Shaq Vs. Our Attention Span

Never in a thousand years would I have watched ABC's "Shaq Vs."  Don't get me wrong.  I enjoy the occasional game show or reality series.  It's just that the Shaq Vs. concept is so strained and unrealistic, that I'd rather watch Man Vs. Food.  At least I can identify with that kind of competition.

Everything changed this week though.  Shaq is on my side now.  He's not the enemy, like he was in Orlando, Los Angeles and Miami.  He's not the washed up Hall of Famer either, like he was in Phoenix and Cleveland.  He's MINE.  He's OURS.  Good or bad, the Big Shamrock will be deadpanning his way to our hearts every night at the Garden.  The question that most concerned us right now was not what we were going to watch on TV, but whether we were going to watch Shaq Vs. Penn and Teller and Sugar Shane Mosely (not together, of course) or the Press Shaqference that we taped the same day. 

"What happens if Shaq gets knocked out?  Will he still play this year?"  my eight year old asked.

"I don't know.  It depends on how badly he gets hurt."  I deadpanned.  Although I'm not only one who gets my impersonation.  My question, is whether we'll know the difference since he's a little old, fat and slow when healthy, anyway.

"Can we watch Shaq get hurt?" my six year old chimes in, obviously thinking the worst.  I think no matter what my feeling is on the subject, I'll get out voted.

8pm.  Caesar's Palace, Las Vegas, NV.  The anticipation is building in the JMR household.  This happens every time we watch the occasional MMA fight, too.  My kids are bloodthirsty, looking for broken bones and blood.  Trying to deflect all of the questions about Las Vegas and showgirls (they'll have plenty of time for that, except for you DLG!), I happen to notice that an old MTV Road Rules alum is one of the hosts - Kit Hoover.  She must be close to 40 by now, and it's starting to show.  Her original facelift needs to be tweaked a little bit, Bruce Jenner-style.  The only other thing I notice is that the hosts insist on Shaq being referred to as "Manny Shaqiao."  Between you and me, I think all of the play on Shaq's name has "Jumped the Shaq," don't you think?  Those of you reading this from New Jersey, yes, I am doing a play on his name too, I'm not teasing you.

To all of our disappointment though, before the big fight, we are forced to watch a ridiculous Shaq vs Penn and Teller skit.  Except for wondering what the "homeboy quarter trick" was, I fast forward this obviously painful time filler.  I made a "Shaq"tical decision, to coin one of Shaq's phrases.  Nevermind, on to the main event!

Prefight.  "Why is he sweating? He hasn't even started boxing yet."  Because he's old and overweight, I think to myself as I stick in my stomach a little bit so my boys don't notice ME sweating.  My six year old asks if any Celtics are going to be at the fight.  My eight year old tells him, like he's an idiot, that Shaq will be there.  I think he meant BESIDES Shaq.

Round 1.  A lot of punching.  Whether stooped over like an old man ((Shaq).  Or jumping like an overmatched child (Mosely).  We do learn that if Shaq loses, he will prance around the casino wearing a pink bikini.  Round 1 to Shaq.

Round 2.  To make the match more even apparantly, Shaq goes to his knees for a bit to fight Mosely at his level instead of using his reach advantage.  That was pretty funny - if he meant to do it.  Round 2 to Shaq. 

Round 3.  "Is Shaq wearing a shirt because he's too chubby?"  Needless to say that Mosely looked pretty good in this round.  Round 3 to Mosely.

Round 4.  More of the same.  Except I'm sure that Shaq told Kit Hoover, while she was trying to interview him between rounds, to get the Hell out of his face.  Maybe that just would have been me.  Round 4 to Mosely.

Round 5.  Shaq, I thought won this round with a little bit of vigor at the end.  It wasn't meant to be, however as Mosely wins the unanimous decision.  I wonder if the real contest involves who actually gets to win these contests during production - Shaq or his opponent.

*  *  *  *  *

No matter the outcome, I think my mission was accomplished - getting the kids interested in the Celtics and Shaq, specifically, since I think it's going to be an entertaining year.  They were, in fact, so interested that they wanted to keep the show on to see if he ran through the casino with a pink bikini on.  Bloodthirsty, I'm telling you. 

Although the Penn and Teller segment was painful to watch (even at triple the speed), I give Shaq Vs. a score of 83 out of 100.

photograph courtesy of ABC 

Getting Lost in the LeBron James Shuffle

I was so sick of hearing about the LeBron James saga.  No, not about "The Decision."  And, of course that was where he was going to go, I would go to South Beach too over Cleveland - in a "Hearrrrtbeeeat."  I'm talking about all of the media outlets screaming and crying about how much of a narcissistic fool LeBron James was for starring in The Decision in the first place.  You can read all about the following points of view - that it has been a ridiculous circus, Lebron has an enormous ego, LeBron's entourage and ESPN are to blame and of course the expected comparison to Art Modell, who hightailed it out of Cleveland in 1995 to Baltimore of all places.  Even MM used social media to express her opinion that LeBron was a "Narcissistic crybaby."  Curiously absent from the James-bashing was ESPN, probably because they were the media outlet that conceived of this plan almost 2 years ago and got the exclusive rights to show the James decision.  I agree that this spectacle is ego-massaging at its best.

Amid all of the name calling and sweating, one thing has gotten lost though.  LeBron isn't here for you, sports reporters.  He's here for me and all of the other fans of the Cavaliers and the NBA in general.  He's here for my three kids, who buy the hot dogs and jerseys and bug their parents until they buy tickets.  After all, you sports reporters get your tickets for free; I have to pay for my tickets.  I indirectly pay for LeBron's salary, just like I pay for all of the Celtics' salaries - well except for you Sheed, I would like to get my money back from you - and you sports reporters don't.  I would even go so far to say that I pay for sports reporters salaries too. 

As an example, I was listening to 98.5 the Sports Hub in Boston earlier this afternoon before LeBron made his decision.  The bile coming out of the mouths of Tony Mazz and Mike Felger (even more than usual!) was astononishing considering the LeBron James story meant that they didn't have to do any work for the last two days since their content was fed to them on a silver platter.  I don't blame them for their feelings, but guys like these have lost touch with their audience.  We don't care if LeBron James has created a circus or had his entourage stroke his ego.  We just don't care.  What we care about is finding out what games we're going to next year, because my boys favorite player is King James.  And if we're going to games next year it will be against the Heat, because of HIM.

8pm.  Home.  The kids will get to stay up later than usual tonight.  This was the biggest sports story of the year and they would pissed if they missed it because of an imaginary deadline like "bedtime."

"Where do you think LeBron is going to go?"  I ask the boys.

"Heat" they both say simultaneously.  Then my 8 year old pipes in "Or the Bulls, because they are so bad."  I'm not sure where they got this information.

"Why does he always dunk? He's such a show off!" I then hear as they show a montage of his 2009-2010 highlights.  I gently explain that LeBron best game is when he drives to the basketball and does fancy things wiht the basketball.  I then have to ward off requests for the game show "Wipeout."  I hope this starts soon, because I'm in for Wipeout if this doesn't start moving a little bit.

We then watch the cities' reactions and latest buzz.  It amuses me to see Knicks and Bulls fans think that they have a chance; the Sportsnation Poll even suggests that fans from those states still think that LeBron is going there; how charming.  I don't have time to comment further before my 6 year old asks me (after seein Chris Bosh picking up his third banana t-shirt)  "Is Chris Bosh is better than Ray Allen?" No.  "Is Chris Bosh better than Paul Pierce?"  NO!  He then moves on to yelling at his Mother to watch the TV lest she miss the "Decision."

"If he goes to the Heat, I'm rooting for the Heat.  What about you, Dad?"  "If he doesn't stay with the Cavaliers they'll be the worst team ever.  Is your favorite team now the Heat?" 

"I'm not going to root for the Heat.  I love the Celtics."  I explain.  It's clear that ESPN has orchestrated this so well that my kids think that the Heat is the only team in the NBA.

