Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs

media. But I didn’t pay attention to it. If you play in the finals seven times, somebody is going to notice you slick your hair back, and sportswriters make a big deal about things like that. And as those teams go down in history, the myths become more important than anything that actually went down for real.”

I suppose that detached mythology is really what I’m writing about. In truth, these teams didn’t play each other as often as it seems retrospectively. Though there wasn’t an NBA championship series in the eighties that didn’t include either L.A. or Boston, they only played each other three times. They only faced each other in a seventh game once, and the star that night was forgotten antihero Cedric “Cornbread” Maxwell. The greatest Celtic team—the 1985–86 squad that used Bill Walton as the sixth man—never played L.A. in the finals, because the Lakers were upset in the playoffs by an inferior Houston team led by underachiever Ralph Sampson. The era’s best Laker squad was probably the one from 1986–87 (Jabbar’s last decent season and Byron Scott’s first good one), but Boston was so devastated by injury that year they essentially played with only five guys (their best reserve was Jerry fucking Sichting). In a way, the rivalry is akin to memories from keg parties from your freshman year at college—it all sort of runs together into one hazy image that never technically occurred, yet somehow feels to have occurred all the time.

But in so many ways, that kind of mythology is the only thing that keeps us alive. Remember when Danny Ainge bit Tree Rollins’s hand in the 1984 Eastern conference playoffs? If you do, you shouldn’t: Rollins is actually the guy who bit Ainge. For some reason, everyone recalls the opposite. This is a big part of why so many people hated the greatest Mormon in league history—because someone bit him. Life is rarely about what happened; it’s mostly about what we think happened.

Riley knew this, too. When I asked him what the ultimate key to beating Boston was, I assumed (and kind of hoped, actually) that he’d start talking about the way Michael Cooper matched up with Bird defensively. Instead, he went into a bunch of crap about the fifteenth-century Boers.

“We had to get over the psychological element of the Celtic mystique,” Riley insisted. “After we choked in ’84, I had to teach my guys exactly who the Celtics were in a historical sense. I mean, the Celts were a cult who did sinister things in secret places. That’s where I took it. I had to teach them who their opponent was originally, because that’s exactly who they were playing in 1987. I don’t know if the Celtic players knew about Celt history, but that’s how those guys played.”

This is probably true, although a bit comical (I like to imagine Riley handing out scouting reports that included such insights as, “Dennis Johnson: no range beyond twenty-one feet, initiates contact on drives to the hole, may have aspirations to sack Iberia”). But it proves that Riley understood that sport (or least the transcendent moments of sport) has almost nothing to do with the concept of a game. Scrabble is a game. Popomatic Trouble is a game. Major League Baseball is a game. But any situation where Bird is boxing out Magic for a rebound that matters is not. That is a conflict that dwarfs Dante. That is the crouching tiger and the hidden dragon.

So this is how I have come to make every decision in my life: I suss out the Celtics and Lakers dynamic in any given scenario, and then I go with Larry. I’m a Celtic Person; for me, life is simple. And just in case you’re blind to the abundantly obvious, here are ten examples of how you can construct a green and gold humanity:

QUESTION # 1—“What kind of car should I drive?”

If you‘re a Laker Person, buy a two-door car, preferably something made in America. I‘d go with a Camaro IROC or possibly a Ford Probe. These are fast, domestic vehicles, just as the “Showtime” automaton was a sleek, streamlined machine that came from the streets of Michigan (which is where Magic was raised). Meanwhile, Celtic People are four-door sedan owners. I lean toward the Chrysler LeBaron and the Chevy Cavalier, the veritable D.J. and Ainge of the automotive universe.

QUESTION # 2—“Whom should I marry?”

If you’re a Celtic Person, you should try to marry the most beautiful woman willing to sleep with you. In all likelihood, you are not attractive, Celtic Fan. Your haircut is ridiculous. You need to marry the equivalent of a model, lest your kids will almost certainly be repulsive. It is the Celtic Way to find that middle ground between the beautiful (i.e., the rotation on Bird’s release) and the ugly (i.e., Kevin McHale’s skeletal structure). If you’re a Laker Person, you need to marry the most understanding, forward-thinking, unconventional female you can possibly find. This is because (a) you will only enjoy a creative relationship, and (b) you will undoubtedly cheat on her, and probably with a hooker.

