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.

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 Can Get the Little Ball In the Big Hole and I Mention David Stern

BALCONY GAL WARNING: This post contains elements that are somewhat, and often highly, embarrassing to me.

I've kept this post in reserve because 1) I didn't want to show how lame I am since my readers reader thinks I'm somewhat cool and 2) I didn't want to have to point out to the pros in the NBA how they should be shooting, and thinking about shooting, those precious baskets that win games. But after last night's Game Three of the 2008 NBA Finals I felt the time had come for me to do a little schooling.

I grew up playing basketball in a relatively competitive town. Our teams were good at just about everything. So when I finally had the privilege of playing in high school (I'm sure I made the team simply because I only puked once during the tryout drills and said puke actually made it into one of four designated buckets at the corners of the court AND only my left leg gave out during the extended wall squats AND my dad, at some point, weighed 367 lbs when he went to go sign his pro wrestling papers - Gorilla Bo Joe - and was super athletic and the whole town had some kind of fear AND I didn't know how to shut up so I was always yelling encouraging things, even to those girls who didn't make it to the buckets *inhale breath* AND I showed promise under the boards but I'll take it away from this extended sidebar now and get back on topic) I also had the, um, oh, um, privilege of having a tough coach. Well, he wasn't exactly my coach because I was on the freshman squad and he was the varsity coach but he was one of those guys who watched us all, all the time. Well this coach didn't like my free throws. Nope, not one bit. To tell the truth, I didn't either b/c I never made any. Really. I could box out, get rebounds, throw the ball back up court or, offensively, put the ball back up and in and draw the foul. But I could never make my free throws.

As my free throws got worse, my jumpers got worse. My morale, confidence and desire were hitting the skids. Until the day that coach grabbed a hoop and told me to wear it while running lap after lap and proclaiming loudly, "I CAN GET THE LITTLE BALL IN THE BIG HOLE."

So I ran those laps. Day after day after day*. Always with a smile and always in a loud voice. Here I am at 14 years old running my laps:



There have been several games over the season, particularly during the playoffs and again last night during Game Three, where I had flashbacks to these laps around the court. I'm not saying this particular tactic would work in the NBA and, just to prove that I still had it in me, I ran the neighborhood this morning with the 'ole hoop around my waist. This being nearly *gulp* 20 years later, however, and seeing as I'm carrying around my Playoff Pounds (come on now, I can't be the only one with added playoff poundage happening), I was able to run with my hands in the air and the hoop nestled on my hips.

It got me psyched up to play a little ball on my return so I shot around then went for some dunks. I'm glad to say I still have it in me.

My hang time is still so great that I have time to turn and smile at the camera.

Oh, sorry. I digress. My whole point here is that there is a severe mental factor to basketball. Our boys KG and Pierce have to not let last night's horror show of shots haunt them. Instead, they have to remember that they can indeed get the little ball in the big hole and bring it home.

In other Balcony Gal NBA news, I decided to sneak up on David Stern to ask him a few questions about this reffing thing and what he feels about the fact that anyone who loves the NBA thinks it's time for him to go. His response was pure David Stern:

I'm sure I'm not the only lover of hoops who wanted to gather the neighborhood kids, hand them a bunch of random things like apples and paint brushes and eggs and crayons and toy phones and frogs to throw them at Stern:

I'm just saying my two Balcony Cents and thinking out loud that the NBA needs a new leader. I'm available but I'll need a little help and I'm pretty biased. If you're interested in starting a petition to get Stern out and a new person in, because, you know, these sorts of things really work, really, trust me, add your comments in the comment section. Even if you sign in anonymously it could help things along.

Meanwhile, GO CELTICS!


*Just for this particular season. Then I developed such a disslike of that coach and his tactics and a complete insecurity that I never wanted to be on his team so I turned to other extra curricular activities. Until college when I got gleefully back in the game. But that's a story for another time.

Thank God It's Tuesday

Tuesday is finally here. My special watch, modeled here by Balcony Guy, tells me so. If you squint you can see a blow up of the trophy the Celtics are playing for in game three tonight.

Once again I find myself with butterflies in my stomach. And I get strangely giddy when I think of 9:00 PM. And my heart rate speeds up. And then, when I go to skip down the hall or up the driveway I curse the NBA. Since the Celtics have (thankfully) been in the playoffs since April I have successfully gained 10 pounds. That's not comforting now that it's 500 degrees and I'm trying to squeeze into the kiddie pool. Playoff Pounds. Not fun.

The past few months have been glorious. Watching the Celtics keep us all on our toes has required that I either cook some fantastic meal or, if we are going to the game, we eat a fantastic meal in Boston. And there are the drinks. I alternate between a crisp Chardonnay from France (sorry California, it's the playoffs and I need to boycott right now) or a Delsina - tequila, grand marnier, ginger ale and lime. Mmmm. Just thinking about the food and drinks on tap for tonight are making me drool. Remember back when the season started and I was doing a sit up for every point scored by the Cs? Then I upped it to every point scored during a game? Yeah, I barely remember that, too.