9:30pm.  Finally, we are on pins and needles.  Even my 6 year old rouses from his sleep long enough to hear LeBron say that he is taking his talents to South Beach.  I'm not even sure what that means; I assume that he has picked to play for the Heat.  My wife and I are disappointed.

"I can't believe he taught all of those youngsters sitting in the background about how to stab a bunch of people in the back."  I guess you have to get them used to it early on so they know what to expect when they become adults.

Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk.  I don't care what you have to say, Stu.

My 8 year old and 6 year old then go on to ask me when they can go to a Heat game next year - presumably in Boston.  They then ask if there will be tickets available when they come to Boston.  The inevitable jersey requests soon follow.  "OK, these are the two teams that I'm going to root for, the Heat and the Celtics."  The requests are coming fast and furious now. 

After the kids settle down a bit, I remark that LeBron and Dwyane share the same jersey number.  "No, Dad, Dwyane Wade is #3 and LeBron James is #6;  Mario Chalmers is #6.  You're so stupid!"  Great.  They just gave me an excuse to send them to bed for being fresh to Dad, not before looking at the boys with pride that they are sports trivia nuts.  And not before I record the rest of the special for the boys at their request.  You see, this is about us - the fans.  We have a new team to watch, and even more importantly a new team to boo.  We don't care about anything else tonight.  Bring on the Heat!!


photographs courtesy of cnnsi.com

JMR's List of the 5 Longest Sporting Events Ever

They probably didn't think that they would have to play each other three days in a row.  But here we are.  John Isner, a 19th seeded! American has battled qualifier Nicolas Mahut to a virtual draw.  It even made the cover of ESPN, something men's tennis has failed to do in years (except when talking about Andre Agassi's drug habits or the rampant betting that occurs in Men's Tennis).  Incidentally, this match has been suspended not once, but twice, because of darkness.

Even though the match winner still has not been determined, almost every record in the history of tennis match play has been broken - number of games, length of match, number of points, longest set, most aces.  In fact, I saw a table of longest matches, and the Isner-Mahut match is longer by 50 PERCENT than the second longest match.  It got me to thinking about what the longest games have been in the five major sports in the U.S.  At first, I looked here for the answers, but decided that that was a little over the top.

1. Baseball.  It wouldn't be baseball unless there were actually TWO records.  One record for most innings and one record for longest game in hours.  In fact the game that holds the record for most innings (26) actually ended as a tie game (Dodgers 1 Braves 1, May 1, 1920).  There is no doubt that Bud Selig used this game as his litmus test when he called a tie in the All Star game 5 years ago.  The longest game in time occured back in 1984 when the White Sox defeated the Brewers 7-6 in a game that lasted 8 hours and 6 minutes.  The fans I'm sure were excited to sit through that game knowing that beer and food were sold out at hour 2 of that game.

2.  Football.  Christmas Day, 1971.  An NFL Playoff Game between the Dolphins and the Chiefs.  The Dolphins eventualy won this game with 7 minutes and 40 seconds gone in the Second Overtime.  The funny thing about this actually was my research.  So many people were condemned for asking such a "stupid" question.  They were scolded that games end up in a tie after the 15 minute overtime.  Followed shortly by the answer given above.   At least three research sites had this string of questions, snarky answers and salty responses.

3.  Basketball.  In a 6 overtime thriller, the Indianapolis Olympians defeated the Rochester Royals 75-73 on January 6, 1951.  A real yawner of a game, if you ask me.  I understand that in the 30 minutes of overtime play, only 23 shots were taken.  23 SHOTS?  How is this entertaining?  By the way, how did the team from Indiana get the name, the "Olympians?"

4.  Hockey.  March 24, 1936.  This is the time of the original 6.  Mud Brunteau scored the game winner for the Red Wings as Detroit defeated the Montreal (soon to be) the Canadiens in the sixth overtime of a semifinal playoff game.

5.  Soccer. (European Football).  Who cares?

So tomorrow, John Isner and Nicolas Mahut will face each other for a third consecutive day.  Neither of these guys will win their second round match regardless, and maybe they don't care.  They just want this to end.  I don't blame them.  As John Isner said at the end of Day 2, "Nothing like this will ever happen again.  Ever."  I hope not, for their sake.

photo courtesy of cnnsi.com

Went to A Baseball Game and A Basketball Game Almost Broke Out

I could hardly contain my excitement.  I am a Father, however, so when I told my (now) 8 year old that I got seats - really good seats - to see the Red Sox play the Toronto Blue Jays on his birthday, I used the most muted tones that I could muster.

"We got awesome seats to the game.  Do you want to get out early from school and go with me?"  I was sure that the prospect of leaving school early would appeal to my second grader.  He was getting to be THAT age.

"Can I still have my sleepover with my friends after the movie Mommy takes us to?"  He answers cautiously.  I think he thinks that this is an either-or proposition, and I begin to suspect that I will be on the short end of this decision.

"Of course!"  I lie - er - I tell him.  I'll just use his First Communion money to pay for the movie with his buddies.  A present day example of robbing Peter to pay Paul. 

Suddenly, he perks up.  "Yeah Dad, will we get foul balls?  Should I bring my glove?"

So begins our journey to Boston to see the Red Sox.  I put special emphasis on RED SOX.  My new client has tickets waiting for me, so I figure let's get there early and enjoy batting practice and dinner.  Maybe we can get an autograph from one of the young guys.  Little did I know that something else might take over our attention as the game progresses.

No. Not Heidi Watney.  That would be kind of silly.  Although my son did point her out to me; saying that she was the one who talked about the games, during the games.  I asked him if I should take a picture of her and he said yes because she was famous.  Good thinking, son.  I think I will do just that.

"Your Mom is probably going to kill me when she sees this picture."  I tell him as point my camera in her direction.  (Little did I know that she would simply use social media to make fun of me.)  But then I take a picture of Sean McAdam too, as if that would fool her.

"Why would she be mad?"  He asks.  Oh, childhood.  I didn't tell him that I would explain it to him 2 to 4 years from now - whenever I get the cajones to talk to him about the birds and the bees (no pun intended).  I just changed the subject.  "Let's go to the Pesky Pole to try to catch some home runs!"  He half-heartedly agreed to go with me.

After yelling at one of the Blue Jays ball retrievers because he was 6 feet away from us yet kept hitting the BP balls he got back to the BP pitcher, we sat down in our seats.  Trying to catch home runs was a little too boring for the kid.  We were just a couple of rows behind the Red Sox dugout, so I figured it was okay.  We were so close, in fact, that my son could throw his ice cream helmet filled with expired ice cream at Tom Werner or John Henry in the Owner's box and probably hit one of them.  As we sit down, I am reminded that I was told that if the guys next to us asked how much we paid for the tickets, I had to say $500.  I didn't inquire why they would be asking me a question like that; I had my eldest son with me.

When these guys sat down though, I struck up a conversation with them.  One was from California, the other was from Massachusetts.  More importantly, I would later find out, the guy from Massachusetts had a good feed on his phone so as to get real life updates and video on Game 5 of the Celtics-Cavaliers who were playing at the same time.  I begin to feel conflicted.  Did I just get the best seats to Fenway Park I've ever gotten just so I could huddle around a couple of guys and a Blackberry?  When my son asked me the score of the Celtics game, I knew the answer.

So the next hour and a half transpired like this - watch the Red Sox dominate the Blue Jays, then ask the guy sitting next to us what the Celtics' score was.  Daisuke was pitching magnificently, yet, we were more concerned about how LeBron scored only a couple of points in the First Quarter, then the First Half.  Finally, I snapped out of it.  We were at a baseball game for crying aloud.  I've DVR'ed the basketball game, after all.  Enough with this nonsense.  Let's go Sox!

