Saturday, June 21, 2008
2008 NBA CHAMPIONSHIP GAME, part 2.0
I haven't gotten to the part where the Celtics win the championship yet (hope I didn't spoil it for you) but I want to get this picture up. This is what happened when the reporters and crowd (at least the crowd that was allowed to - kudos to the people who were able to keep everything orderly) stormed the court at the final buzzer.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
2008 NBA CHAMPIONSHIP GAME, part two
The crowd getting into the Garden was surprisingly straight forward. In games past, especially early in the playoffs, there was congestion and confusion and overall pain-in-the-assedness. Tuesday night felt like everyone knew where their seats were, where they where going and how much time they had to get there. OK, perhaps it helped that we were there earlier than we've ever been before. As the Cs entered the arena the cameras panned to the tunnel and as soon as we (the collective everyone-in-the-Garden we) realized they were hitting the court, we all stood up and clapped and screamed. The excitement of the night just got more intense from there. I don't think I sat down much throughout this game. I don't think many people did.
The opening ceremonies had Paula Cole singing the national anthem. I happen to be a Paula Cole fan. Perhaps because I'm a chick? Perhaps because I love the way her albums are recorded? If I could have been there during the taping of Harbinger to see what microphones were used and...oh, sorry, I digress.
Anyway, Paula has an amazing voice. And her connection to Boston made it a good, though surprising choice. While she was singing, the jumbotron had images of Doc and his platoon and, with each face flashed up on that, there was louder and louder cheering. EVEN FOR DOC who, let's face it, has had a lot of naysayers over the past couple of seasons. And through this Paula sang on. Then there were shots of Phil and his platoon and the booing was immense. IMMENSE. I understood the competitive feelings and the emotion running through the crowd but it's the national anthem people. I just wanted to climb under my Balcony Seat because I was so embarrassed. Poor Paula, singing her heart out and getting booed. She couldn't see the jumbotron, she had no idea. But she finished strong and the crowd went insane.
I guess my point here is that I know it's the championship game but SHUT UP AND STAND THERE AND BE ALL SOLEMN FOR A MINUTE. Just saying.
For some reason I have loved watching them take down those two huge replica trophies and wheel them out. Where do those go, do you think? Do they have to get on a plane? Do they reside in a basement somewhere? Perhaps Wyc gets to keep them as lawn art? Perhaps the two best Celtics bloggers get to each own one? Perhaps the other bloggers won't let me in on it because this blog isn't the most serious of serious blogs. I know, you thought it was, dear readers reader, but it's not.
I'm chatting with the guy next to me, Thor*, and Balcony Guy asks, "Who really wears white pants?" because, you know, his idea of fashion is changing the 'reduce, reuse, recycle' pin on his overalls to his pin that says 'your village called and they want their idiot back."
*(some names have been changed to protect the innocent but not Thor's because that name is too good to be true)
As I click a few pics in the general direction of the white pants in question, seated at the left end of the Laker's bench, one of our Balcony Pals (I told Claudia I'd keep her very low profile in this blog) comes over and points out that Steven Tyler is here. Fun. He's the guy wearing the white pants and, perhaps because of the pants, you could tell it was him from WAY UP HERE. I'm sure those of you sitting at home got to see his mug several times on TV but those of us who were there at the game only saw it a couple of times on the jumbotron and not nearly in such the grainy way as these pics portray.
I have some idea of what happened to the Lakers that made them seem as if they weren't all there. This picture says it all. Mihm stood there, in that spot with his hands on his hips, for at least a full minute watching the Celtics Dancers. WTF? This photo (which you can click on to make it larger) is full of interesting vignettes. It's kind of like the back of the cereal box that someone else has already filled in for you. See if you can find: the men in the same row with their hands over their mouths, the woman with the would-be impressive drinking glass except it looks like it holds less liquid than the cup the man behind her is holding and two men picking their noses. That is, picking their own noses, not each others. If you find anything else exciting in there then let me know.
And then there was the couple that fell asleep. Not just one of them but both of them. Oh my, I can't even begin to imagine how much each minute of that nap was costing them. But the moment for the rest of us, as it was flashed on the jumbotron, was priceless.
