No wonder nobody's heard of him. Look how tiny he is.
I think this is how they filmed the hobbits for Lord of the Rings.

“Seriously?” I say. “John Havlicek? One of the greatest Celtics of all time? One of the greatest basketball players of all time?”

Bandana waves a dismissive hand at me and looks at Tooth. “See? I told you I wouldn’t identify with this,” Bandana says.

“Oh, come on,” I say. “This is basic history. Next you’re going to tell me you’ve never heard of Bob Cousy.”

They’re all staring, blank faces.

“Are you people kidding me?” I say.


Greatest basketball picture ever? Forget the lighting, the contortion of Cousy's body and foot...how about that his moves are causing his opponents to set picks on each other.


“Listen, Doug,” Tooth says. “Just try to stay on point.”

“Aren’t my obsessions exactly on point?” I say.

“Look,” Bandana says. “If you can keep the Celtics lore to a minimum, I’ll stop trying to imagine you’re a Bulls fan. We got a deal?”

Resentfully, I nod.

“Look at that,” Tooth says with a smile. “Progress.” He looks at his watch. “And that makes this a perfect time to end this meeting. Thanks everybody.”

Immediately, Blackberries and cell phones reappear, and the rest of the guys return to their isolated digital worlds.

Except for one.

In the hallway, Patch walks shoulder-to-shoulder with me.

“Doug, question,” he says.

“Yes?”

“Do you think I can do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make a hologram of your wife like that. That was awesome. It was like the Matrix.”

“Dude, let it go,” I say.

“Why would you mind?” Patch says. “It’s not even really her. She was a – what’d he say?”

“A phantasm,” I say.

“Yeah,” Patch says. “When you touched her, could you feel anything? Or is it like the movie Ghost? Because it looked like she moved when you touched her.”

I stop in the middle of the hallway and stare Patch down.

“Look, she’s the product of collective whimsy,” I say. “You saw her, so therefore you must possess some whimsy…or libido, or something. So I’m sure you can work up enough imagination to make it happen again.” I press a finger into his doughy chest. “But use someone else’s wife, will ya?”

He nods again, and we continue down the hall and exit the school. In the middle of the parking lot is my bed, and Shannon sleeping in it. Her nightgown is tighter and smaller.

I look to Patch.

“Could you please wait to get home before you do it?” I say.

He nods in silent shame, and we part ways.

************

Links:
Travelling: Intro / Book Jacket, Chapter 1: Cribbagegate, Chapter 2: Two e-mails, Chapter 3: Pattern, Chapter 4: Shattered, Chapter 5: Hilarious Pee, Chapter 6: Suicide, Chapter 7/8: Coaching High school, Shark attacks and appetizers, Chapter 9: June, Chapter 10: 18 and oh no, Chapter 11: DNA, Chapter 12: Peanut Butter Sandwiches, Chapter 13: Tom Brady and the McGuffin, Chapter 14: Game 1, Chapter 15: Who the H is John Havlicek?, Chapters 16 - 17

Labels: chapter 15, Evil Ted, John Havlicek, traveling

Dig this crazy 1974 commerical for Bradlees, a now-defunct department store chain that was popular in New England during the 1970's. It features John Havlicek, Dave Cowens, and Don Nelson (not Don Nelson the pasty, bloated coach; this was Don Nelson the pasty, bloated player). The commercial was narrated by the late Celtics broadcaster Johnny Most, before his voice had been reduced to a hoarse, croaking whisper by years of drinking coffee drinking, smoking cigarettes, and gargling with broken glass.

For some reason this commercial is broken into two parts. In part one we learn that Don Nelson cannot handle his balls.


In part two, an angry Nelson returns a defective basketball. Strangely, he doesn't notice that the customer service representative is none other than his teammate, Dave Cowens, who was probably working at Bradlees part-time because Red Auerbach was cheap*. At the end of the commercial, the three Celtics commit a blatant act of petty larceny by walking through the checkout lanes without paying for their merchandise. They follow this up by committing an even more blatant act of cheese by shooting a ball into a shopping cart.


*Actually, Cowens' salary in 1974 was around $161,000 (which, believe it or not, was a lot of money back then). And while I'm pretty sure he never worked at Bradlees, he did spend a day working as a cab driver and once took two months off from playing basketball during the 1976-77 season to sell Christmas trees on the family farm. Interestingly enough, Cowens' behavior isn't too different from Ron Artest, who once applied to work at Best Buy and later asked the Pacers for a couple months off to promote his rap album. But if Artest took December off to sell Christmas trees, journalists and bloggers all over the country would go absolutely apeshit.

Labels: Boston Celtics, Bradlees, commercials, Dave Cowens, Don Nelson, John Havlicek, Red Auerbach, Ron Artest