"Let's try to get a ball from Youk after the inning."  I tell my son.  He's too interested in taking pictures to care.  He's excited that the Red Sox are leading, but he's starting to lose focus, particularly now that the game is in the later innings.  I begin to try everything.  I yell at Terry Francona encouragement when he pops his head out of the dugout in front of us.  I buy some more popcorn.  I try to interest him in some trivia and statistics.  I think he had a good time, but as 11pm draws near, it's probably time to go.  As we put on our jackets, I ask the guy sitting next to us what the score is now.  The Celtics seem to be pulling away.  It's a good night I think to myself as we leave tot he strains of "Sweet Caroline."  The Red Sox win.  The Celtics win and the two of us had a great time.

All I had to hear were those magical words.  "When is it my birthday again?"  Maybe he meant the presents that he got or the movie he was going to with his buddies.  I don't care though.  For this night, I'll believe that he was talking about his old man taking him to the game.

List of Top 8 Celtics Playoff Performers - Rajon doesn't need the Rondettes

29 Points, 18 Rebounds, 13 Assists, 2 Steals and +14 Net Points. 

Rajon Rondo's numbers from Game 4 of the Eastern Conference Semifinals certainly fill up a stat sheet - joining Oscar Robertson and Wilt Chamberlain as the only players to record that many points and rebounds with 13 or more assists in a single game.  Rajon Rondo even got LeBron James to talk about how he would love to guard RR in Game 5 (which as a Celtics fan, I would love to see).  But, one of the greatest games in Celtics playoff history?  Perhaps.  One thing is for sure.  Since the Celtics won the NBA Championship on that fateful day in 2008, Rajon Rondo has slowly emerged not only as the bridge to playoff basketball after the Big Three retire or move on, but he has also emerged as the undeniable leader of the current team. 

Putting aside the ridiculous "MVP" chants at Sunday's Game 4  (Uh, MVP of what - one may ask - since LeBron dominated the season?), has Rondo been playing the best playoff basketball in Celtics playoff history?  Here are the Top 8 Playoff performances in Celtics' history.

8.  Bob Cousy (1958-59).  19.5 points, 6.9 rebounds, 10.8 assists.  A true pioneer to the current style of wide-open NBA basketball - except for you Pat Riley. 

7.  Dave Cowens (1975-76).  21.0 points, 16.4 Rebounds, 4.6 assists, 1.2 steals.  Before he decided that a hack license was a more fulfilling career choice (imagine getting into a cab that Paul Pierce is driving), Cowens led the Celtics to their last championship pre-Larry Bird.

6.  Rajon Rondo (2009-10)  17.9 points, 7.1 rebounds, 11.4 assists, 1.9 steals.  That double pump lay up to behind the back pass to Tony Allen as LeBron James tried desperately to block his shot is the highlight of the 2010 Playoffs. 

5.  Bill Russell. (1961-62).  22.4 points, 26.4 rebounds, 5.0 assists, all world defense and uncalculated blocks.  I was considering putting Russell higher than 5th, but that would have defeated my point about Rondo. 

4.  Larry Bird. (1983-84).  27.5 points, 11.0 rebounds, 5.9 assists, 2.4 steals, 1.2 blocks.  I just liked that they beat the Lakers that year.

3.  John Havlicek (1967-68).  25.9 points, 8.6 rebounds, 7.5 assists.  I could have obtained more information on Hondo's numbers that year, but that probably would have required me rereading Bill Simmons excruciatingly detailed Book of Basketball (Soon to be available in paperback!!)

2.  Rajon Rondo (2008-09) 16.9 points, 9.7 rebounds, 9.8 assists, 2.5 steals.  I was apprehensive when the playoffs started last year against the upstart Chicago Bulls.  KG was hurt and out of the Playoffs.  Paul Pierce and Ray Allen, carrying the load for most of the season without KG, looked about ready to keel over like a 90 year old walking up the 18th Fairway.  Rondo had shown some slivers of brillance during the regular season, but could he lead a depleted and uninspired Celtics team in the First Round?  Like I said, I was apprehensive.  Well averaging nearly a triple double through the playoffs made me realize that Danny Ainge may have made the right move trading all of the Celtics' youngsters BUT Rondo back in the Summer of 2007.  (I don't count Kendrick Perkins, he's 34 years old).

1.  Larry Bird (1985-1986) 25.9 points, 9.3 rebounds, 8.2 assists, 2.1 steals, .927 FT percentage, .517 shooting percentage, .411 3-point shooting percentage.  The year by which all others are measured as the Celtics won their last Championship of the Larry Bird era. 

Admittedly, RR has some work to do to catch up to the Celtics' gold standard of playoff basketball, but it is crystal clear that he has joined the echelon of the Celtics lore.  And we certainly believe that he can move up this list.  As my son excitedly pointed out while we were watching the game yesterday afternoon - "Look at Rajon take the ball away from all those other big guys!!  He doesn't even need Garnett and Perkins to help him"  Watch out there, Larry.  Rondo's numbers can only go up when he realizes he doesn't need the Rondettes anymore.

This Is Not the Way to Teach Sports Terminology

"Hey guys!" I yell up to the boys excitedly yesterday afternoon.  "Come down here. The Celtics and the Red Sox are both going for sweeps."  They hurdle themselves down the stairs as if I told them that they could have ice cream for breakfast - not that I know what they do when they have ice cream for breakfast.

My five year old is particularly excited.  "What did you say about the Celtics?" He asks. 

"The Celtics are trying to beat the Miami Heat 4-0 so they can go on to the next round of the playoffs.  It's called a sweep."  Before they groan about having to clean up their rooms or the toy room, I start to explain the concept of the "sweeps."  I then explain that the Red Sox are also going for the sweep against the hapless Baltimore Orioles.  Although the season just started for the Red Sox.

My seven year old looks at me slightly amused and completely confused.  "They're still playing the Miami Heat?  Didn't they just kill them a couple of days ago?"  This might be a little tougher to explain than I thought.  Maybe I should go outside and mow the lawn.  "Who do they play if they beat Miami?"  He continues. 

"They will probably play the Cavaliers."  A collective groan emanates from the boys's direction, as if we should just annoint the Cavaliers the NBA Champions.

My 5 year old still doesn't get it even after the Cavs explanation.  "So if the Celtics and Red Sox both win, will they play each other?  Or are they both winners?"  I shake my head.  Undeterred, he then explains how he "swept" me in a couple of games of Around the World a couple of days earlier.  I let him win, by the way.  "What happens if they don't win?  Will they go home?" 

It's difficult for me to continue to explain this type of terminology.  Concepts like "sweeping" a team in a playoff series or a three game series in baseball gets lost when regular season or playoff structures are only understood on the most basic, rudimentary levels.  I do happen to convince them to sit down with me to watch the games with me, after their Mother agreed to let them come inside for a breather.  My seven year old agrees only so long as we don't watch the NFL Draft.  I'm about to tell him that I just wanted to see if the Patriots would select Tim Tebow when I instead offered not to watch any more of the draft.

Game 4, Celtics-Heat.  We pick up the game at the end of the First Half.  The Celtics were plagued in the First Quarter by turnovers (losing by as much as 17 points) but begin to turn things around in the Second Quarter to draw within 6 points at halftime.  The Celtics even pull ahead by 6 points as the 4th Quarter starts.  However, 46 points by Dwyane Wade - including 30 in the second half - was too much for Boston to ultimately overcome.  Heat 101 Celtics 92.  "Why is #3 talking to his hand?  That is so stupid!"  That was the one highlight from an otherwise excruciating game - Dwyane Wade screaming at his hand after making a couple of run-of-the-mill three pointers.  Oh, that and our five minute conversation about why Glenn Davis doesn't want to be called "Big Baby" anymore.  Count the three of us on the side of "Big Baby" versus "Glenn."

Game 3, Red Sox-Orioles.  As the Celtics game mercifully ends, I switch the Red Sox back on.  At 2-19, I'm thinking that the Orioles will be much easier to sweep than the Heat.  As I explain that to the boys, I'm reminded that I shouldn't jinx them.  So they understand jinxing a team or a player, but they think that the Celtics and the Red Sox will PLAY EACH OTHER if they both sweep their series?

