Last winter, my son received an animated book about basketball, For the Love of Basketball from A-Z, which highlights the best players in NBA history while reviewing the alphabet, from his “uncle” (aka my best friend). His “uncle” is a huge Celtics fan; makes no sense to me because as a New Yorker, I hate all things Boston (blame it on my love for the Yankees) and think that all other New Yorkers feel the same way. I’m wrong; he bleeds Celtic green.
Earlier this summer, my son’s interest in basketball spiked. He wants to look at games with me; he practices his dribble; he watches his uncle, my youngest brother, play an NBA video game. Hence my excitement when he grabbed this book off the shelf, while we were getting ready to leave the apartment. Walking down the hallway to the elevator, my son fumbles with the book as he tries to read it and put on his book bag at the same time. In the elevator, he flips the pages to the letter B; there is a huge picture of Larry “Legend” Bird. “Larry Bird was one of the greatest Celtics players of all time,” I share with him. He does not look up, yet responds confidently, “I know, but I don’t like him.” Confused as to why he so adamantly dislikes Larry Bird, a player that he has never seen play, and more than likely never heard of before this book, I ask him, “Why not?”
He finally looks up at me and responds, “I don’t like Boston. I only eat from their market.”