The Three Wallys

Stop me if you've heard this one. Four Jews are at a Beach Club in Boca on Christmas day watching the Knick game when...

After watching the first half of yesterday's Knick game from the same condo that I paced a mile in during the Jets debacle, I sensed that my wife was a little fed up with my vacation antics. She couldn't be more supportive of my over the top fandom which spreads across 2 1/4 teams, (The Mets are half a team, and I'm half interested in them = 1/4) but I was being a bit piggish in my behavior. Earlier in the day I offered in complete earnest to accompany my wife and daughter across A1A to my mother in-law's beach/pool club during the Knicks game. Okay, so maybe the "during" part wasn't in complete earnest, but I'm fortunate that my wife understood that "during" actually meant "before tip-off but leaving enough time to get in front of the television in the party room" or "at halftime, but lets be ready to leave when the 2nd quarter hits triple zeros".

Since we clearly weren't ready to leave by opening tip I spent the commercial breaks during the first half prepping for the halftime quickstep across the highway. Bathing suit under shorts, sunglasses in cargo pocket, and baby in bathing suit and ridiculous hat: Check.

I scooped Izzy up and we made our way over to "Temple Beth Jewpool" in time to get settled poolside. My wife threw our stuff down across two chairs and we made our way upstairs to the party room where the 44 inch television was hopefully locked in on TNT. During my walk over I thought the best way to approach the possible scenario that the television was on something other than the Knicks game. Do I wrestle the remote from a kid watching cartoons, tell Grandma in my sweetest tone that the Young and Restless would still be Young and still be Restless tomorrow, or act completely entitled and scoff at the notion that the television could be on anything BUT the Knicks game.

Fortunately, as I turned the corner around the un-stocked, unmanned bar there was Wally and two generations of Wally's beneath him. "Yes" I thought to myself in my head's best Marv impersonation. The only thing missing was the Chinese food. I could tell his name was Wally by the gaudy gold bracelet around his wrist that said, "Wally." His son Wally "Deuce", probably 40 or so sat in a barstool behind him, wearing sunglasses indoors. His look was his version of the gaudy gold bracelet I thought to myself. Wally the Third was about 17, sat next to Grandpa and engaged him in sports banter throughout the entire game. Normally, this would piss me off and is exactly why I don't watch meaningful sports games in public places. For some reason however, I liked how Tre' Wally was going after Old Man Wally who's running commentary was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

During the Celts third quarter run OMW (Old Man Wally) said no less than 11 times, "we traded Billups for dis guy" or some derivative thereof. I kept quiet but passively/aggressively noted that "we definitely could use a healthy Chauncey today, but defensive bigs are hard to come by." He countered by saying, "this guy's no Bill Russell, I never seen Bill Russell give up one layup, ever". Before I could respond, Youngest Wally said, "that's because there were no T.V.'s back then." Wally Deuce, trashily proud of his boy, produced a belly laugh that evidenced years of smoking and misguided anger at his pop.

At the end of the third I looked at OMW and said, "we need 15 out of Carmelo in the 4th if we are going to win this game." Wally responded, "we gonna need more than that, that's for sure." As the game got close, and the clock ticked on we all inched closer to the television and the peripheral conversations ceased. Each possession was discussed at each whistle but not during the game. Coaching moves analyzed during time outs and set plays. This is what happens to real fans in tight games. I was suddenly glad I was with them.

When Marquis Daniels missed his corner three and Rondo tracked the ball down in the corner and took the Celtics final timeout OMW screamed that Chandler has to get to that ball. I nodded my head in agreement, and meant it. As K.G. floated up the final shot we were all standing, bodies contorted in our "please don't drop" pose. With the ball clanking iron and the final buzzer sounding we all regained our posture and spoke at each other at the same time. Except for Wally, he was silent until we were silent. In this silence he looked at me and said, "I told you Melo would need more than 15," and extended his hand. I shook it and said Happy Hanukkah.

Melo finished with 17 in the fourth, with the final two coming at the charity stripe representing the final margin. I guess you were right Old Man Wally, it was nice watching the game with you.