QUESTION # 3—“What should I have for breakfast?”

There’s sort of a gut reaction to insist that Celtic People should eat pancakes and bacon while they read the newspaper, but nobody does that except lumberjacks and maybe Mark Cuban. A Celtic Person eats cereal, but nothing bland; Cap’n Crunch or Frosted Flakes are the best options, because the empty sugar represents M. L. Carr and the ample riboflavin represents Scott Wedman (i.e., something that is good for you, even though you have no idea what it does). Laker People consume Kellogg’s Pop-Tarts, which heat up in a hurry–a lot like Bob McAdoo.

QUESTION # 4—“Who Should I Believe Killed John F. Kennedy?”

Laker People side with the conspiracy that implicates the military industrial complex, although they also suspect this is why nobody turned on the air conditioners during game five at the Garden in 1984. Celtic People think Oswald acted alone and without justification, just like Philadelphia 76er Andrew Toney.

QUESTION # 5—“What should be my favorite sexual position?”

I don’t want to get too graphic, but here’s a hint: Look at the way Danny Ainge shot his jumper. Then look at the way Jamaal Wilkes shot his. Enough said.

QUESTION # 6—“What kind of drugs should I take?”

Remember the first game of Magic’s career, when Kareem hit a skyhook at the buzzer against the Clippers and Johnson hugged him like a grizzly? The only people I know who behave like that are usually on Ecstasy. Meanwhile, Celtic People smoke pot, just like the Chief.

QUESTION # 7—“David Lee Roth or Sammy Hagar?”

This is a tricky one, because Dave was the ultimate California boy and Sammy’s heaviest solo record is titled Standing Hampton, which I think is in New Hampshire (the Red Rocker also looks a bit like Bill Walton, sans headband). Yet upon further review, it’s; all too obvious: Celtic People are Roth People, because that’sthe original, definitive incarnation of a classic archetype. Laker People are Hagar People, because Sammy was in the band longer and ultimately sold more albums (just as L.A. ultimately won five titles to Boston’s three, while Magic won twenty- two of his thirtyseven head-to-head meetings with Bird). Hell, the Lakers weren’t as cool, but they were better, you know?

QUESTION # 8—“Should capital punishment be legal?”

Laker People say no, as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar is a human rights activist who would question the validity of any practice that essentially replicates the original crime. Celtic people say yes, because anybody who’s ever looked into Larry Bird’s eyes knows he’s killer.

QUESTION # 9—“Is Adam Sandler funny?”

No

QUESTION # 10—“What socially irresponsible rap music should I support?”

According to N.W.A., life ain’t nothin’ but bitches and money, and James Worthy (arrested for soliciting a Texas prostitute in 1990) would undoubtedly agree. Therefore, Laker People dig Ice Cube. Celtic People go with Eminem, the only white guy who can keep up.

Now, I know what you’re saying: Question #10 is just a race thing, which is exactly what you refuted four thousand words ago. And I’ll admit this is a slippery slope, and something that’s hard to avoid. Bob Ryan was very up front about this. “When the subject of race does come up, there’s one thing you can be sure of,” he told me. “The Celtics were clearly the favorite team of blatant racists. And that’s a sorry commentary on the world, and no fault of the Celtics. But the fact that they had so many great white players made them heroes to racists and people in the Deep South. Even in Boston, there was an element of their fandom that was very happy they had white superstars. Anybody who would deny that is naive.”

So perhaps that’s me; perhaps I’m naive. Perhaps it seems like the Lakers and the Celtics represent everything in life simply because they represent the psychological war between black and white, the only things just about everybody in America can seem to understand. Perhaps the only real reason I worshiped Larry Bird was because he was a God I could create in my own image.

But part of me knows this was really about Pop-Tarts. And about Oswald. And about voting for Bob Dole.