It’s opening night for the Celtics tonight.
I think this could be the best season the Celtics have had since the early 90s, when we said goodbye over several years and for several reasons to Larry Joe Bird, Chief, DJ, McHale, Reggie Lewis and Lenny Bias. There is talk of a new Big Three, which of course will be nothing but heresy unless and until the new guys hang a flag.
Back in the 80s, when Larry was the king of this city and I had a third of a front-row season ticket at the old Garden through several amazing seasons, I also had a moment of totally unintended athletic competition with Larry Joe Bird.
I was in my 30s, mind you, and had been doing a little running. Enough to compete as a weekend warrior in an occasional 10K or 5-miler and to finish somewhere in the middle of the pack. Long before Big Man Getting Smaller, I was one of those guys of whom it was sometimes said, “Moves well for a big man.” I probably went around 220 or 225 at the time.
One weekend in March, a bit before St. Paddy’s day, the Celtics organization was the primary sponsor of a road race they called the “Shamrock Classic,” making a circuit around the North End and the Waterfront. I found out that the race would include something fair uncommon in those days, in addition to the various age groups, a “Clydesdale” division for guys over 210.
The race started and finished in front of the Garden. I wasn’t fast, but I was fast enough that I figured there was a good chance that the Clydesdale trophy might have my name on it, even though there was a huge field, pumped up by Celtics marketing.
I started toward the back of the pack and and picked guys off as I went along. I can’t remember now how long the race was, or what my time was, but I did fairly well, and when I finished I got a cold beer and waited for the results print-outs to get posted on a brick wall across the street from the Garden. I thought I had a decent shot.
Finally they posted the sheet with the Clydesdale winner on it. I had just about convinced myself that another fat guy could not have beaten me.
I squinted in the sunlight to read the name of the Clydesdale winner, and I was right. Another fat guy had not beaten me.
The Clydesdale winner was a 6’9”, 239-pound guy from French Lick, Indiana, who was about 10 years younger than me. He kicked my ass.
He wore number 33, as he always did. This is also the number of pounds the Big Man Getting Smaller has lost in the past 9 weeks.
Happy Celtics Opening Day, Larry. Here’s a song for you.
I feel lucky that I somehow grew up to be somebody who appreciates sports. A fan. And I feel doubly lucky to be living in Boston throughout so much of the past 50 years. Not everyone sees any significance in what guys like Bird, Russ, Pedro, Bobby Orr, Big Papi, Yaz, Cooz, DJ, Brady, Flutie, the Splinter, Rodgers, Joanie, and El Tiante did when they strapped them on. I do. And nobody ever did more credit to any team's uniform than Larry Bird did when he stepped on the parquet as a Celtic.
Thursday's Soundtrack
Actually I think the yodeling is by Woody's granddaughter (and Arlo's daughter) Sarah Lee Guthrie. The song is "Closer to Fine." I remember the first time I played it for my daughter Kippy when she was about 11. She didn't give it a high rating. She said it sounded like a sound they'd sing around the campfire at Farm & Wilderness. No doubt.
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