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|Celtics in danger of falling further in East standings|
Game Time: Magic 84, Celtics 82There were two distinct teams wearing green uniforms in Orlando on Wednesday night: the Good Celtics and the Bad Celtics. Unfortunately for the defending champs, the latter were on the court for 33 minutes and the good for only 15 minutes.
The Bad Celtics
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Too many long van rides through dangerous winter weather. Too many crack-of-dawn wake-up calls to catch the first (and cheapest) flight out of two-horse towns. Too many know-nothing, penny-pinching owners. Too many arrogant refs. Too many miles, games, bad motels, vanishing players, fast-food meals gobbled on the run, and too many whistles.
Anyway, the management of the Birmingham Bandits had made high-priced seats available that were situated right next to the visiting teams' bench. So sitting beside me during this particular game was a dude who came equipped with a fat-butt, a western-cut suit, a ten-gallon hat, and a pair of pointy-heeled cowboy boots.
Soon enough, he became greatly annoyed at my habit of jumping up and shouting my complaints at the refs even to the point where he forcibly tried to shove me out of his line of vision. And when I was seated, he was constantly elbowing me trying to gain more space in the small seat for his oversized behind.
But soon enough I began cursing the refs, the scoreboard, several missed layups and inept defensive sequences by my players, and, above all, my own destiny in a voice not loud enough for anybody to hear except him and my players. That's when the good ol' boy really got irate. So much so that he lifted the leg that was pressing against mine and stomped the pointy heel of his boot into my instep.
Man, did that hurt!
But I didn't say anything, nor did he.
My reaction was to jump out of my seat and stand directly in front of him, moving to my left or right as he tried to peer around me. That's when he started kicking me in the back of my legs.
I turned around and called him a &*%#, and he said, "You too!"
And I became so focused on devising ways to make this guy's life miserable that I lost track of the game. What was the score? The time? The matchups? I surely didn't know.
Maybe I could pull out the sides of my suit jacket like a pair of wings so as to further limit his sight lines. Or I could crouch in such a way that he'd be face-to-butt with me.
We lost by 137-133, and I went overboard in excoriating my team afterwards. "I'll trade any of you guys. Hell, I'll trade all of you!"
Fortunately for all concerned, I was fired two days and one more loss later.
Author: Fox Sports
Author's Website: http://www.foxsports.com
Added: March 26, 2009