I Love Larry

Let me just say this, right off the bat, I love the Celtics. I am no fair-weather fan. I've been a fan since the 90's, also known as the decade of embarrassing photos, and some people, who shall remain nameless Erin Brown, have accused Celtics fans as only being fans when they're winning. I am shocked and appalled. I am dismayed and hurt. I am (thesaurus) stunned and traumatamatized. As a past President and acting alumni of the Friends of Larry Club-Blackfoot High School Chapter its my responsibility to make sure that the reputation of Celtics fans are upheld in the highest regard.
Let me ask you this, has there been a movie made about Lakers fans? Or Bulls fans? I think not. However there was a movie made about CELTICS fans and how dedicated they are even when their team enters a 15 year slump of no wins. Celtic Pride was a movie made in 1996 and is often seen as the movie that destroyed Dan Aykroyd's career because it was so bad BUT the point is, there was a MOVIE based on how dedicated Celtics fans are and what they'll do for the team.
My roots for being fan go deeper than most know. As a high school student I became affiliated with a little known terrorist group at BHS known as the "Friends of Larry" Club. The Friends of Larry (or the "I Love Larry" club, as it was sometimes called) was a small club of die hard Larry Bird fans that wanted to celebrate the life of the NBA's best player EVER (Michael Who?) by getting a school excused day off to travel to the FOL Convention; i.e. the Jazz vs. Celtics at the Delta Center. I was the only freshman allowed into the group because I knew what Larry (we're on a first name basis) did before he entered college (garbage man) AND because my mom made my older brother take me on this "silly fieldtrip" which she thought of as a waste of time. On that trip to the convention we did things that Larry would approve of; My brother mooned at least 15 cars including Coach Kress, our advisor, who upon seeing the full white moon almost careened into the interstate median; and Keith got at least 33 people to flip him off, which was in honor of Larry (his jersey number is 33). I also believe that Spence scarred a woman for life when she saw him preparing to moon Kress but instead of seeing the "show" she got a sneak preview of the goods, if you will.
But I digress. Two years later I became President of the club and as our club was becoming more popular we had to instigate tougher restrictions. Membership in the club was nearing 33 male students (no girls were allowed, even Amber Ogden) so we made a mandatory test of 33 questions. We also sponsored a dance, operated concessions at several home games and even got our club picture in the yearbook (we formed ourselves in the shape of an "L"). We were a proud and honorable group and prided ourselves on (a) getting kicked out of the Delta Center every year (b) getting on ESPN at least twice and (33) eating at Maddox on the way down to the convention...every year.
But the highlight for me was when we got to go to TWO conventions in one year; the Jazz vs Celtics and the Pacers vs. Jazz. Larry was coaching the Pacers during his last year as coach and we saved enough money and got the principal to excuse us from two days of school that year to go see the Pacers vs. Jazz. We all showed up at the Pacers game not in Pacers attire (sacrilege!) but in the green & white. Sure we got weird looks, but 33 guys with Bird jerseys is nothing to trifle with. During Half-time Clint, Jake and I noticed that many seats near the floor were unused, so we did what any clear thinking obsessed fan would do; we put on heavy coats and walked down to the seats acting the whole time like they were ours. Jake got careless when he went to get nachos and got picked off by the ushers, but Clint & I made it. We found two seats that looked "dusty" and sat down, but the dumb Jazz fans were on to us, probably cause of the heavy Columbian ski coats and I was sweating so ferociously it was becoming a health hazard to all around me. Just as the ushers were making their way down to us to take us away, a miracle occurred. A sight that was more beautiful than the noon-day sun; Larry Bird appeared no more than 20 feet more. In the flesh. Clint and I tore off our coats showing Clints store-bought family passed-down Bird jersey and my home-made-green-t-shirt-cut-off-jersey with a white painted 33 Bird on it and we whooped and hollered that we love Larry and that he is our hero. Because he is. Still today. We then broke out into "Happy Birthday"(it was his birthday- Dec 7th) as the ushers carried us off. In the silence we could hear 31 of our brothers cheering for us in the nosebleeds and out of the corner of my eye I could see Larry looking at us shaking his head... and smiling. I cry now as I think of that glorious smile. He saw us... and we saw him. Clint was crying like a girl at a New Kids on the Block Concert and I was slipping on my own sweat and tears, and as the ushers pinned us to the wall we looked at each other smiling, knowing that we had seen a god like unto Zeus, Mars, and Red Auerbach. And we made him smile.
As we finished the night at Taco Time on State Street (also a tradition, mainly because they had motion sensors on the garbage bins) we basked in the glory that had befallen us. Me in my sweat drenched home-made-green-t-shirt-cut-off-jersey and my friends in they're Bird jerseys, we ate our crispy bean burritos knowing that nothing could top that night. That home-made-green-t-shirt-cut-off-jersey still hangs in the closet in Blackfoot, kept there in honor of that night, not even being thrown away by my mother, who still shakes her head, but understands the honor.
Long Live Larry, Long Live the Celtics.