I grew up in Boston. As a kid, I watched my father glued to his black and white set, screaming at Havlicek and Bob McAdoo. I never liked the Red Sox (or baseball, for that matter); thought the Bruins were fine until Booby Orr and Brad Park retired, and, like most New Englanders, only cared about the Patriots when they were winning. But the Celtics? Man, my dad had me hooked. As a younger man, I was lucky enough to see a lot of Celtics games with my dad, and, later on, I took him to a few, too. In my 20's, I got real lucky: Jan Volk, the GM of the Celtics, became one of my clients, and steered a few other Celtics folks my way. I met Parish, McHale, Ainge (no, not Bird). I was there the night the Celtics were down in a playoff game and suddenly, for no reason, a pigeon flew down from the Garden's rafters and settled at midcourt...and the other Bird came out and rallied the team back. I saw Dr. J. and Moses play Bird and McHale. I saw DJ's smile, Walton's creaky knees, and...
A Tretakoff view of the world.