The hazards of a sportswriter’s job

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Fun time Saturday night. Yeah right.

I’ve never been less concerned with a game’s outcome. I was more concerned about my outcome.

The Lakers beat the New Jersey Nets, 103-84, and then the fun began. More than a foot of snow had been dumped on the New York-New Jersey area, making travel from the arena virtually impossible.

The Lakers had their team bus waiting for them and made their way slowly but successfully to Newark’s airport, from where they took off for Detroit and landed at 3:08 a.m. But the people that didn’t have transportation were the unlucky ones.

Fans lined up in droves outdoors in hopes that a bevy of cabs would suddenly appear. It didn’t happen. And it was cold.

‘It was insane,’ said Pietrina Love of Manhattan. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

Fans began to plan for the worst, ripping apart promotional boxes in a small part of the lobby and using them as makeshift mattresses -- just in case.

‘People were buying the last snacks they could buy from the concession stand,’ Love said. ‘People felt like they weren’t going to make it anywhere because it was so bad.’

Then came a row of buses that took the fans to a nearby train station.

‘People were yelling and screaming as the wind was blowing,’ Love said. ‘There were like 300 people trying to get on five buses. The line seemed like it stretched a mile. It was like an exodus.’

A small group that didn’t make it on the buses flagged down a shuttle for a nearby hotel and took refuge at the lobby bar.

Me personally? I thought I’d end up sleeping at the arena.

The car service I requested hours ahead of time showed up 90 minutes later than scheduled, but the driver finally arrived, a beacon in the snow. He took one of the most adventurous routes ever (this is a New York driver, don’t forget), avoiding numerous accidents on Route 3 and skillfully driving off the shoulder at one point. He got me back to my Manhattan hotel safely and deserved a great tip. He got it. (Hopefully my boss won’t ever read this.)

-- Mike Bresnahan