Friday, January 16, 2009

My Brief Stint As A Serial Killer

Back in the 80's the Boston Celtics reigned supreme in the NBA. ( kinda like they do today) These were the good old days of Larry Bird, Robert Parish and Kevin McHale. Yeaah, I still wax sentimental when I think of the "Big Green" in those days. At the time, I was a young high school student without much of a social life, so the Celts became my constant companion. Even though a few decades have come and gone since then, I still remember the incident with the clarity as if it happened just yesterday.

It was a Friday night late in the spring of that year. Being the youngest in a family of five without a social calendar to adhere to, I was left alone in the house, as even my parents were out to dinner with friends. The Celts were playing the dreaded Detroit Pistons that night in a battle to sit atop the NBA. The Pistons were the team we loved to hate, with bad boys lining their payroll the likes the NBA has yet to see to this day. We're talking headliners like Bill Laimbeer, Isiah Thomas, and the reprehensable Dennis Rodman. Back in those days, Rodman was at work fine tuning his bad boy image; showing up to events in drag dressed as a bride, wearing black lipstick and make-up, and hanging out with Madonna. The dude was a freak! but he had serious game so the Pistons put up and shut up, as they say. It was always a dog fight when the Celts and the Pistons played, their disdain for each other no secret to any casual observer. Especially when the game took place inside the hallowed, historied walls of the Boston Garden and this night would prove to be no different.

It was a warm evening and our house had no central AC, so I had the windows open in my room which faced the south side of the house, not too far from my neighbor's house while I watched the game. And what a game it was! One of those legendary-once in a lifetime-triple overtime- with one-second-left-basket, to put the game into YET another overtime-game. I was jumping on my bed, going nuts! I remember shouting at the refs, shouting at the players, hootin and hollering and screaming thing like, "take that bitch!" and "die Laimbeer, die!" I am nothing if not a passionate sports fan. After the game was over and the Celts spanked the Pistons like the bitches that they were, I decided to go down to the kitchen to make myself a mini victory feast, a huge smile covering my face.
Our kitchen was accessible from the driveway on the south side of the house, and I had left the front door open, leaving just the unlocked screen door,between myself and the bright, shining light which was now glaring through the screen into my kitchen. As I turned the corner to enter the kitchen, and just before switching on the light, I caught a glimpse of the glare of the un-invited illumination and it stopped me dead in my tracks. Panic paralyzed my body and my at one time victorious smile disappeared as I stood still while the next chain of events happened.
In one fell swoop, the screen door opened and four uniformed police officers descended upon me like a SWAT training exersise in progress. One officer scooped my up into his arms while the other officers, weapons brandished, scattered all over my house.

"Miss, are you alright?" the officer holding me shouted. "Are you hurt?"

Again, paralyzed by fear, I tried to utter some form of a response, but much like I was in the midst of a bad dream, I couldn't get the words out.

"Are you OK?" the officer pleaded again.

"Yeah," was all I could meekly utter, in the confines of the officer's protective grasp.

"What happened here?" the officer asked. "We got a call from the neighbors saying there were loud screams and what seemed like violence going on over here. Are you alone?"

By this time the other three officers were coming back from their search of a completely empty house, replacing their weapons in their holsters.

"Ummm. Yeah, I'm alone," I uttered, my face reddened with fear and embarassment.

"I'm sorry. Everything's fine." I said. "I was just watching the Celtics game."

My face contorted into a meek, sort of coquettish grin as I said that.

Complete silence. For a good five seconds, which seemed like a lifetime because all I remember was the sound of the excessive pounding of my heart .

The sounds of uproarious laughter, which broke the silence, much to my relief, then filled the room and after a few moments, the cops started high fiving me and playfully patting me on the back.

"You'd better go tell your neighbor you are ok. She thought there was a murder taking place over here," a cop said.

"Ohh, this is good. I can't wait to tell the chief this one," another cop said.

"Hey, did they win? HAHAHA!!"

They all seemed to be having a good laugh at my expense. I didn't care. I was just grateful that I wasn't in any kind of trouble. Being 15 at the time, anything that involves the cops and no trouble was always a good thing. They then left my house, warning me to lock the door behind them and go to bed!

The funny thing is that the cops never forgot that night. I spent the next few years known, in my small town as "Celtics Fan" a title I wore proudly. They always cut me and my friends a little more slack at football games and home town events than the other kids. I guess the infamy I gained because of that evening served me well. My neighbor never quite got over it though. For a long while after the incident, she would shutter when she saw me. She probably still thinks I'm some sort of serial killer.


Bella@That damn expat said...

You have no idea how much I enjoyed this post!
It's beautifully written and nostalgic and hilarious!

Marty said...

Hey, I got a "good laugh" at your expense too... thanks for the morning humor.

Ugly Scott said...

great stuff--and that from a guy who named one of his kids after isaiah thomas. i'm sure the story still circulates.

TishTash said...

Thank you for providing me with my next alibi.

Candy's daily Dandy said...

Expat- Thanks-me thinks you rite good too ;)

Marty- Any time. I am more than happy to acoomodate you.

Soo not Ugly-(that's your new name) Despite Mr. Thomas' recent disgrace in the world of basketball, Isaih is a worthy first name. You must be from DEE-Troit!

Tish Tash- Yeah those cops were chumps-they didn't even notice my best friend's bloddy hand sticking out from under my bed...

katrocket said...

hahahaha! That is freaking FANTASTIC. Great story, Candy!

Heff said...

Geez, that's more ridiculous than the time I accidentally dialed 9-1-1 on the fax machine...

Julia@SometimesLucid said...

That is awesome. IT also makes you one of THE COOLEST women I know!

B.E. Earl said...

Ya see, NY fans are so much more civilized. We celebrate, but we keep it real. No need for any official intervention by the police. ;)

Bill Stankus said...

Great story.
Tho the cops were a tad sexist. A 15 old boy would have had tie-wraps on his wrists faster than a Larry Bird dunk.

Cora said...

AHHH!! That's brilliant!! Hee hee hee. :-)

I linked you today. I hope you don't mind. I couldn't let that ambulance photo and hospital blog post go unmentioned. THAT was TRUE blogging dedication!!!! MOST IMPRESSIVE, CANDY!

Have a great weekend!

mike said...

Little known fact since you're talking about the name Isaiah... His nickname was Zeke because none other than Kevin McHale could not pronounce his first name correctly. Name your kid that!

slopmaster said...

yea, this was great. I used to be a huge Lakers fan during that era, and I remember how excited I would get seeing them play the Celtics. Even though the lakers were my favorite team, Larry Bird was my favorite player.

Anyway, good stuff, that's a good story.

Scope said...

When you mentioned the distance to the neighbor's house, I thought I knew where this might be going, but I really loved / savored the way you got us there.

While I've never been a huge fan of pro hoops (technical issues of too much traveling, too many uncalled fouls, etc.) I was a big fan of that era's Celtics.

But I always thought Kevin McHale looked like he was made out of spare parts.

TROLL said...

That's a truly excellent story. Kudos. I remember the Pistons. They had a wide-load who, to my knowledge, was the first NBA player to use his ass to commit flagrant fouls.

Joe D. said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Joe D. said...

A couple of things here. . .

1. This is probably your (as the kids say)GOAT post. Very, very funny.

2. I'm pretty sure we would have dated If I went to your high school.

3. Kevin McHale had the most post moves ever.

4. 80's basketball > evry other decade of basketball.

SkylersDad said...

That is a wonderful story, and that was the best front court in basketball ever.

I was a Celtics fan even earlier than you, from the Havlecek days!

Thanks for dropping by my place.