The NBA finals are going on right now, and our Boston Celtics aren’t in it. The Miami Heat beat them in last week’s heart-breaking conference championships. But today I choose to think about happier times, looking back to when the Celtics won it all in 2008.
That was about the best three-day weekend I’ve had.
Of course, it actually began on a Tuesday. At the time I worked Friday-Saturday-Sunday-Monday, so my “weekend” started at the beginning of the week. But this was the craziest, non-stop “ThankGoodnessIt’s ____,” — no matter what day it fell on.
First there was a breath-taking view of the Boston skyline, then a long-awaited Celtic championship. There was a victory parade to celebrate their win, leading to a great night out on the town, . . . until finally it ended with one of the funniest/most bizarre things I’ve seen. It ended with my best friend, Colleen, interrupting a concert of the Boston Pops Orchestra at Symphony Hall.
In those days whenever Colleen came to Boston to visit, I’d get her a nice little bed-and-breakfast apartment. But when I called the B&B agency this time, none of the inexpensive rentals were available. “Let me see what I can do,” the lady on the phone said. By now we’d given her enough business that she was going to help us out.
She called me back half an hour later.
“The ones you normally book are all taken,” she said, “But I do have a luxury suite that happens to be open. I’ll let you have it for your usual price.”
She sent me the link.
This was the suite that Colleen had always teased me about. It was a penthouse apartment so swank I couldn’t come close to affording it. It had a winding staircase leading up to three bedrooms. There were three full-sized private bathrooms. The back end of the living room was a wall-to-wall window offering a spectacular view of downtown Boston. It had a formal dining table with seating for six. It was ridiculous.
“If anyone calls to rent it, you’ll have to give it up,” the lady told me, “But for now you can have it for what you pay for the smaller units.”
The “Presidential Suite” for three days –and I was getting it for a song. Colleen thought I was being cute when I said that’s where she’d be staying.
Colleen arrived in Boston early Tuesday afternoon, and I figured we’d go someplace nice for dinner . . . but she wouldn’t hear of it. “I don’t want you spending all your money,” she said. She insisted that she should make us dinner at the penthouse — there was a complete kitchen with a full-size stove and refrigerator, a microwave and a toaster oven, coffee-maker, pots and pans, plates and bowls, fancy silverware. “What would you like me to cook?” she asked.
“How about shrimp scampi?” I said, trying to be a wise-ass. The kitchen had all the amenities, but no food was stocked.
“I’ll need some shrimp, a clove of garlic, linguine, olive oil, butter, and a lemon,” she said without blinking. “There’s salt and pepper here, but maybe you’d like a little parmesan cheese.”
“Pick up a baguette and I’ll make garlic bread to go with it,” she said.
I had to pick up beer anyway, along with vodka and pineapple juice. (Colleen wanted a pineapple martini.) I walked half a block to an upscale Back Bay delicatessen, and bought everything she needed. Colleen is a great cook, and she threw together a dynamite shrimp scampi as effortlessly as someone might flip through their mail standing at the mailbox. It was so good.
After dinner we hopped on the trolley to head for the game. I didn’t have tickets, so we went to Boston’s Quincy Market and joined the crowd watching large screen TVs in one of the nightspots.
What a game! I suppose a true basketball fan might have preferred a closer score, but it had been twenty-two years since the Celtics won the overall title, and with each point they piled up now the roar from the crowd rattled the pints of beer on the bar. It was madness as the final seconds were counted down.
The day of the victory parade was just like a holiday. Whenever a Boston team wins a title, the city has a “rolling” celebration. They use Duck Boats to carry the team’s players through the downtown streets, then the amphibious vehicles slip into the Charles River for a ride past the cheering crowds lining the shore, and then back up onto the streets again to finish the parade.
Our lucky penthouse suite had a fantastic view, but we wanted to watch the parade among the crowd. We went downstairs early and found a spot in the front row, leaning over the ropes. I almost could have reached out and shaken Rajon Rondo’s hand. (I remember thinking he looked so young, . . . almost like a high school kid.)
There’s a lot I have to skip here, or I’ll be writing all day. There was “the meatball story,” which had to do with some take-out food back at the penthouse, and what I’d done with it. We argued for hours about that story’s merits — was a joke I pulled really funny, or not? Then there was Colleen, asking the waiter where we had lunch the next day whether he thought it was funny. But I protested his decision — all the time she was explaining, he kept staring at the logo on her snug Celtics T-shirt. (When I bought it for her I didn’t realize the sizes ran small.) Seriously, what kind of impartial judge could he be?
And there was “the scallops-wrapped-in-bacon” incident at the food pavilion in Boston’s Quincy Market — but these stories will have to wait for another time.
To cut to the chase . . . I never expected the Celtics to win in six games. I thought the series would go to the seventh game, at which time I’d be back at work and Colleen would be home. If I had known they were going to win Tuesday night, and therefore the parade would follow a day or two later, . . . I never would have bought us tickets to the Boston Pops Orchestra. But after the parade, and walking a bit on The Freedom Trail, then stopping at P. F. Chang’s for lunch — that night we were off to Symphony Hall.
We stopped at the bar on the first floor of Symphony Hall. I got Colleen a pineapple martini and myself a beer, and we were sitting at a small table when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy approaching us fast. I was just about to jump up and defend us, when the guy reached out his hand with a big smile.
