With youth, comes ignorance

BOSTON – In terms of the atmosphere, “electric” is the only word that seems fitting. Chants of “Beat L.A.” filled the air as I walked out of The New Garden after the Celtics’ 98-88 Game 1 victory over Kobe and the Lakers.

That’s right, I did it. I completed the trifecta in a mere four-and-a-half years. I was in Houston in 2004 for the Patriots’ Super Bowl XXXVIII Championship over the Carolina Panthers. I was at Fenway Park for the Red Sox’s Game 1 win over St. Louis after the miraculous comeback against the Yankees. And Thursday, I was in Red Auerbach’s holy place to experience the Celtics-Lakers rivalry for myself, a night I will never forget.

During my eight-day vacation at home last week, I realized that experiences like these are not only invaluable because they will be forever etched in my memory, but because I am able to share them with others for years to come. I will be able to tell my grandchildren, “Yup, I remember when Boston dominated the sports world. I was in attendance for them all.”

Hearing stories like these from elders is pretty damn cool, if you ask me.

I could sit and talk to my dad about how his mother threw away his Mickey Mantle Day program when they moved from Stamford, Conn. to Brookline, Mass. and how my grandfather and his brother watched Ted Williams trot into the Boston dugout and disappear into the clubhouse after the final at-bat of his career for hours. But what I decided this week is that it’s even more rewarding to hear sports stories from people that you don’t interact with on a regular basis.

Monday afternoon I sat next to Sandy Merloni, mother of ex-Red Sox and MLB journeyman Lou Merloni, at the Framingham High School baseball playoff game. I sat in the Bridgewater-Raynham stands with open ears, listening to her tell me the real story about Nomar’s departure from Beantown (Nomar and Lou are still good friends; Sandy was at Nomar and Mia Hamm’s wedding) and the difference between Boston sports fans and well, those of any other U.S. city.

Wednesday night I had the privilege of sitting next to an 85 year-old man at Fenway Park. You’ve got to be in damn good shape to be attending baseball games at that age in sub-60 degree weather. And he was.

This man from Southboro, Mass. has had Red Sox season tickets since 1968, the first year they went on sale, the year after the Sox won the A.L. pennant in ’67. He told me about the times in the 70s when Fenway had less than 500 people in the stands.

Imagine that.

He said when the infielders would talk to each other, you could hear every word, as their voices would echo off of the empty seats. He told me about the miserable days during The Curse.

We talked about life before pitch counts. We both agreed that Francona should have left Manny Delcarmen in for the eighth, after striking out the side in the seventh.

Okajima got the job done instead.

When it comes to sports, I know my stuff. But no matter how hard I try, I was never at The Garden for the Bird-Magic rivalry and I never suffered through the horrors of Buckner.

Some people did.

At times, stories that start with “Back in my day” or ones that refer to “the good ole days” can be tough to sit through; I’m aware. But if you can get yourself to postpone the text messaging for a few minutes, listening may in fact be worth your while.