Kobe Pizza

We won

It’s hard to be a Laker fan around my husband. Especially during the finals. Especially when it’s the do or die game for Kobe and the gang. Unfortunately for Jason’s aunt she’s not only a Laker fan, she had to watch the Celtics demolish the Lakers…in front of Kisa. She was a good sport, though. She didn’t have to be – it was her house. She could have kicked us out. Instead, she donned her Red Sox gear and yelled at the tv almost as loud as her nephew. Whenever the Celtics scored she yelled, “Go Red Sox!” cracking everyone up. But, that didn’t last long. As soon as it was obvious the Lakers were giving up the fight she was cursing Kobe instead. We had pizza and alcohol and the Lakers for dinner. I can’t say much for the Lakers, but when it comes to food Californians are different. Californians are cool about their cuisine. Their pizza comes on whole wheat crust with a fresh, lovely green, healthy salad on the side. Yummy.

The Celtics had the Lakers for dinner, but I had something better. I will miss California pizza!

Big Mouth Shut

Game four. We had to be somewhere for game four. I was thinking “errr…what’s wrong with the hotel? It has a big flat screen tv….” But, I know this as well as any sports fan. You can’t watch a high stakes game (of any kind) in your hotel room. Alone. You have to go somewhere loud. Somewhere where you can place bets and you might get heckled. Somewhere where the air conditioning is up too high and people yell to be heard over the pounding music. Somewhere where every plate of food that goes by smells delicious and the beer flows freely. That place was ESPN Zone in New York New York. It was loud. The A/C was up too high. The food was great. The beer flowed Fat Tire. And yes, my husband got heckled. How could he not? He was the only Celtics fan in our corner of the restaurant. He was the only one wearing green, yelling at the refs, complaining about bad calls. And, yes, the Celtics were losing.
That doesn’t mean there weren’t other Celtics fans in the restaurant. In fact there was a good sized crowd of them bellied up at the bar. Problem was, Kisa was nowhere near the bar. His cheers for the Celtics were like a lone explorer at the North Pole – helllllooooooo? Surrounded by Laker fans they soon zeroed in on the guy in green. Words were exchanged. Insults akin to “yo mama” only sports related were tossed around. My basketball player can beat up your basketball player. You don’t wanna come to Boston. I think someone paid off the ref. It’s all over now, baby blue.
When it was all over and the Celtics really did lose my Kisa got up to approach the opposing table. A couple next to me jerked their thumbs and rolled their eyes at his retreating back. “Is he really going over there?” a woman asked me, concern in her voice but merriment in her eyes. Everyone loves a good fight. “Guess so.” I muttered. All I wanted was a warm bed and to never hear the name Kobe again. I could have slept standing up.
In the end, kisa and the Laker fans shook hands. But, as he turned to leave kisa had one more parting shot: We’ll see what happens in Boston.