I'm sure you've already gotten out your foam fingers in prep for tonight and donned your best Celtics gear, be it bar-swag inspired, like this gal who's sporting beads, earrings and beer googles, or homemade, like this man who cobbled together a bunch of old playoff towels and other goods, slapped on a boa and called a cape. He's been sporting this look for a couple of seasons now. And the best part? It molts.


You can always bring out your 80's jacket with it's vintage Lucky image and parkay sleeves.











This look on the right is not one I recommend, though. The Michael Jackson mask is very out of place in Boston. Even if you sporting a shamrock top hat.
Whatever you choose to wear (or not to wear because it is hot after all) and whatever you choose to eat and drink (head over to Perk Is A Beast. Those boys have shocked me. They used to be just about Beasting but now they are throwing around wine pairings and menus. I totally have a crush on the Beast Lair.) I hope you're as excited as we are in the Balcony Family.

GO CELTICS.

I Love Paul Pierce

My last post was about why. This is just all about the picture I took during game one of the 2008 NBA finals. Perhaps one of my favorite Balcony Gal photos of the 2007-2008 season. The smoke (the lame version of the fire works which are no longer allowed) filling the air, Paul's scream that echoed through the crowd as they screamed as well and the goose bump inducing feeling of the lights being out and the Garden being full and the crowd being amped and Paul leading the way. Lead the way, Paul. Lead the way.

Game One, Won

I have almost 600 photos from last night's game. I promise I won't share them all but over the next couple of days I'll share many. Many. Not much to say about the game since it's being said everywhere else. Oh, wait, I just want to publicly declare my love for Paul Pierce. Not because he was carried off the court and came charging back in moments later. I'm in love with him because he has been a rock. For 9 years I wondered why he was here. And now, this 10th year, I'm so proud of him for sticking it out, holding his own admirably and in the most romantic of gentlemanly ways. He's never needed to boast, never acted like he deserves special attention and he has always spoken to the Celtics fans from his heart. I've never loved seeing his smile more than I have in the past week. It's like the sun shines. Sigh. Smile on, Paul, smile on.

NAP IF YOU CAN, otherwise entitled The 2008 NBA Finals

I give everyone permission to take a nap today. It does not matter when you choose to snooze as long as it's not after 9 o'clock tonight. It's going to be a long and exciting evening as the Celtics face off against the Lakers for game one of the 2008 NBA Finals. I'm so excited that I'm just going to apologize right now to the guys who sit behind me; I'm sure I'll spend a lot of the evening jumping up and down and my butt will barely touch my Balcony Seat. It's not often we ladies get a chance to strap on the sports bra just to be spectators!

When tomorrow morning rolls around and my two Balcony Girls toddle (yes, that's what toddlers do) in at the crack of too-early-in-the-morning to wake me up, I'm sure I'm going to need a big dose of this:


Coffee came out of my nose this morning when I saw this editorial cartoon by David Hitch in the Worcester Telegram and Gazette. David's cartoons are often funny but this one is a total 3 pointer at the buzzer. Someone tell me that they will be handing out coupons for these special NBA pills at the Garden tonight.

GO CELTICS!

BEST FRIDAY NIGHT EVER, Part Two

Friday night was rough. The world's worst foul call was made. The score went up and down and up and down and I'll be the first to say that up and down makes for a rough time. I'd tell you all about it but by now you'll have already seen it or read about it or heard about it. There really isn't much for me to say except WOOOO FRRRRRIIIIGGGINNNNN WHHHOOOOO.

Here's the Balcony Gal Pictorial:

We had a little party to watch the game. I gathered all of the special party glasses but the green glasses were a favorite.

I hired this great bartender. He showed up wearing a cape which was interesting, to say the least, but I was thrilled to discover he could mix a drink behind his back with his sword. Impressive.

My BFF was a hit at this party. I knew she'd never show up to watch hoops so I told her we'd be having a red carpet, private showing of the Sex and the City movie. She got all dressed up and prepped. I'm sure I'll pay for that little lie at some point but there is no denying she had a great time. There she is on the left next to Balcony Guy's BFF, then Balcony Guy and Me.

My BFF invited this pair, too, so they were a little over-dressed but they really enjoyed themselves. Turns out he loves tequila, too. Apparently she'd had an unfortunate accident with a dog about six months ago and wasn't really drinking. I interpreted that to mean she wasn't double fisting like I was.

One of the guys from the clean up crew came in toward the end of the game and cleaned out all of the red glasses since DeeTroit was no longer in the running.

Then the cleaning guy came back in with a bunch of yellow glasses. I didn't mind since a little rivalry is always good.

The bartender thought differently. He was all, "Beat LA!" and he poked the guy in the third eye with his sword.

My neighbor stopped in and was all, "Dude. Go LA!! Kobe is so going to make you wish you weren't even born." We made him a drink in a yellow glass.

I'm looking forward to the next few weeks. I'm excited to see the Celtics and LA go at it under the boards. Game One of the finals will find me sitting in my Balcony Seat with Balcony Guy. Think they'll let us sneak in our green glasses? Hopefully I'll have pictures to share next time. Meanwhile, GO CELTICS!