Well, I'm due for another nap so I'll have to stop here. Stay tuned for Part Three in which I discuss threes, ghosts in the Garden, faded floors, sore pecs and I finally get to the part about The Beast's Buddies.
The opening ceremonies had Paula Cole singing the national anthem. I happen to be a Paula Cole fan. Perhaps because I'm a chick? Perhaps because I love the way her albums are recorded? If I could have been there during the taping of Harbinger to see what microphones were used and...oh, sorry, I digress.
Anyway, Paula has an amazing voice. And her connection to Boston made it a good, though surprising choice. While she was singing, the jumbotron had images of Doc and his platoon and, with each face flashed up on that, there was louder and louder cheering. EVEN FOR DOC who, let's face it, has had a lot of naysayers over the past couple of seasons. And through this Paula sang on. Then there were shots of Phil and his platoon and the booing was immense. IMMENSE. I understood the competitive feelings and the emotion running through the crowd but it's the national anthem people. I just wanted to climb under my Balcony Seat because I was so embarrassed. Poor Paula, singing her heart out and getting booed. She couldn't see the jumbotron, she had no idea. But she finished strong and the crowd went insane.
I guess my point here is that I know it's the championship game but SHUT UP AND STAND THERE AND BE ALL SOLEMN FOR A MINUTE. Just saying.
For some reason I have loved watching them take down those two huge replica trophies and wheel them out. Where do those go, do you think? Do they have to get on a plane? Do they reside in a basement somewhere? Perhaps Wyc gets to keep them as lawn art? Perhaps the two best Celtics bloggers get to each own one? Perhaps the other bloggers won't let me in on it because this blog isn't the most serious of serious blogs. I know, you thought it was, dear readers reader, but it's not.
I'm chatting with the guy next to me, Thor*, and Balcony Guy asks, "Who really wears white pants?" because, you know, his idea of fashion is changing the 'reduce, reuse, recycle' pin on his overalls to his pin that says 'your village called and they want their idiot back."
*(some names have been changed to protect the innocent but not Thor's because that name is too good to be true)
As I click a few pics in the general direction of the white pants in question, seated at the left end of the Laker's bench, one of our Balcony Pals (I told Claudia I'd keep her very low profile in this blog) comes over and points out that Steven Tyler is here. Fun. He's the guy wearing the white pants and, perhaps because of the pants, you could tell it was him from WAY UP HERE. I'm sure those of you sitting at home got to see his mug several times on TV but those of us who were there at the game only saw it a couple of times on the jumbotron and not nearly in such the grainy way as these pics portray.
I have some idea of what happened to the Lakers that made them seem as if they weren't all there. This picture says it all. Mihm stood there, in that spot with his hands on his hips, for at least a full minute watching the Celtics Dancers. WTF? This photo (which you can click on to make it larger) is full of interesting vignettes. It's kind of like the back of the cereal box that someone else has already filled in for you. See if you can find: the men in the same row with their hands over their mouths, the woman with the would-be impressive drinking glass except it looks like it holds less liquid than the cup the man behind her is holding and two men picking their noses. That is, picking their own noses, not each others. If you find anything else exciting in there then let me know.
And then there was the couple that fell asleep. Not just one of them but both of them. Oh my, I can't even begin to imagine how much each minute of that nap was costing them. But the moment for the rest of us, as it was flashed on the jumbotron, was priceless.
Well, I'm due for another nap so I'll have to stop here. Stay tuned for Part Three in which I discuss threes, ghosts in the Garden, faded floors, sore pecs and I finally get to the part about The Beast's Buddies.
2008 NBA CHAMPIONSHIP GAME, part one
OK then, because I don't know where to start I'll just start at the beginning. There will be many photos and many parts. All photos, as usual, have been taken by me. If you find yourself disappointed in the quality of the photo, never fear. I will be getting a better quality lens for my beautiful camera as soon as I raise the funds. But that's a different story.
I'm here to tell you about the Balcony View for GAME SIX of the 2008 NBA Finals. The Final Game of the Finals. The game that made grown men (and women *raises hand*) cry.
Balcony Guy and I had to strangely enough rent a car to get to the game. Our beloved Flower (as named by Balcony Gal) decided to have issues the night before and we weren't risking anything. We settled in our babysitter, Balcony Memere, with the girls and hit the road at 5:30. Early for a 9PM game but, again, we weren't risking anything.