This isn't going much better though as the Red Sox blow a 4-1 lead in the Seventh Inning, highlighted by a Miguel Tejada home run off Hideki Okajima to tie the game.  I would make a joke about Tejada's use of PEDs to muscle the ball over the Green Monster, but people in glass houses and all....  The Orioles then take the lead off in the 10th inning off the back of the Red Sox bullpen, 7-4.  A valiant rally by the Sox in the bottom of the 10th Inning falls short as the Orioles win just their third game of the season.  Orioles 7 Red Sox 6. 

It was an unsuccessful Sunday in these parts, as neither team could complete their sweep.  It's not the end of the world of course and my five year old summed it up perfectly.  "The Celtics are going to sweep Miami on tomorrow!"  Sounds good to me.

photograph courtesy of Getty images

We Don't Care that the Harlem Globetrotters are More of a Show Than a Team

We want to be entertained!  That's what the kids always tell me and the missus every Saturday and Sunday morning.  Maybe not in so many words, but that's certainly the jist of their looks last Sunday morning when they roused us from sleep at 6:30am.

"Can a friend come over?"  No, not at 6:30 in the morning.

"Will you play basketball with us outside?"  No, it's 6:30 in the morning.

I can, however, accommodate my daughter's request.  "Will you put a show on for me downstairs, Daddy?"  Sure.  Wow Wow Wubbsy or Tom and Jerry?

"Are the Celtics playing?"  No, it's 6:30 in the morning.

Luckily, I had the foresight to see what was happening this bleak, cloudy Sunday.  The Boston Sports Blogapalooza was cancelled, so we were free, not having planned anything that involved the five of us driving somewhere far.  I checked that morning and yes, Harlem Globetrootters tickets were available.  Maybe they weren't as popular as when I was a kid, or maybe basketball fans were waiting for the Celtics game later that evening.  Either way, our Sunday afternoon itinerary was set.

1pm.  Boston, MA.  Oh no! We're walking around the Garden and notice that no one was holding beer cups.  I know that this is predominantly family entertainment, but isn't that all the more reason to sell beer?  Before I started becoming really concerned, my wife notices a couple of similar-minded parents who indicate that the beer lines are long, but they are just around the corner.  Of course.  I also notice a solitary kiosk selling Globetrotter trinkets, jerseys and balls.  Little did I know that it was a harbinger of the chaos that I fondly remember as "Halftime."

We sit down to watch warmups.  One thing I notice is that the Washington Generals have a couple of good outsde shooters.  They actually look a little frisky this afternoon. (Hey, I know, you don't have to tell me that the Globetrotters are going to win.)  The Globetrotters on the other hand can't hit a shot over 12 feet.  One of the guys, I don't remember his name, kept the tradition alive of trying to hit a half court shot - to no avail.  Another player, Cobra Coley, was trying to hit a three pointer while sitting on the visitors' bench.  The one he made garnered quite a cheer - myself included.

A staple of Globetrotters basketball is then featured, the Magic Circle to the tune of "Sweet Georgia Brown."  Admit it, you're probably whistling as you read this.  Brings back great memories of Curly Neal, Meadowlark Lemon and Sweet Lou Dunbar, I tell you. 

Although it lasted about 10 minutes too long, Sweet Georgia Brown then made way for player introductions.  Nothing unexpected except that we discover that the Generals' coach is a Yankees' fan.  What a startling coincidence!  Booing ensues on cue.  At this point, even my seven year old asks me when the game is going to start.

First Half.  The friskiness is evident as the game starts.  The Generals  come out hitting virtually every shot that they take.  Meanwhile, the Globetrotters' signature weave, interspersed with some outside shooting keep the Globetrotters in the game.   A couple of fan favorites are also showcased - hitting a player/referee with a bucket of water, hypnotizing some players and an appearance by Globie the Mascot.  The kids are going crazy.   I have to admit that this is really entertaining.  The Generals, though, lead at halftime, 32-31.  I can imagine the anti-pep talk being given to the Generals as we speak.  Miss more shots.  Smile more.  Play NO DEFENSE!

Halftime.  I thought we were in a Moscow bread line during halftime. I was genuinely concerned about the boys during the crush for Globetrotter basketball and wristbands.  Thre were at least three hundred angry kids and their parent holding out cash loking for stuff.  The two 70 year old guys at the one kiosk selling Globetrotters paraphernalia looked like they were selling these things with their hands tied behind their backs.  Like girls after a Justin Bieber concert we get out of line a little bruised, but otherwise fine.

Second Half.  Surprisingly, the Weave really starts to confuse the Generals defense.  They can't stop the onslaught of alley-oops, dunks and uncontested lay ups.  Their three point shots seem to be missing their mark on the offensive side of the ball too, the Trotters start dominating the game. 

One new invention that I had never seen before was the Football play.  Special K Daley donned a Tom Brady jersey and called a play that included a touchdown pass/hoop to Cobra Coley.  The best part was that they then completed the whole play backwards.  Very entertaining as they nailed the reverse look exceptionally well.  I can only imagine how this plays in Oakland. (Do they boo as Special K puts on a JaMarcus Russell Raiders jersey?)

Finally, the Globetrotters put the game away 77-73.  The Harlem Globetrotters record of no losses to the Generals since 1971 remains in tact.  The kids leave the back staircase of the Garden literally skipping while dribbling their new Harlem Globetrotter basketballs.  Another successful Sunday, I can safely say. 

"Can a friend come over?"  My five year old asks me as get into the car - an hour later after getting lunch.  Maybe tomorrow.   

When Basketball Really Means Something

It was too nice of a day to spend it indoors, I thought to myself as I was awoken by the first sunshine in weeks and three exuberant children.  But I promised everyone that today would be all about basketball.  It's an important endeavor in this household, you know.  And for good reason.  With such tall children, maybe my dream of sending my kids to school tuition free could actually come true.  (It's difficult to type with my fingers crossed like they are right now.)  So I slowly got ready and made the children breakfast.  Yeah, it was too nice today to spend it indoors. 

We pile into the car.  Mom and Dad get their coffees, and a large bucket of Munchkins are purchased.  It seemed like the ride took forever.  "Mom, can you tell Dad not to park so far away?"  I hear from the back of the car as I pull into the parking lot.  I'm not sure which one said it, whining children all sound alike to me, but at least we don't have to pay for parking today.  As we walk in, we try to sneak past the concession stands to get to our seats.  But my five year old is too smart for that ploy. 

"Can I get a snack?"  My five year old asks me pointing to the popcorn and Doritos.

"Only if you pay for it yourself with your own money."  That should keep him quiet, because he doesn't have any money!

"Can I buy two snacks?"  He asks me as he pulls out a couple of dollars from his pants.  How the hell did he get money?  Or better still - where did he get that money?  I tell him he can get a snack later and luckily that made him happy.  Maybe he can buy me a Diet Coke with his stash too, since coincidentally my wallet seems 2 dollars lighter.

After some more high level negotiations involving snacks, drinks and a driveway basketball game later in the afternoon, we finally get inside.  This must be an important game to a lot of people.  The buzz and murmur in the air is palpable, as we walk in.  Watching the players warming up, it seems like they know it's an important game too. 

"Are we rooting for the team in blue or the team in red?"  My five year old asks me as he tries to settle in to his seat.  "I'm rooting for the team in blue."  I nod and tell him that that's a good choice.

"Settling in" was actually more like a joke.  I'm struggling with a daughter who wants to lie down with her balnket and a 5 year old asking me if he can play his DS.  "Just watch the game guys."  I stifle a little whine coming out of my own mouth.  While this goes on, I miss the tip off jump ball.  I also miss the teams trading the first two baskets of the game to pick up some spilled Gatorade. 

"I'm sorry Daddy" my daughter sweetly says.  How can you get mad at her when she does that?

"That's okay sweetheart.  Just don't do it again, ok?"  She nods at me knowing that that is exactly what she going to do with her chocolate milk later in the car on the way home.

