Living in Los Angeles, as I do, I get my fair share of negative comments when I wear any Celtics gear around town. I have not, as of yet, been spat at, as my friend Phil was during last year's playoffs when he wore an Antoine Walker jersey to the mid-city bar we were watching a game at. (Who would expectorate on Employee Number Eight?!?) But I get plenty of dirty looks, plenty of "Go Lakers!" and plenty of "Celtics fucking suck!"
It's become common enough that I don't really think twice when it happens. Wednesday, though, was a story I thought worth sharing.
I was lounging on a couch in the law school lobby, waiting for class to start in a well-worn green t-shirt with the number 9 on the front and the word "Rondo" on the back. A middle-aged black man, unknown to me but apparently a professor at the school, exited his office and began to walk directly toward where I was sitting. He walks in a slow, painful shuffle, and he was able to catch my eye and deliver the following words, or something to their effect, on his way across the room:
"Twenty-five years ago," he said, "my son was two years old. We were walking through a department store and saw a bunch of green jerseys for sale. I pointed to them and said 'Son, bad guys wear green.'"