On the Mass Pike (where I had once before discovered something odd) we got stuck in traffic. And by stuck I mean stopped. A truck pulls up next to us and it is filled with guys and perhaps one gal all wearing green, on their way into Boston to party. I look over and they look at me so I give them the thumbs up. So the guy in the back pops his Cs jersey at me and I laugh and then flash them. Oh, get your mind out of the gutter. I flashed them my tickets. Jaws drop. Screaming ensues. Money is flashed. LOTS AND LOTS OF MONEY. I could have grabbed the money, tossed them the tickets and Balcony Guy and I could have been in Jamaica by sundown. You can click on the image to get a larger view and try to count all of the money.
Instead I flashed the picture and quickly rolled up the window and locked the door because apparently I was carrying the holy grail.
Once in Boston and almost at our parking spot we were held up again but not by traffic this time (there was surprisingly little traffic in the city at 6:30). Cops on motorcycles cut us off on Charles St as they escorted the Laker's bus to their ultimate loss. Not an exciting picture but a thrilling moment.
Everywhere you turn downtown there are photos of the the Cs players and playoff banners. I've taken a lot of these shots since the playoffs began but this is my favorite.
After meeting our Balcony Pals at Porter's for some food and drink we headed to our seats. Outside of the bar two strangers shook hands and posed for this picture. Then trashed talked each other until the Laker's guy ran down Portland street screaming and with his pants down around his ankles. I don't know why, it just happened.
The Garden was electric. People couldn't sit down. Everywhere you turned someone was yelling or clapping or high-fiving (note to self - don't high five strangers unless you want your hand to fall off).
I'm afraid that's all I've got for right now. It's time for a nap. I'm betting it will be a good nap. Did anyone else, after finally going to bed last night, sleep soundly for the first time in months? This roller coaster of emotions and sleeplessness was like having a newborn. I'm glad to say my baby is finally sleeping through the night after winning the best-baby-ever contest.
Stay tuned for part two. There will be talk of my meeting the Beast's Lair (though not the Beast himself), men in white pants, the Celtics Dancers and much more.
I'm here to tell you about the Balcony View for GAME SIX of the 2008 NBA Finals. The Final Game of the Finals. The game that made grown men (and women *raises hand*) cry.
Balcony Guy and I had to strangely enough rent a car to get to the game. Our beloved Flower (as named by Balcony Gal) decided to have issues the night before and we weren't risking anything. We settled in our babysitter, Balcony Memere, with the girls and hit the road at 5:30. Early for a 9PM game but, again, we weren't risking anything.
On the Mass Pike (where I had once before discovered something odd) we got stuck in traffic. And by stuck I mean stopped. A truck pulls up next to us and it is filled with guys and perhaps one gal all wearing green, on their way into Boston to party. I look over and they look at me so I give them the thumbs up. So the guy in the back pops his Cs jersey at me and I laugh and then flash them. Oh, get your mind out of the gutter. I flashed them my tickets. Jaws drop. Screaming ensues. Money is flashed. LOTS AND LOTS OF MONEY. I could have grabbed the money, tossed them the tickets and Balcony Guy and I could have been in Jamaica by sundown. You can click on the image to get a larger view and try to count all of the money.
Instead I flashed the picture and quickly rolled up the window and locked the door because apparently I was carrying the holy grail.
Once in Boston and almost at our parking spot we were held up again but not by traffic this time (there was surprisingly little traffic in the city at 6:30). Cops on motorcycles cut us off on Charles St as they escorted the Laker's bus to their ultimate loss. Not an exciting picture but a thrilling moment.
Everywhere you turn downtown there are photos of the the Cs players and playoff banners. I've taken a lot of these shots since the playoffs began but this is my favorite.
After meeting our Balcony Pals at Porter's for some food and drink we headed to our seats. Outside of the bar two strangers shook hands and posed for this picture. Then trashed talked each other until the Laker's guy ran down Portland street screaming and with his pants down around his ankles. I don't know why, it just happened.The Garden was electric. People couldn't sit down. Everywhere you turned someone was yelling or clapping or high-fiving (note to self - don't high five strangers unless you want your hand to fall off).
