Whose your daddy, Paddy?

My father, God bless him, had few rules that were iron-clad in our household on the beautiful shores of Thorold, Ontario. My older brother, Sean (God bless him as well while we’re at it) and I could get away with the seemingly treasonous act of not supporting the old boy’s beloved Hamilton Tiger Cats and Montreal Canadiens, choosing instead to invest our passion in the Ottawa Roughriders and Chicago Blackhawks.


But if we didn’t openly pull for any team with a shamrock on their uniforms or Irish in their name, Joe Noonan made it clear that we would get whupped upside our head with the family shalale. Even the hunchback of Notre Dame, it didn’t matter if the guy was French or that his name was Quasimodo, as far as my dad was concerned he was playing for the Fighting Irish so he got nothing but love in our household.

Somewhere along the line the rebelliousness in my brother got the best of him and he eschewed the shamrocked Boston Celtics in favor of the putrid showbiz hues of the LA Lakers. This was back in the day when were just discovering the NBA and every season we would bet our allowance on who would go further, his Lakers or my Celtics. Thanks to the likes of Dave Cowens and John Havelick (I was too young for Bill Russell's Celtic dynasty), I would usually win and my brother would punctually pay up.

Then the 80’s hit and all hell broke loose. Magic Johnson and Showtime versus pasty Larry Legend and the Celtics. When the dust cleared on the 80’s the Lakers won five titles, the Cetlic’s three. Now I could handle losing a few bucks to my brother and I could even handle the abuse heaped up on me by the likes of Ray Holden and Jim Longo, who vicariously reveled in the Laker’s success like it was their own. But what I could not handle was before the season started in 1985 when my brother, whose Lakers were defending champs, told me he didn’t want to do the bet this year because the Celtics had picked up Bill Walton in the off-season and nobody was going to touch them. He was right, nobody did touch them that year. They rolled to the title and actually went 40 and 1 on their home court. But despite their great season I was still pissed off at my brother. "There’s no backing out of this bet," I told him, "it rolls over into perpetuity and you know what else, now I know why the Laker’s wear the color yellow. It's because they want to honor their fans."

It's been 22 years since the Celtics last won a title and it's been 22 years since my brother wouldn't bet me. During that time the Lakers won five more titles.
Well as I am sure you are aware this year both the Celtics and the Lakers have had a remarkable renaissance and found their way back to finals. Yipeee, huh?

Personally I didn’t care who the Celtics beat for the title just as long as they won. But, if you could choose a dream opponent to bitch slap, well it might as well have been the Lakers because outside of the citizens of England, I can think of no group with a greater sense of entitlement than Laker fans. And as much as the Brits whinge and whine, they got nothing on the snivelers supporting the yellow Lakers. Led by their Zen Master coach Phil Jackson (and since when has whining been zennish?), all series long Team Yellow were crying.

Actually, I think he looks more like Mark Twain with constipation than a Zen master. But at any rate, Phil and Team Yellow were whining about the referees, about the Celtics playing too physical, about how the Lakers would suddenly awake from their funk and restore order. You see, according to Laker fans, and the overwhelming majority of the American sports media, the Celtics weren’t winning the series, the Lakers were losing it.

The Lakers were a big favorite coming in. Why, I’m not really sure because if you like basketball, actually if you like sports, than you can appreciate the 2007-08 Boston Celtics. Now, I did not say like them, because for some of you Celtic haters that would understandably be too much of a load to bear. I said appreciate them, sort of like I did with 96' Yankees. Even Laker fan's can understand that. These Celtics played hellacious team defence all year and shared the ball. I know its sounds hokey but it’s true: Five became one. They were a team and the best TEAM easily won.

And for all you Laker whiners who are moaning about the Celtics having been thrown together over night with the recent additions of Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen - Garnett has actually played twice as many games in a Celtic uniform as that Spanish squid Pau Gasol has in Laker yellow. And the Celtics gave up a potential all-star in Al Jefferson to get him while the Lakers gave up some day old quiche and two bottles of Jack Nicholson’s Viagra to get Gasol from Memphis. So don’t even start, yellow ones.

If anyone should see Jim Longo or Ray Holden, and all those other Laker Ho’s who were so damn certain that their beloved Show Timers Part Deux would run their way to another title, tell them Garloe Roach and I said hello. And tell them it’s okay to come up for some air. Team yellow is finished for the season.

Lance, my cousin from LA’s fiancé , is a true died in the wool “I even remember watching Bill Sharman and Gail Goodrich” Lakers fan. Now him, I feel somewhat sorry for. He invested a fair degree of emotional energy into every single Laker’s game this year, and I mean every single game, and was generous enough to share his High def TV with me in his loveley Redondo Beach abode to watch a bunch of games this past season. We even made it to Staples Center to see team yellow pull one out over the TrailBlazers thanks to tickets from the Lakers Asian scout and the pride of Hamilton, Ontario, Gary Boyson and Associates. Good work, Corktown. Big Gary and Lance are very gracious human beings. But the rest of you, most notably the astonishingly ill-informed and beguilingly still employed American sports media, single digit IQ’s are quite becoming. Seriously, be thankful that you still have a job.

To me, at least, the Celtics pounding of the pussified Lakers has absolutely NOTHING to do with either the Red Sox or the Patriots, a couple of borderline odious franchises. I’m not a Boston fan, I’m a Celtics fan. I realize that at some point, the myopic and self indulgent Northeast media mob will keep blowing the Celtics ad nauseam and they will get mythologized and overexposed and fawned over and become just as despicable and nauseating as the Red Sox nation (yecch) and that scheming, hooded cheat Bill Belichik. But for now, as of this writing, the Celtics are still fresh. And while we’re at it, wherever you are Sean, you owe me your allowance.

So who’s your daddy, Paddy? Well it sure as hell ain’t you, Laker bitches. And just in case some of you may have missed it: