Miracle on 49th Street by Mike Lupica Read Free Book Online

wasn’t aware of that.”
    â€œThis isn’t like a spelling bee,” she said. “It’s not me against you for who knows more about the Celtics.”
    â€œSpell parquet, ” he said.
    â€œHa ha.”
    â€œI used to go to the old Garden,” he said. “What a dump.”
    â€œOh, please,” Molly said. “You’re too young to remember.”
    â€œI’ve told you before,” Sam said. “I remember the womb .”
    Which Molly had to admit was probably true.
    Adam Burke, Sam’s uncle, looked more like a college kid than some of the sportswriters Sam liked to watch yell at each other on television. Long hair that always seemed to look messy, jeans, blue blazer, white shirt. Penny loafers. He had told them on the ride over that because it was the first game of the season for the Celtics, he was working tonight, which meant he’d have to write after the game. But he’d arranged it with the Celtics public relations people that Molly and Sam could wait for him in the press lounge if they promised to behave.
    â€œOkay,” Sam said. “We promise not to make fun of the other sportswriters.”
    â€œNo matter what,” Molly said.
    â€œEven if they try to impress us when they’re not trying to impress each other,” Sam said.
    â€œNo matter what,” Molly said.
    â€œHow lucky am I,” Adam Burke said, “to get to go to the opener with the two funniest twelve-year-olds in the greater Boston area?”
    â€œAt least you appreciate that,” Sam said.
    Sam had to get the last word in, even with adults.
    They had arrived at the TD Banknorth Garden early. All the gold-colored seats were still empty; some girl singer Molly didn’t recognize was practicing the national anthem. Then Adam Burke took them to the Sports Museum that was inside the new Garden, and to the small television studio where some of the Celtics announcers did their pregame and postgame shows. When they came back to the arena, Adam Burke pointed out the championship banners hanging from the ceiling and all the retired numbers belonging to the great olden-days Celtics players.
    â€œThe next one to go up there, once he retires, will be Josh Cameron’s number three,” he said. “But if he retires, that means he’ll have gotten old, which nobody around here expects to happen.”
    Then he said he was going to the locker room to interview some of the Celtics players for the column he had to write before they even played the game, just to hold the space in the early edition of the Globe.
    â€œDon’t even try to understand,” Adam said. “It’s never made any sense to me, either.”
    He left them in their second-row seats while some of the Celtics showed up on the court in their warm-up clothes and began to shoot around.
    Up close, like this, they were the biggest human beings Molly Parker had ever seen in her life.
    â€œI feel like we’re in Jurassic Park ,” she whispered to Sam. “We don’t grow them this big in London. Why is that?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œI thought you knew everything.”
    â€œNot everything,” he said. “Just more than most people.”
    Molly squeezed his hand, which always made him blush. “Lucky for me,” she said.
    Sam couldn’t play sports to save his life. Couldn’t throw a football or catch one or make a basket in gym. But he knew so much about sports, the Boston sports teams in particular, it was as if all the information stored inside his head did make him some kind of unofficial jock.
    Or maybe just the jock he secretly wanted to be.
    When he’d stopped telling Molly who the players were and where they went to college, Molly said, “He probably won’t even remember me.”
    â€œHe’ll remember you. Trust me.” Sam looked at her. “You bring your mom’s letter?”
    â€œIt’s in my