I'm afraid that's all I've got for right now. It's time for a nap. I'm betting it will be a good nap. Did anyone else, after finally going to bed last night, sleep soundly for the first time in months? This roller coaster of emotions and sleeplessness was like having a newborn. I'm glad to say my baby is finally sleeping through the night after winning the best-baby-ever contest.
Stay tuned for part two. There will be talk of my meeting the Beast's Lair (though not the Beast himself), men in white pants, the Celtics Dancers and much more.
Monday, June 16, 2008
The Eve of Game Six or Why I'm Going To Puke
Physically I can't take it anymore. And I'm not the only one. I can't imagine how the Celtics players are feeling but I do know how a number of fans are feeling. The phone calls, the emails, the shout outs at the grocery store; everyone's stomachs are in knots. The adrenaline is pumping, then freezes up, then pumps again. I've never seen so many men who appear to have PMS every two to three days.
In the six years since my dad passed away I've never wanted him to be around more than right now. Not to watch him struggle with these emotions and the anxiety (even though it would be hilarious because, well, that's just the type of people we are) but because he would be just as thrilled, just as overwhelmed, just as ecstatic as those of us who are here and feel it through and through.
And since I mentioned Father's Day I'll say happy belated to all of you dads and, of course, to Balcony Guy who deserves so much more than some downloaded songs about bicycles and cupcakes decorated by a three year old and clearly licked by the two year old and that new tape measure I can't find but know I bought. It's a good one, honey, really.
Oh, I just remembered, we've got tickets to GAME SIX.
Every time I remember I have tickets to GAME SIX, every time I realize I'll be sitting in my Balcony Seat, my stomach flops in that good way. That way that reminds me of when I realized I was going to marry Balcony Guy and have children named Marley (a girl) and Bo (Diddly, naturally a boy) and George (another girl, you know, from Nancy Drew) and Emerson (sex up in the air but it's the college where we met). Of course we had children named Balcony Princess and Balcony Baby instead.
It reminds me of the way I felt when I got my first big client and again when that client came back (to complain and get their money back but whatever).
It reminds me of how I felt on my due date for Balcony Princess, and the 8 consecutive days after that until she showed up. And again for Balcony Baby on her due date and the 5 days after that until she showed up. Oh, and the feelings of anger and deceit and let-downedness (so a word) toward the doctors who said the kids would be here on a certain day but then they weren't. They were still stuck inside of me and I looked like I was smuggling the whole basketball team and not just a ball. Then they were here and life was sweet again.
All of those ups and downs and ups and downs are making me thrive and shortening my life. They make me want to puke.
I'm so excited that the Celtics will be home for GAME SIX. I'm sure this will be the last one. Really, doesn't it have to be? Why keep the Lakers fans thinking they have a chance? In Boston we don't beat around the bush, we tell it like it is, so we'll stop playing games with LA. And, perhaps most importantly, NO ONE CAN TAKE IT ANYMORE. Every fan, every almost fan, every everyone wants the Celtics to bring it home, get that trophy and allow us all to put this in our memories as the best series ever.
I can't tell you the number of people I've heard say (and seen it written in emails and blogs) that a game seven will kill them. It's true.
I'm thrilled to be a part of this. I'm thrilled to have these seats, to have lucked out and made my dream of being a fan, one who holds tickets in her sweaty little hands night after night and watches every other game she's not at on TV and who's children actually bleed green like I did as a kid in the 80s (thanks Dad!), a reality. I'm thrilled to have made new green friends (not the kind who recycle though I'm sure they all do) in the people who sit around me and share drinks and food at Porters before games and in the people who trade emails with me regarding this passion that is the Celtics (like The Man and his daughters, other Celtics blog writers who I really think should help get us our own duck boat for the parade and numerous responders to this here blog). I'm just thrilled.
So, before I go on and on I'm just going to say that I think the Celtics will win this tomorrow. I think that they will bring a championship to Boston. I think there will be dancing in the street tomorrow night and Balcony Guy and I will be there. I've had goose bumps through all of this typing and all of the things I've wanted to say are just running away from me so I'll sign off now.