It was Gilberto Rivera, the singer and leader of the band Rumba Na Ma. Back then Rumba Na Ma played every Sunday for Johnny D’s salsa night.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Gilberto after standing to introduce him to Colleen. “Oh, I’m getting some type of award,” he laughed, and I wasn’t sure whether or not to take him seriously.
For that night’s concert, one of the features was the semi-finals of a high-school talent contest that the Boston Pops was sponsoring. There was some unbelievable talent showcased. I couldn’t believe these were high school kids.
Anyway, after the four semi-finalists had performed, Keith Lockhart (the conductor of the BSO) stopped the show to present a Fidelity FutureStage Award.
And out walked Gilberto. He’s a band leader at night, but during the day he teaches music in the public schools.
Gilberto was laughing and smiling, waving to the audience as he accepted the award (he is a bit of a hot shit on stage.) The award included a $25,000 grant for musical equipment in his school.
As he walked off the stage, Colleen said, “He plays at your club every Sunday?”
“Yea,” I told her, “Funny we happened to be here tonight. It’s been a weird three days, hasn’t it?”
Little did I know it wasn’t over yet.
There was also a guest conductor for the BSO that night, and Keith Lockhart turned the stage over to him for part of the performance. The guest conductor directed the orchestra through one piece, then he stopped to address the audience.
He said how pleased he was to be here, and that he knew all of Boston was in a great mood because of the Celtics long-awaited victory.
The audience applauded loudly for a minute or two, and when it quieted down, the guest conductor was ready to say something more, before returning to the concert.
He stood on stage with one hand raised, and his mouth open to speak.
I have no idea what he wanted to say because he never got the words out.
As he stood with finger raised and mouth opening, someone from the audience yelled, “GO CELTICS!”
It was loud and ballsy, and it rang out now through the quiet auditorium.
It was Colleen, sitting next to me.
I sat there not quite believing it. The entire place had been quiet as a church, and in that split second before the guest conductor spoke again, she had yelled . . . “GO CELTICS!”
The guest conductor looked up to roughly where we were sitting. A lot of heads in the audience had turned our way. (In the picture below, we would have been sitting in the top left balcony, beneath where the first purple banner is hanging.)
The guest conductor kept looking up, his eyes searching. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t quite hear that. Did someone say something?”
“GO CELTICS!” Colleen yelled again. Now the audience responded with spontaneous laughter and applause. Everyone was looking our way, and Colleen sank down in her seat, trying to hide.
It’s the only time I’ve seen Colleen embarrassed.
“Well, . . . yes, I already said that,” the guest conductor smiled. Then he introduced the next piece, turned to raise his baton, and the orchestra began to play.
Colleen . . . interrupting a concert at the Boston Symphony, and receiving a round of applause. There’s no one quite like her.
Anyway, that was about the best three days off I’d had in a long time.
Back next week with more Life on a Cocktail Napkin.
That is one hell of a “weekend” buddy! It was a blast reading about it.
Are you SURE you didn’t know those t-shirt sizes ran small, hmmm? : ) Very funny story, very well-written. The scene of Colleen at the Boston Pops is my favorite.
Starbucks8294: It was too crazy, Starbucks … from the penthouse suite, to the victory and the parade, just hanging out in Boston during it all, and then the concert. I would never have gotten those Pop tickets the week before if I thought everything was going happen at once.
Llylak: I told Colleen I was going for a walk and to have a cigar, Lly … then I ran over to Quincy Market to buy her the championship T-shirt as a surprise. I was in a rush, and I knew she always takes a small … but this one happened to be smaller than most. It was entirely accidental. 🙂
Mike, we’ve had some great times together and a lot of laughs!! The meatball story still makes me laugh out loud!
P.S. Great title! 😉
Colleen: I’m on the run to work. I’ll try to call you on a break. Talk with you then, or tomorrow.
So your friend Colleen has some spirit, I like that. Your three days off sounded like a lot of fun. I want to move to Boston!
Rondo was only 22 when he won his NBA title ring. In his second year in the league no less. Been a Celtics fan since I was a kid. Some bad calls in game two hurt them against Miami.
Colleen: I didn’t have enough time to respond to your comment earlier … you finally admit “the meatball story” was funny!!! And now I have it in writing. 🙂 Have a great day tomorrow (today for you), and wish your Dad a happy Father’s Day for me. I’ll try to call you after the blues jam.
Julie M: I know she’s my best friend, Julie, so I’m probably partial … but, really, there’s no one quite like her. Never a dull moment when Colleen is around.
Case: I don’t watch much of the NBA during the season, Case, but I wonder if they’re going to do something about the way the game is called. With so much instant replay, all the blown calls and missed fouls are painful to watch afterwards, especially when they end up changing the outcome of the game.
They review some calls now but not at the end of Celtics game two or end of Thunders second game. Funny both Celtics and Thunder lost those games.
Bring back Salsa Sundays at Johnny D’s! We miss Gilberto!
Susan P: We still have salsa bands and dancing, Susan, just not every Sunday. Check the schedule http://www.johnnyds.com/music-calendar/ . You’re right, we all miss Gilberto and Rumba Na Ma.