I've always read sports. I'd battle dad for the Billings Gazette sports section, and then I'd go back and crack open the Collier's yearbook and read one more time about the 1970 World Series.
But I missed stuff. I suppose today's youths would look at my sophomore year in Harlowton and generously characterize me as being “off the grid.” No cable TV, and in fact a TV you had to - prepare to gasp - physically get out of the chair and walk over to, if you wanted to change channels.
I still wasn't in on it. When the Sycamores were putting together an unbeaten 1978-79 season, and had the leading scorer in the country in Larry Bird, I figured he would be a 6-foot-6 shooting guard along the likes of Portland State's Freeman Williams and Idaho State's Lawrence Butler.
When I learned that Red Auerbach had already seized the rights to Bird for the Boston Celtics, my long hate-affair with the Cs ended.
The NBA has given me trouble. I was in seventh grade when I jumped on the Kansas City Royals bandwagon. I became a Denver Broncos fan - and began idolizing Floyd Little - the day I touched foot in an NFL town. I was 10. The Donkeys went 4-9-1 that year.
Settling on a team in “The Association” proved tougher. The Nuggets had me for awhile, thanks to David Thompson and Dan Issel and Ralph Simpson and Bobby Jones and the fact that, after the sun went down, you could get a decent signal out of KOA 850 AM in Denver.
Then Thompson had a series of personal and physical setbacks and the Nuggets traded Jones, which I'm still upset about. I was adrift. I liked neither the Lakers nor the Celtics, with their bushels of titles.
I watched - and appreciated - the Trail Blazers of Bill Walton and Lionel Simmons of 1977, who gave way to the Bullets of Wes Unseld and Elvin Hayes, before Downtown Freddy Brown and the Sonics cruised to a title. Yet I never got on the bandwagon.
But a new era was about to unfold. You know the story: Magic Johnson and Michigan State beat Bird's Sycamores for the 1979 NCAA title, and Magic went to LA, and Bird went to Boston. The Lakers and Celtics won eight of nine world championships.
It was a polarizing age. You liked either the Celtics or the Lakers. You couldn't like both. I took the Celtics, at the start because of Bird. But Boston landed rings for Scott Wedman and Tiny Archibald, whom I thought were awesome back when they were Kansas City-Omaha Kings.
Twenty-one years after their last finals matchup, a time in which I was, in terms of the NBA, adrift, the Celtics and Lakers are again battling for the title. I for one couldn't be happier, and I'm not alone.
The guys I play noon hoops with are planning a group outing to a local tavern to watch Game 3 Tuesday night.
I don't remember that happening last year. We'll hopefully get along, those of us who like Ray Allen, and those who worship Kobe Bryant. Can you like both? I'm not sure, and it probably doesn't matter.
I just figured out that I've been looking forward to this for 21 years.
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