Oh, wait, I knew I'd remember! The plane that was to carry the Celtics home got delayed. Big issues, blah, blah blah, google it. Anyway, I imagine that our heroes have sat around all day getting sweatier, eventually boarding the rescue plane, trying to maintain their cool. By the time they touch down in Boston, only to separate and go to their own homes and families, they'll be old school smelly, like riding the bus with the boy's hoops team back from a game in high school and they'll be closer some how. They'll have talked through the disappointment of being stuck. They'll have coaxed each other along to not be angry, to just go with the flow, to be as one and bring on the good karma.
I say good night now. Sweet dreams and GO CELTICS.
In the six years since my dad passed away I've never wanted him to be around more than right now. Not to watch him struggle with these emotions and the anxiety (even though it would be hilarious because, well, that's just the type of people we are) but because he would be just as thrilled, just as overwhelmed, just as ecstatic as those of us who are here and feel it through and through.
And since I mentioned Father's Day I'll say happy belated to all of you dads and, of course, to Balcony Guy who deserves so much more than some downloaded songs about bicycles and cupcakes decorated by a three year old and clearly licked by the two year old and that new tape measure I can't find but know I bought. It's a good one, honey, really.
Oh, I just remembered, we've got tickets to GAME SIX.
Every time I remember I have tickets to GAME SIX, every time I realize I'll be sitting in my Balcony Seat, my stomach flops in that good way. That way that reminds me of when I realized I was going to marry Balcony Guy and have children named Marley (a girl) and Bo (Diddly, naturally a boy) and George (another girl, you know, from Nancy Drew) and Emerson (sex up in the air but it's the college where we met). Of course we had children named Balcony Princess and Balcony Baby instead.
It reminds me of the way I felt when I got my first big client and again when that client came back (to complain and get their money back but whatever).
It reminds me of how I felt on my due date for Balcony Princess, and the 8 consecutive days after that until she showed up. And again for Balcony Baby on her due date and the 5 days after that until she showed up. Oh, and the feelings of anger and deceit and let-downedness (so a word) toward the doctors who said the kids would be here on a certain day but then they weren't. They were still stuck inside of me and I looked like I was smuggling the whole basketball team and not just a ball. Then they were here and life was sweet again.
All of those ups and downs and ups and downs are making me thrive and shortening my life. They make me want to puke.
I'm so excited that the Celtics will be home for GAME SIX. I'm sure this will be the last one. Really, doesn't it have to be? Why keep the Lakers fans thinking they have a chance? In Boston we don't beat around the bush, we tell it like it is, so we'll stop playing games with LA. And, perhaps most importantly, NO ONE CAN TAKE IT ANYMORE. Every fan, every almost fan, every everyone wants the Celtics to bring it home, get that trophy and allow us all to put this in our memories as the best series ever.
I can't tell you the number of people I've heard say (and seen it written in emails and blogs) that a game seven will kill them. It's true.
I'm thrilled to be a part of this. I'm thrilled to have these seats, to have lucked out and made my dream of being a fan, one who holds tickets in her sweaty little hands night after night and watches every other game she's not at on TV and who's children actually bleed green like I did as a kid in the 80s (thanks Dad!), a reality. I'm thrilled to have made new green friends (not the kind who recycle though I'm sure they all do) in the people who sit around me and share drinks and food at Porters before games and in the people who trade emails with me regarding this passion that is the Celtics (like The Man and his daughters, other Celtics blog writers who I really think should help get us our own duck boat for the parade and numerous responders to this here blog). I'm just thrilled.
So, before I go on and on I'm just going to say that I think the Celtics will win this tomorrow. I think that they will bring a championship to Boston. I think there will be dancing in the street tomorrow night and Balcony Guy and I will be there. I've had goose bumps through all of this typing and all of the things I've wanted to say are just running away from me so I'll sign off now.
Oh, wait, I knew I'd remember! The plane that was to carry the Celtics home got delayed. Big issues, blah, blah blah, google it. Anyway, I imagine that our heroes have sat around all day getting sweatier, eventually boarding the rescue plane, trying to maintain their cool. By the time they touch down in Boston, only to separate and go to their own homes and families, they'll be old school smelly, like riding the bus with the boy's hoops team back from a game in high school and they'll be closer some how. They'll have talked through the disappointment of being stuck. They'll have coaxed each other along to not be angry, to just go with the flow, to be as one and bring on the good karma.
I say good night now. Sweet dreams and GO CELTICS.
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