Tag Archives: kevin garnett

Eight things I learned while attending Celtics/Lakers last night

  • According to one horrendous drunk I met on the beer line who was “heah fah sum seminaaaaaaaaaaahs,” local scalpers had nosebleed seats going for upward of $200 a pop yesterday. And you wonder why there are so many pissed-off dudes calling for a foul on Gasol’s game-ending alteration; not tyte in this economy.
  • When it comes to “delivering penetrating analysis of live sporting events gleaned from the northernmost regions of Section 326 of the TD BankNorth Garden,” I = fail … or at least, I do if you’re looking for, y’know, actual sports information.

Seriously — almost nothing of value through my intermittent Tweeting last night. Check for yourself if you don’t believe. In my own retroactive defense, though, I do think that if I’d been able to receive @replies/messages from the folks I’d OK’d device updates for — still not real sure why the hell that didn’t work — I might have been in position for more legitimate ball talk. But even if I was, there probably wouldn’t have been much to it, because …

  • I have a much harder time assessing plays/seeing off-ball action live. I suspected this would be true, especially since I haven’t been to a live game in a while, but last night proved it.

My brother and I had a great view and we were able to diagnose some things (personal favorite: the way Ray Allen runs off screens like a slot receiver running an option route — sometimes continuing the curl to the cup, sometimes stopping dead and going right up with the J, sometimes starting to sell the curl before fading to the corner — and running each option at the same speed and without too discernible a pattern, so that when the shot’s in the air, you always find yourself saying, “How the hell did he get so open?”), but I’m positive that I missed a ton of stuff that more astute observers would have caught. That’s in part because …

  • I am a fantastic conversationalist who can make friends with all manner of semi-docile drunks in my vicinity. A fine skill, to be sure, but one that can cause you to miss shit.

For example, when all it takes are a few well-placed jokes and slight prods to get the dude next to me and his ladyfriend to divulge that there are five empty seats in the row in front of us because a whole crew of kids were talking during the National Anthem, then “got kicked out or whatever,” but really didn’t get kicked out they just went somewhere to try to find a spot to safely “blaze an L” in the Garden, and the reason that only one of the girls in the group came back three quarters later was because she had “ratted out all of her friends because ‘The Wire’ got them,” and it’s all a shame because “you’d have think she’da learned by now to stop snitching” … I mean, that’s more interesting to me than Doc’s substitution patterns. And speaking of Doc …

  • The man apparently crafted last night’s necktie entirely out of the Power Cosmic. Check it out:

It looks like something off a goddamn Joe Satriani album cover. Really enjoyed that. I also enjoyed …

  • The pounding, pulsating hatred Boston fans have for Sasha Vujacic. He got more boos than anyone not named Kobe Bryant last night, which blew me away.

Dude next to me repeatedly called Machine a “terrorist.” Guys behind me kept yelling, “WASH YAAAA HAAAAAAAIHH!” Every time he entered the game, my section seethed. Seems like a pretty disproportionate amount of hatred for the guy, but then again, he is a dirty, greasy terrorist, so I guess it’s all fair game. It really did seem like the entire case to be made for hating him more so than, say, Josh Powell is that he’s A) foreign and B) dirty-looking.

Um, Celtics fans? If those are your criteria, and you want to be spewing hatred on someone who is actually dismantling your team, how’s about spitting some venom on the dirty-bearded 7-foot Iberian who threw up 24 and 14 in your mugs and kept Ray from getting a clean look at the final shot. And speaking of beards …

  • Boston’s fanbase has a higher percentage of mad-thin chinstrap beards than any other NBA fanbase. For those unfamiliar with the style, a visual aid:

Also see Love, Kevin.

I would certainly be happy to be proven wrong, because that would mean there are exponentially more chinstraps being rocked out there than I would ever have anticipated, but Jesus Christ, dude. Twentysomething electrician’s apprentices from Framingham work hard on their facial grooming. That must be why they’re so confident, an attitude exemplified by …

  • The speed with which the fans heading toward the exit switched their style up from furious at the way OT ended to eager for a chance to right the ship come Finals-time.

As soon as we started filing out, you could hear the chatter: Bullshit call on KG, if he’s there for the last four minutes instead of Big Baby, it doesn’t go to OT; they had the inbounds play locked up, but Doc won’t let that happen again; we had ‘em the whole way, just some fluky stuff down the stretch, etc.  (Of course, Lakers fans could say, “If we just hit our free throws, this game’s a 10-12 point breeze,” but whatever.)  There was a lot of confidence in the loser’s parking lot after the game, which was cool to see.  There were also, however, even more chinstraps, which were not.