As the game progresses, it didn't take long for team red to increase the score to 8-2.  Our guys are playing hard but they just can't knock down any shots.  Their defensive intensity is at a high level, but they are looking a little too much for their own shots rather than looking for the open teammate.  That's a coaching issue, I think.

16-6.  Ugh.  The game is already getting a little out of control.  It's too bad.  The players have worked really hard this year; it would be a shame if they aren't rewarded with a win.

The defense is superb.  Numerous defensive stops and steals are keeping the score low at the beginning, but their shots just aren't going in.  18-6.  The intensity increases as the time starts winding down.  Screaming signals and plays starts with even more earnest. 

Unfortunately the whistle blows with team red beating team blue 18-6.  The players walk off the court, shake hands and huddle up to talk about the season.  Spectators clap for the players as they walk off the court, applauding the outstanding hustle and play.  Maybe you already guessed that this wasn't the NBA, college or even high school basketball.  It was my seven year old's first playoff game. 

After we spend some time consoling him (and telling him how well he played) on the drive back home, he stops for a moment and finally asks, "Can I practice basketball when we get home?  I really love playing basketball and I want to keep practice shooting." 

"How about we play a game?"  I respond.  "You and Mom against your brother and me.  First to 100 wins."

"Yeah, Dad!  And we get the ball first!"      

NBA All Star Game - Effort with a Lower Case "e"

After getting home from my 7 year old's Saturday morning basketball game - a game in which he asked out of the game for a break because he couldn't breathe from running so hard - he asked me to play basketball with him.  Looking at my swollen knee from the last time we played basketball (I completed a beautiful spin move and dunked it over his head - fine, it was an 8 foot hoop and maybe he IS 7 years old, but the move was still the move), I suggested that we WATCH basketball instead.  My hope being that he would watch some desperate college teams hustling after loose balls and playing tough denial defense and learn good fundamental basketball.  That lasted for about 10 minutes until his buddy came over - all of sudden I was relegated to watching the Winter Olympics with only passing greetings from all of the children.

Later that night came the renewed request to play basketball outside.  Looking at the thermometer reading of 28 degrees and the lone lightbulb illuminating our driveway, I passed on that request as well, but with a compromise - go to bed early tonight and we can all stay up to watch the 2010 NBA All Star game tomorrow night.  If my boys were going to learn good fundamental basketball consisting of crisp passes, strong rebounding and strong team defense, the NBA All Star Game would be the place.


8:30pm.  Convincing my 5 year old that we are not rooting for the Celtics tonight is proving to be difficult. 

"But there's Rajon Rondo and KG!" he tells me.  "I want the Celtics to win! Do you Dad?"  "Why are they wearing blue instead of green?  Did they change their uniform colors again?"

"No the Celtics didn't change their colors.  Yes.  I want the Celtics to win."  I gave up trying to explain what an "All Star Game" actually means.  I'm too distracted by the Eastern Conference All Stars trying to dance in sync with one another during the player introductions.  I hope that he doesn't ask me about what just happened there or the fact that it's 8:40 and the game still has not started...too late.

My seven year old just tells me that Ray Allen should be in the game too.  "I'd put Ray Allen, Kevin Garnett and Rajon Rondo on the team, but not Paul Pierce."  He's a tough judge.  Later on, he continues, "He's putting baby powder on?" about LeBron James' pregame ritual.  I don't bother touching that one either.

As the game starts and the Western Conference All Stars take the early lead, I hear the boys say things like "Bad pass!" "Why isn't he playing defense?" "East is doing horrible!" and the best one "Why isn't that guy running very hard?"  I don't have a very good response when they ask me why they don't want to win.  East takes the First Quarter, 37-34.

As the Second Quarter starts and continues, the teams trade interesting plays - no-look passes, fake passes that turn into keepers, alley oops and a strange bounce alley oop attempt by  Dwyane Wade and Rajon Rondo - all punctuated by my seven year old proclaiming "Why aren't they playing defense?  There are two guys standing right there!"  It makes for entertaining, if not fundamentally sound, basketball, I suppose.

In an open mic moment, we hear Lebron James exclaim that Paul Pierce is the best shooter in the history of basketball.  I know Pierce won the 3 point shot contest and all, and I put him in the top 10 of all time Celtics, but the best shooter of all time?  LeBron, sensing a playoff battle in Round 2 of the Playoffs, apparantly is amping up the hyperbole.

While the teams trade baskets and leads for the majority of the Quarter, the Eastern Conference goes into half time leading 76-69.  Craig Sager and his shimmering red tie approve.

As I explain Shakira's appearance (the TV channel couldn't be changed faster) and I break up a wrestling match, the Third Quarter mercifully starts.  A lot more of the same.  Alley Oops, uncontested coast to coast lay ups, bad passing and awful defense.  By this point my 5 year old falls asleep and my seven year old and I are getting bored.  Even a thundering dunk by LeBron James  at the 8 minute mark doesn't stir anything from us but a couple of sniffles - and that might have been the fake fireplace kicking on more than anything the all stars did.

Halfway through the Third Quarter, he exclaims after yet another LeBron James dunk, "They aren't playing any defense.  They're like, you're gonna get it in so whatever."  Do you sense a theme of this game and our reaction to it?  Even Kobe admits that this is "The greatest pick up game in the world."  I wonder what the schmoes who paid $5,000 a ticket think about his assessment?  The East ends the Third Quarter ahead 118-109.

Fourth Quarter.  While lasting longer than I thought they would, both boys have finally fallen asleep.  I think they will both be saying "shoot it!" and "block it!" in their dreams tonight.  While watching the Fourth Quarter by myself, I do have to admit that the quality of play has improved.  No more ridiculous bounce pass alley oop attempts (one was enough, Rajon) and players actually started going to the floor.  The intesity level reaches new highs as well, particularly when Chauncey Billips makes a little 15 footer to tie the game at 137 with 45 seconds left in the game.

After a couple of spotty fouls - come on it's the All Star Game! - the West has the ball with 5 seconds left trailing by 2 points.  Carmelo Anthony takes the inbounds pass and clangs a 3 pointer off the back of the rim, giving the Eastern Conference a 141-139 win.

Looking back, the three of us decided that the All Star Game was not an appropriate venue to learn basketball basics.  Defense was lacking, effort and hustle were sporadic at best and rebounding consisted of whomever picked up the ball from the ground after a missed shot.  Personally, I'd rather watch my seven year old's team battle it out on Saturday mornings.   They don't know alley-oops and behind-the-back passes, and I hope they never learn.

Orlando Magic Now Know that I Am Because We Are

When I booked our family trip to Orlando this December, I promised myself that part of the itinerary would include the Christmas Boston Celtics game with the boys against the Orlando Magic.  I love watching sports live to soak in the atmosphere and the sounds.  It was Santa's present to me - a reward for a grueling week of theme parks in and around Disney World.  Okay, I had just as much fun as the children on the rides, including It's a Small World, but it was still grueling.  I also wanted to bring the boys to their first NBA game for some male bonding.  Anyway, despite being awake since 4am because Santa foolishly bought all three of my children electronics for Christmas, we headed to downtown Orlando for what promised to be an exciting Christmas afternoon.  Maybe, just maybe, we could experience our own Ubuntu, just like the Celtics, and start chanting it at little league games.

Orlando, FL.  1pm.  Alright, I have just listed to "Just Dance" and "Fire Burning" ten times each.  Not the standard radio versions.  No.  My 5 year old's version of these songs, singing along at the top of his lungs with his Ipod.  I have to admit that he knew 75% of the lyrics, and the words he made up for the other 25% were amusing the first couple of times around.  But, the garage attendant knew I wasn't kidding when I told him that I would like to go around the cones instead of going around the block for another 15 minutes and gave me the "look around and hesitant nod" to go ahead.  By this point you might be asking why Santa got a five year old an Ipod.  Frankly, Santa is shaking his head in regret as I'm writing this.  In Santa's defense, his 7 year old brother also got one, and Santa figured that they wouldn't fight if they both got one.  Santa's stupid.

