DEE-FENSE (clap! clap!) DEE-FENSE (CLAP!! CLAP!!)
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Three hours before tip-off, the streets and restaurants surrounding Boston’s TD Garden were thronged with seriously devoted fans sporting green shirts, green pants, green vests, green jackets, green hats — green underwear too, for all I know. Despite a nippy post-Christmas evening chill, the atmosphere sizzled as we rode up the escalator into the historic hall where Bob Cousy, John Havlicek, Bill Russell and Larry Bird once dazzled and dunked.
Our tickets were a Christmas present from son Chris and daughter-in-law Jennifer. They’d also stuffed tickets into their kids’ stockings, Miles (14) and Henry (12), and then drove up from New Jersey to the Wells woods for a late December three-day visit, headlined by The Game.
My grandsons are huge Celtics fans and this was not their first rodeo. They and their dad make the pilgrimage about once a year to TD Garden. Even still, they were nearly hyperventilating as we headed to our seats.
Cool teenage Miles wore a #7 Jaylen Brown shirt and a C’s hat. Uber-fan Henry, however, went all out in his #36 Marcus Smart jersey, Celtics hat, Celtics sweatpants, even Celtics socks. He was especially proud of his brand-new Nike Dunk sneakers. But he didn’t want to crease, scuff or soil the shoes so he walked straight-legged, his knees nearly locked, looking like someone who pooped his pants. He hadn’t. “I just want to protect my shoes,” he told us.
A little history here: back in the mid-1960s, when I was engaged, then married, to a Bostonian, his idea of a great date was taking me to “the Gah-den.” First time that happened, I thought we were going to a flower show. Instead, I found myself sitting in a wooden seat way way up, watching Tommy Heinsohn and the Jones boys (K.C. and Sam) dribble down the court in micro-shorts (compared to the knee-length bloomers the boys wear today.) And I can’t tell you how many times I witnessed Red Auerbach light his cigar.
Before we took our seats, the boys requested a visit to the Celtic Shop. “What could they possibly need to buy?” I asked Jennifer. She just smiled. Two minutes later, both boys exited the shop wearing huge chunky chains, looking like Kanye West had styled them for the evening.
When we got to our seats (blissfully not nosebleed), I realized, this was a different Boston Garden than the place I first visited 57 years ago. This was Las Vegas on steroids, an electrifying light and music show, like Times Square at 11:59 on December 31. We watched a Jumbotron that didn’t quit, felt the constant pulsating music rock our seats, and eyeballed sequined dancers making moves on the parquet that would put me in traction for a month.
Boston fans take no prisoners. When a Clipper player stood on the free throw line, 20,000 BOOs resounded through the arena. Folks sitting behind the basket waved arms, balloons, anything to distract. But when beloved Jason Tatum got fouled and stood on the line, a deafening roar of MVP! MVP! resounded through the stadium.
Our ears (mine with Celtic green hoop earrings) were still ringing when we drove home, arriving about 1:30 AM. That was the latest Mr. Wonderful and I had stayed awake since Y2K. And it only took about another hour for our hearing aids to calm down and stop reverberating. But yes, fun night!
