Anyone remember that column BALL DON’T LIE in Yahoo back when Yahoo had some significance? Well…I do. Ball Don’t Lie is an absolute truth. I forget who said it. Ewing? Whatever.
I’m gonna talk about the Celtics now but to hold your interest here is a photo with me and my drummer Glen and the typical stuff I swirled in at the time.
I AM #BIRDGANG. There never was and will never be another Larry Bird. This dude ate wedding cakes in the off season because he thought “who’s gonna fuck up a wedding cake?”. That is so bitchin.
Lot of kids react to Larry Bird Mix Tape and then BOOM: #BIRDGANG. THIS KID dtaenodinero is the GOAT of Larry Bird Reactions.
When I got here from Hungary my mother sort of left me here with my grandfather who took me to games (season ticket man till 1993) because no one in the family gave a shit about basketball because it was awful. You couldn’t get a local college station to play it. I didn’t understand this game. I knew hotdogs were awesome and I think I never stopped asking for them.
READ THIS POST if you wanna know about it. You wanna know about it.
Now comes the Larry Bird years and then we had to shoot for who could go – odds evens, you know what I mean. I went to some great games and when I was a little older I really got down with basket ball but they wouldn’t let me play on the junior high team because I sucked. I WAS however so bad ass at softball that if the whole “dyke” thing wasn’t attached to it I would gone pro. Where no one cares anyway.
I forgot what this story was about.
Reggie Lewis. It was going to be about how ONLY ONE MAN ever blocked MJ 4 times in one game: it was our beloved Reggie Lewis, the young man stepping into Larry’s shoes without saying he was doing it. The night he died…it was hours of waiting by the tv, calling each other, my uncle, my mother my friends…they made us wait for hours for that horrible news. Then my grandfather hung up and didn’t answer. Reggie was dead. All of our hope died too.
The next morning it was super foggy and I am driving to my job, which required driving through the projects and there was this little boy walking in that fog wearing an old white shirt with number 35 written in magic marker. Reggie’s number. He was eating something, chips, whatever. Walking slow, head down. Probably 8. I will never forget that.
There is so much more to this story but when think about that little boy it makes me cry.
Ball don’t lie,
Fatova
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