Thank God that I decided to take the electronics away as we parked because we were so early for the game that we had to wait for the doors to open.  I guess I've grown accustomed to the hassle of getting to professional sports games in Boston.   The wait was worth it though as we get to our seats and score three Dwight Howard Superman T-Shirts (great to wipe your popcorn mouth on), three sets of candy cane thunderstix and three programs.  Not to mention the 3 dollar hot dogs and 5 dollar beers.  This is great.  I love cheap food and drinks and swag.

As warm-ups began, I was debating trying to get closer to the Celtics bench since we had good seats, but on the other side of the arena from the benches.  As people began to file in and the boys were knee deep in popcorn and hot dogs, I felt that my decision was made for me.  Stay in the seats.  That turned out to be a mistake, though as two "fans" sat down in their seats right in front of us with their thunderstix already blown up and paddles that the guy next to me calls "Rally Racquets."  They were determined to enjoy their experience.  "Do you need those rally things because Orlando is always losing?" my seven year old asks.  Ha, that was a good one.  And people in Florida are too nice to be smart back so it was win-win.  Sadly, those words would be the last ones we all would utter without having to scream over the din of thunderstix and the Rally Racquets.  These racquets looked like the paddles that all the people in the climatic scene of Karate Kid II were beating when Daniel was about to put the beat down on Chozen. 

"Are they going to do that the entire game?" my seven year old asks.

"I hope not."  I look at my five year old for his reaction, but he's asleep at this point.

After a couple of more tidbits about the new Amway Arena being built down the street, and a couple of more laughs over Rasheed Wallace and the paddle people, the game starts.  Ugh.  Two minutes into the game we say goodbye to Kendrick Perkins until the second quarter as he draws his second foul of the game less than two minutes in.  This is just the beginning of some hurt feelings on both ends.  I'd be pissed too if I had to work on Christmas afternoon away from home, I suppose.  The game is also marked by poor passing and shooting, as well as rough physicality.  The Magic end the quarter leading by a point.  On the bright side, my 5 year old did wake up.  Good morning!

The Second Quarter looks eerily similar to the First Quarter, except that the Magic are not making any of their shots now.  The Celtics begin to pull away with four consecutive lay-ups by Tony Allen, Rajon Rondo (a personal favorite) and the aforementioned Kendrick Perkins.  The Celtics roll into halftime with an 11 point lead.  38-27.

"Will that person stop beating that drum, Dad?  Can you ask her to stop?"  My seven year old now has his hands over his ears.  I tried to explain the Golden Rule of sports etiquette.  I figured he was in CCD now so he might understand.  It goes like this.  Unless someone is using foul language or being destructive, let him or her do and say what they want, so they will treat you likewise when you do and say what you want.  If they ask you to stop, then you can legitimately give them a sideways look and say "Make me."  Just kidding about that last part. 

While I was explaining the "Golden Rule" to him, the lights dimmed for the entertainment we are about to experience at halftime.  Unfortunately, the halftime show was disappoining to say the least.  The game before, the show included Christmas themed slam dunk guys.  These guys led the local 11pm news!  And we were supposed to be entertained by six people trying to figure out a credit card puzzle faster than six people were to make 10 free throws?  I think my 5 year old would have fallen back asleep if the Magic's mascot hadn't swished a behind his back, three quarters court shot.  Now that's a highlight!    

Back to the game.  The phyicality that was bubbling in the first half started getting out of hand.  A hard foul on Rondo was followed by a right forearm to a beleaguered Kevin Garnett.  Even my kids were screaming that he was fouled.  The best part of this ugly game?  "Superman," midway through the third quarter has two points and four fouls (and a technical foul).  This must have been the Superman who gave up his powers to be with Lois Lane in Superman II.  Orlando cuts into the lead at the end of the third quarter, though, 61-53.

The paddles are now starting to drive me crazy too, so I furiously try to blow up the thunderstix we were given so I can slam them together everytime something good happens with the Celtics.  Points, rebounds, fouls, steals.  It doesn't matter to me.  My seven year old however is now fading into sleep; he must be since he's not the least bit embarrassed by Dad at this point.  They couldn't fall asleep on the car ride to the game?  So with 10 minutes left in the game, reluctantly, the male part of the clan begin the slow travel home. 

As we thank our parking lot attendant, get back onto the highway, and prepare for the torrential monsoon about to hit us, my seven year old pulls off his headphones and thanks me for taking him to the game.  We then talk about what his favorite part of the game.  "Well there were a lot of cool things, but it definitely wasn't that person banging the drums!"  My five year old realizing that we are having a conversation then pulls off his headphones and smiles his toothy grin.  "Thank you Daddy for taking me to the game!"   We all then keep looking for the scores on my phone, since I couldn't figure out how to get a local station to listen to the game on the Sirius Radio in our rental car.  Satisfied that the Celtics pulled out the win, we set our sights on Christmas dinner with their grandmother, thinking about the just-concluded adventure.

Oh yeah.  The title of this story - "I Am Because We Are?"

Ubuntu!

Check back on Wednesday as we go "Three Sheets to Epcot Center."

Will you Sign My Daddy's Book? Simmons Signing, Part II - Redemption

To reread our first attempt to get Daddy's book signed, go here for Part I.

Luckily, Hurricane O'Reilly's is just up the street from a restaurant that I knew wouldn't be that busy - even on a game night - Boston Beer Works.  Still worried, however, as I look over my shoulder at 40 more people join the line that we had just departed, I implore my little princess as gently as I could to "make it quick."

I forgot though that she was still dressed up like a ghost, and she was now trying to scare passersby with not only her jarring "woohooooohooo,"  but also a frightening hand wave.  The bouncer at the front door seemed refreshingly amused.

"We're not too young for this place?" I ask as I gesture at my two boys wrestling over a balloon and my daughter now dancing to some Britney Spears tune that we can hear outside of the bar. (But wait, never mind, when she has the mask on, I can't see her. I forgot that she explained that to me earlier).

"No, no, no."  He must have kids because he can't be this genuinely entertained right now as patrons sidle up behind us, because I love my kids more than anything and I'm the opposite of entertained - antitained.  "Do you guys want handstamps?"  "Yeahhh!!"

As we walk into the restaurant with new stamps smeared on our hands, my daughter now tries to scare the four girls tending to the hostess station by jumping toward them while simultaneously whispering "wooohooooohoooo" and continuing with the menacing hand wave - then she turns to me.  "Daddy, I don't have to go to the bathroom, anymore."

WHAT?!?!?  "Are you sure, sweetheart, it might be a long, long time before we can go again?"  Little white lies, I determine, are fully biting me in the ass so I try to be as honest as one can be with children.  And really, all I want to do is take you into the men's room at 6pm on a game night while making sure that no one spills beer on her pink "blankie."  "I have to go!" my boys chirp almost simultaneously.  Way to come through boys.  Maybe you guys wrestle and talk back more than normal kids probably should, but if I need a well -timed bathroom break, you fellas always deliver.  Long story short, my new plan of action was to try to wait out the lines and get the book signed toward the end.  I doubt THAT many people want to get this book signed.

As we walk out of the restaurant, I see that Plan B might actually be working.  The line is short; it'll probably only take a couple of minutes before we're inside the next bar.  I proceed to point out the Sports Guy through the window to my kids.  Unfortunately, they are not as impressed as I am.  Although, I'm more impressed by the number of security personnel and people in suits surrounding the table.  A long way from the bartending days in Charlestown, I suppose.

I can't help but notice the ten Celtics fans screaming at each other, as we walk into our second bar in 45 minutes.  Pub crawls start earlier and earlier I jokingly explain to this bar's bouncer.  I continue to tell myself that this experience will only toughen the kids up as they draw closer to each of my legs with every scream.  Now who's scared little ghosty-ghost?  I'm just kidding, my little girl was just soaking it all in, realizing she didn't have to work very hard to elicit laughs from this crowd.  No more "boos" or handwaves for her, and the mask officially came off for good. 

The line moves very quickly now.  I'm told that he will only sign names and no special messages.  "I love your blog, it's the first thing I read in the morning!" I guess is out.  Just so I don't feel like a complete dork, though, I write down the kids names instead of my own.  Real gutsy, I know.  I use the tecnologically advanced post it note to write everyone's names and as we inch closer with book and kids in tow, I crack a joke to one of the Sports Guy's handlers about seeing Isiah Thomas in line behind us with a couple of books.   I thought it was funny, but not this woman.  "Keep moving, sir." she says to me sternly, giving my children the once over.  Don't worry, despite the hand stamps, I promise they won't buy any beer.

Finally to the end of the line, my boys are satisfied to stand behind me but my daughter takes matters into her own hands, jumping behind the table.  I ask Simmons if I can take a picture of my daughter and him.  I can see the look of slight frustration with me and my entourage.   But just as I'm thinking that my request was not a good idea, my little girl belts out a quiet "wooohooooohooo" to him and asks him "Will you sign my Daddy's book?"  Sensing that he was warming up a little bit, I get my camera ready as he nods to one of his handlers and proceeds to lean over.

Success!  It only took three and a half hours, three bathroom breaks, a crappy dinner and countless scary images and hand waves, but we just survived our first book signing.  Now let me find a scalper and get four tickets to the Celtic-Bulls game.  Yeah right, we're going to stay for another three hours.  We were home about 10 minutes later.  And it's a 35 minute drive home.

*****

About half way through The Book of Basketball, I must say that it is thoroughly researched.  Is that a good thing or a bad thing?  Read it and find out for yourself.  The chapter with Isiah Thomas was a classic story, so there's that.  I think ultimately though, I will forget all about his book, but I'll always remember the night the four of us got that book signed.

 

Will you Sign My Daddy's Book? Simmons Signing, Part I - The Prelude

It was 1998.  I had just graduated from finishing school and I was working 18 hour days on the 26th floor of a Boston highrise.  One day, while I was toiling away in a windowless office, a friend sent me a link by email.   Maybe it wasn't even a link at that point, since it was 1998.  So maybe he called to tell me to go to Digital City to read a column called "Grading the Wimbledon Babes" by some guy who called himself the Boston Sports Guy.  Looking back on it now, it's still the funniest thing I had ever read, and I wish that that column survived his move to ESPN.  Alas, after an hour of searching, this column still does not exist.

Now 11 years later, and despite 11 years of enjoying his columns, I was skeptical when I heard he was working on a basketball book.  I mean, his baseball book was merely a reprinting of his old baseball columns with very little original content.  In fact, I think my daughter now uses that book plus the Sum of All Fears to reach the toilet when she goes to the bathroom and the sink when she brushes her teeth.  Despite this apprehension, I decided to spend the $25 to purchase his new book The Book of Basketball.  As the nearest bookstore was half an hour away (seriously - a half an hour away, my kids will end up being semi-literate), I had to justify the drive by also getting my wife the latest Dan Brown novel too. 

While beginning to plow through his 600+ page opus, I discovered he was going to be in Boston signing his book before the Celtics game at a bar called Hurricane O'Reilly's.  Strangely excited about the possibility of a Leona Lewis incident involving Isiah Thomas, Gus Johnson and Bill Simmons (You can read more in the book, but Thomas threatened "trouble" if he ever met Simmons on the street because of a couple of scathing columns over the years), I decided to bring the kids into Boston and get the new book signed. 

Note to Readers. A couple of issues to address right away.  First, yes I could have gotten the book signed at a book store in the Back Bay a couple of hours earlier instead of at a bar 100 feet from the Garden right before a game, but the chances of "trouble" happening at 12pm in a book store were infinitesimal compared to a bar where people were partying right before a game.  Second, yes, my kids were with me, but I thought the experience might toughen them up a little bit.  Especially, my three year old daughter.

4pm.  Boston, MA.  I should have known that this was not going to be easy when I started haggling with the garage attendant.

"I'm not going to the game, I'm just going to be 15 minutes."  I say glancing at my 7 year old to make sure he keeps his mouth shut.

"Don't you know that there's a game tonight - 20 dollars?" the attendant asks me in some sort of unidentifiable accent. 

"What did he say?" my daughter asks me. 

"I have no idea."  I direct to her.  "I know that there's a game, but I'm not going to the game. I just have to drop off some paperwork with my accountants; I'll be right back." I direct to the attendant, believing that if I just make no sense, speak really quickly and throw in a little white lie, he'll just let me go.

"It's 20 dollars."  All right, fine.

As we walk down Causeway Street from the garage, teaching my children how to jaywalk when one has somewhere to go in a hurry, I notice a line queueing at the intersection of Causeway Street and Canal Street (where we have to go).  Oh shit, I think to myself, since I know this bar is halfway down the street.  Yes, this line 300 people deep was waiting to get this book signed.  "Well this line is longer than I thought it would be." I say aloud to no one in particular as we get to the end of the line.  I only mutter this sentence since stating the obvious was not going to endear us to anyone.  Additionally, as we get in line, thinking that there might be a sense of camaraderie similar to any lines you have to wait in with numerous others, I ask the guy in front of me "Is this the line for the Simmons book signing?"  Without a word and obviously not understanding my use of irony (or maybe it's me who doesn't understand it), he gives me a smirk, like I'm some sort of shmuck, and shows me his copy of the book we're both getting signed.  Thanks, man. 

Despite my seven year old's statement that that man was not very nice, and my five year old now SINGING about how hungry he was, I decided that we would wait in line until the bitter end.  It can't be that bad, I decide.  Further, I've driven an hour in traffic, probably risked getting my car keyed by the garage attendant and fended off numerous "I'm hungry" cries (and melodies as it's turning out) from the troops.  I'm not going anywhere.

Not so fast.  After thirty minutes in line and while watching dozens of smiling people walking out of the bar with their signed copy of the book, sometimes multiple copies, my daughter (Did I explain that she was dressed up as a ghost?) taps me on the leg.  "Daddy," she says beginning a little recognizable dance "I have to go to the bathroom..."  I let the words trail off pretending not to hear them, while hoping that she was just bored.  By this time, she was entertaining everyone around her dancing in her ghost outfit and scaring them with her teeth-chattering "woowoowooooo."  "Dad, I think she really has to go to the bathroom" my seven year old volunteers, trying to be helpful for the first time all afternoon.  "I know."

"Seriously, sweetheart, are you sure you can't hold it for 15 more minutes?" I acknowledge after a couple of minutes.  I've been shooting white lies all over the place, so what the hell.

"No, Daddy.  I have to go to the bathroom right now."  She says to me sweetly. "Damnit damnit DAMNIT", I scream to myself as we walk out of line in search of a bathroom.  At least we kept a dozen people entertained when they otherwise would have been pissed waiting in such a long line.  As we walk by the line and I count the hundreds of people behind us, I now begin to worry that we spent all of this time and energy trying to get this freaking book signed, and it's not going to happen.

Tomorrow:  Part II - Redemption.

KG IS Walking through That Door - Celtics 2009-10 Preview

Depending on whom you ask, the 2009-2010 Celtics are either the first, second or third best team in the Eastern Conference sharing the top three spots with the Cavs and the Magic.  Opening the season tonight against one of their rivals, the Cleveland Cavaliers, the Celtics' position will immediately be tested.  Can the men of Green repeat the performance from 2007-2008, or will it be an injury-riddled year similar to 2008-2009?   

7:30pm.  Actually a beautiful view of the City of Cleveland, athough its amusing that Jacobs Field is lit up in the middle of October.  Please, those days are over, but thanks for wasting the natural resources to keep the lights at the baseball park on during the basketball game.  Also, I like Shaq.  I really do, but it's clear that the Real Shaq tweets from one of two places - Burger King or McDonalds.  The restaurants in the Flats better order some more supplies for after game dinners.  Oh my God is he large.

First Quarter.  Yes!  KG starts strong in the low post to get the first points of the season for the Celtics.  Looks quick for a 43 year old.  Unfortunately, the Celtics collectively look old and slow as Cleveland begins the game on a 13-2 run  The Celtics call a timeout to stop the momentum.  It may have been a technical foul, I don't know with this team.

In the span of one minute, we see what the Cavs are all about in 2009-2010 if LeBron ever gets injured.  Anderson Varejao flops in the paint and pops up crying, and Shaq scores his first points pushing Perk out of the way as he banks in a four footer.  Oh and by the way, that was a foul on Lebron James when he block Rondo's dunk attempt 8 minutes in.

Rasheed and his enormous afro takes his first of numerous ill-advised threes reminding me what it was like when Antoine Walker was jacking up his bricks ten years ago. Cheryl Miller immediately proceeds to tell us about Big Baby's problems with his injured thumb after he punches a former teammate.  What I don't understand is that Davis is going to be suspended, but Delonte West beats his wife, gets arrested on gun charges, fails to go to practice or to games and apparantly is just generally crazy, but they show him hugging some sycophant on the bench as Miller speaks in the background.  What's wrong with this picture?  Cavs 28 Celtics 21.

Second Quarter.  LeBron is on the bench and it shows.  The Celtics tie the game at 32 as LeBron daydreams on the bench about whether there will be enough cap space in Los Angeies next year.

I like the story of Doc Rivers instituting the 30 minutes window of silence on the team at practice yesterday because the players were getting too chirpy.  We institute silent time for our children when they get chirpy too.  Oh and by the way, in case you couldn't hear the guy on the Celtics bench...THREE SECONDS!  THREE SECONDS!!!

Wth three minutes left, we see our first in game interview with Shaq expressing his feelings about playing with the King.  Shaq acts humble about once being the best player in the world, but having to cede that title to LeBron James for the good of the team.  What a guy.  By the way, what the hell was that thing spinning in the background of his interview?  It looked like one of those insects from Starship Troopers.  Technical Foul Number 1 on the Celtics as Paul Pierce is called for an awkward looking travel/foul call.  Seriously, Doc needed a timeout for that play call?  Regardless, the Celtics rally from being down 19-5 in the First Quarter to being ahead 51-45 at halftime.

Third Quarter.  I probably was not the only one cringing when Shaq treated KG like a rack of Babyback ribs.  Nothing a couple of chest bumps can't sure.  I wonder what Danny Ainge was nervously laughin about after that exchange.  And please no more alley oops to Kevin Garnett.  Umm, please?

After seeing Shaq miss yet another bunny while LeBron is calling for the ball, I wonder how long before his minutes get reduced - Shaq's minutes, not LeBron's.  Celtics 72 Cavs 65.

Fourth Quarter.  I have to be honest, when Rasheed Wallace was on the Pistons, I hated seeing the random three point field goal with a hand in his face, despite the fact that he was a non-factor the majority of the game.  Now it's not so bad.

With seven minutes left, we have now entered the time of the game when LeBron spreads the floor and then drives to draw a foul - over and over again.  I love watching this kind of fundamental 1 on 5 basketball.  Oh wait!  Here comes Shaq with his first two free throws - "clang" "bam".   Misses both of them.  Almost as painful as watching Shaq's performance at the All Star Game last year with Jabberwocky.  In any event, the Celtics pull away from the pesky Cavs despite not employing the Hack-a-Shaq method of defense.  Celtics 95 Cavs 89.

Overall, considering Cleveland lost two games last year at home, this was a strong effort.  I was encouraged by the play of the big three - perhaps we'll see another Celtics-Lakers Finals?

WNBA Expect Great Halftime Shows

My daughter (Daddy's little girl or DLG for short) looked up at me recently after playing basketball with her in the driveway.  "When can I go to a game, Daddy?"  "A basketball game?" I asked, not understanding that she wanted to see REAL basketball being played, not Daddy's version of basketball to which she's grown accustomed.  Thinking about it, I looked at the Celtics schedule for the 2009-10 season.  I decided that telling her we can go in three months wasn't going to work for DLG.  Rec basketball?  That couldn't possibly cut it either.  I started thinking long and hard about viable alternatives.  The Red Sox? NASCAR? Candlepin Bowling?  Definitely not Candlepin Bowling.

Then the idea struck me - the WNBA!  Looking at the schedule, I see that the Connecticut Sun is playing its last game of the season a couple of weeks away.  It's at a casino too!  Could this be the perfect Father-Daughter get away?

Uncasville, CT.  3pm.  The afternoon doesn't start well.  First, we get stuck in traffic taking my patented Mohegun Sun shortcut and we arrive late - straight past the craps table directly to the game, I suppose.  Then, I find out that I can't bring DLG into the casino, anyway.  Even my promises that she'll be in my arms the whole time and I won't let her throw the dice doesn't convince the security guard.  Such sticklers; I guess she won't become a gambling degenerate like her Dad until we go see horse racing next month.  To add salt to my wounded gambling streak, the ticket lady tells me that I can't use my Mohegan Sun dream card to buy tickets.  Either that or I'm such a poseur that I don't have enough points to buy even the cheapest seats.

After avoiding a couple of scalpers (Did you not just see the ticket line I was in?), we make our way into the arena.  It sounds like March Madness inside - not what I would imagine the WNBA would be like -  and it was extremely exciting.  It might as well have been scary monsters, gunshots and thunder and lightning to DLG, though, as she immediately puts her hands over her ears and starts screaming that she wants to go home.  I cringe too when I hear the Indian war cry as the teams rallying cry.  How can the PC Police ignore this?  It's kind of loud.  To try to calm her fears, I show her the Connecticut Boxing Hall of Fame, which consists of a dozen plaques, a blank tv screen and a little bust.  Great idea, Dad.  "You see Marlon Starling?  He used to live in Daddy's home town!"  I explain to her.  With her hands still over her ears she shakes her head even more violently and now demands "I want to go home now, Daddy!!"  I didn't have the heart to tell her that after driving two and half hours we weren't going anywhere, so I told her we would leave in a "little while," and we proceeded to our seats. 

Phew, just a couple of sideways glances from some spectators as DLG continues to be freaked out.  "Are the Sun going to make the playoffs?" I ask the guy behind me.  "No, because they lost Friday night.  Do you think your daughter wants to go home?"  Thanks, dude, I wasn't sure what those exact words meant until you said them to me instead of DLG.  Anyway, DLG finally settled down and started eating her popcorn, just like I thought she would, and we began to watch the game.  It wasn't long before it was half time with the Connecticut Sun leading Indiana 40-39. 

We just sat down, so we stayed for the show.  The half time show started with the Senior Sun Dance Team dancing to Beyonce.  "Senior" meaning "Senior Citizen."  Oh my God, were they dancing to settle gambling debts with the Sun?  The show then moved on to a guy who could hit 80 golf balls in 50 seconds.  More impressive than the guy hitting the balls was the guy putting the balls down for him.  How did he not get hit by the flying club?  Finally, a game of musical chairs on center court followed by pin the tale on the donkey.  I'm only kidding about Pin the Tale on the Donkey.  Somewhere, Jackie Moon was smiling, though.  In my opinion, professional sports should not be about the swag, but about the game.  A foul ball, loose puck or randomly tossed equipment should be the only items that fans should be getting.  Besides, we were too high up to win or catch anything.

As the Third Quarter started, the person next to me says that all of Indiana's starters have been pulled out to rest for the playoffs and that one of their stars looked like she got a knee injury.  It doesn't matter to DLG and I, we were having a great time now and the basketball fundamentals being executed were refreshing to watch after years of watching the one on one style of modern day NBA.  We decided to leave at the end of the Third Quarter with the Sun up by 7 or 8.  In a complete turnaround, DLG now DIDN'T want to leave the game, so we stay a little longer. 

As we're walking out of the Arena toward the end of the game, DLG asks "When can we go again?"  "Next year sweetie, its the last game of the season."  I tell her.  "Ohhohh" she says when she's not happy "Can we go again tomorrow?"  Thank you, WNBA, you just made two new fans, tonight.