The Commish Online                                                                                
Thank God for the NBA
December 3, 2003
by Sean Mullin

I watched some of the Celtics’ game on Friday night (the day after Thanksgiving.)  True, I didn’t watch the whole game and I didn’t learn much about basketball.  But, for the first time ever, the NBA was quite possibly the most diverting thing going on for me…

Watching the NBA—I mean this, sincerely—was infinitely preferable to the rest of my surroundings that night.  Not only that, it was even very enjoyable by comparison. 

I was sitting in a nightclub in Boston, Jose McIntyre’s, waiting to meet a friend of mine who I hadn’t seen in a few years.  I’d been to places like that before—although not recently—and, I must admit, that I’d forgotten how much I hate that whole scene. 

First, as far as I’m concerned, gangster rap sucks and hip-hop is only a shade better.  But that, of course, is what they play—at an insanely high volume—in places like Jose McIntyre’s.  You don’t see many people getting their groove on to Bob Dylan (anymore), do you?  So, there I was—without earplugs, I might add—listening to the melodious sounds of these “artists” waiting for Chris to show up.  Yeah, yeah, yeah I know: I could have left—perhaps a sane person would have—but friends are worth the noise and I firmly believe that a little well-placed insanity every now and then is a good thing, so I stayed.     
Second, I’m thoroughly convinced that one shouldn’t look up for any length of time in places like Jose McIntyre’s unless one wants to get a massive headache.  (And, I mean, really, who wants a migraine?  I sure as hell don’t.)   Their ridiculous strobe lights are enough to drive you batty.  Why, oh why, do people need 8,000,000 psychedelic shades of every color in the spectrum—FLASHING at the speed of light—to have a good time?  What the hell do they offer to the dancing experience?  How about NOTHING?  Or am I just being cynical?  Forgive me if I am.  (And, by the way, if you think I’m unclear on the concept of basketball, check this out—dancing’s worse.  I can’t do it and don’t get why anyone considers it to be fun.  Someone clue me in, please.  Seriously.  I need help.) 

Third, I think the extravagant price of liquor in these places is evil.  Why should I feel like I am being violated—sideways—because the price of beer is so high?  What makes these people think it’s fine to charge that much?  Where’s the justice?  I shouldn’t have to go on welfare because I want to have a Budweiser and watch the Celtics’ game.  No one should. 
Oh—and parking is worse!  When the imbecilic parking attendant said, “That’s gonna be 28 bucks, bro.  You wanna pay wit cash or yo’ credit cahhhhd?” I nearly died.  $28 for a slab of concrete with some paint?  Get real! 

But, anyway: enough ranting—at least for now.  I’ll get to the point.  I eventually met up with my friend Chris and couldn’t hear a bloody thing he was saying, so we resorted to communicating—if you could call it that—via an inane system of hand signals we spontaneously invented.  It didn’t really work.  But I digress again. 

The point is: my reason for going to Jose McIntyre’s in the first place—to talk to Chris—was shot because of the atmosphere and the fact that he was late.  I was, therefore, left with little alternative but to watch some of the Celtics’ game. 

I actually enjoyed it too—lots of field goals!  (Like the fancy terminology I’m throwing out there?  Take that!  hahaha) 

So far season I’ve been looking for opportunities to enjoy the game. 

It’s ironic that when I wasn’t looking for an opportunity at all, one hit me right in the face.  I guess that’s the way life is.

The Rook originally hails from Boston and currently resides in Kansas.  He can be reached at