happened during the day Wednesday whose sincerity and symbolism — of the kids, for the kids and by the kids — offered us all the magical power of hope.

And so it began at Muddy Waters, the epicenter of morning in New London, with a friend of mine — we'll call him "Grampy" — who showed me a photo on his phone. It was of his granddaughters — they are white — about to enter a city elementary school with a black friend. They are kindergartners. Grampy reported that not only did the three pals pose for this photo, but conspired to walk into school a certain way: holding hands and skipping.

I nearly had a Hallmark Moment.

They're just so ... innocent. Adorable. Inspiring. They made me want to do better on Wednesday. Somehow, some way. What do kids get that we don't? It made me think: Aren't all kids that age the same? Innocent? Adorable? Programmed for tolerance and acceptance until ... they're programmed some other way?

What we teach them is truly an awesome responsibility.

After coffee, I went to the "moving on" ceremony at the Garde for the Regional Multicultural Magnet School (my son is a student there). The fifth graders, about to "move on," sat on stage looking like a billboard for the United Nations. Every color and culture imaginable. A monument to the school's objective to promote cultural diversity.

If ever a snapshot accompanied Emma Lazarus' sonnet on Lady Liberty, the "New Colossus," ... this was it.

Soon, the RMMS chorus, under the guidance of "Mr. K," otherwise known as music teacher Kevin Salley, sang "Thankful" by Josh Groban to the audience. An excerpt:

"So for tonight we pray for what we know can be. And on this day we hope for what we still can't see. It's up to us to be the change. And even though we all can still do more, there's so much to be thankful for."

Is there a more earnest, necessary message to deliver than that?

And they sang it to a crowded theater, whose inhabitants — hopefully — absorbed the words.

Hope for what we can't see: That's faith.

It's up to us to be the change.

There's so much to be thankful for.

Indeed, the RMMS chorus hit the same artistic homer that "The Best of Enemies" did earlier in the week.

This is what true art does: connect us to a larger context, a grander scope.

I feel a whole lot more enlightened today than I did a few days ago.

So thanks to ESPN, Mr. K, three kindergartners and a chorus. There's hope for us after all.

This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro.