New Celtic Owner Insists That This Is a Friendly Takeover

Hello, Boston. I’m your new owner.

I don’t own the city, just the basketball team, the Celtics. Actually, I don’t own the Celtics outright, but when the club went public last week I purchased five shares of Celtic stock at about $18 per share.

This makes me, I believe, the first newspaper sports columnist to own a major league team. I promise to use my new power wisely and judiciously. But I alert you, dear citizens and front office personnel, there will be changes.

First, though, a confession: Buying the Celtics wasn’t easy for me. I grew up in Los Angeles and was a big Laker fan as a kid. Now my profession calls for absolute objectivity toward teams and athletes, but I occasionally feel residual twinges of fondness for the local team.

Why, then, did I buy the Celtics? Because of mutual need. I need a hot stock to beef up my portfolio, and the Celtics need new direction and leadership.

Not that the Celtics are in terrible shape, but there are some areas that merit immediate attention. As team owner, I respectfully submit the following agenda:

--Red Auerbach, let’s have a look at that expense account. If we’re going to tighten up the purse strings, we might as well start at the top. From now on, no more cigars on the expense account. Even at 25 cents apiece for those foot-longs, the cost adds up.

Another thing. Let’s drop this formal “Red” stuff. I’ll call you Arnold. You can call me Chief.

--The floor must go. Enough nostalgia, already. It’s time someone admitted that the Boston Garden parquet floor was a mistake from the start. Look closely. On the wood squares, some of the planks run north and south, some run east and west. Who designed that thing? Picasso?

Rip out that floor immediately and replace it with something classy, something state-of-the-art, like genuine simulated wood-grain Linoleum.

--The shoes must go. The Celtics’ dark-green high-tops are traditional, but so was British tyranny until hip thinking prevailed. These shoes look like something a Soviet peasant farmer would wear. I don’t mind the color, but we need a new, lighter shade. I have arranged for the immediate shipment of sneakers in guacamole green.

--Shut off the Boston Garden air conditioning. I realize the only air conditioning in the entire arena comes from a tiny fan in the ceiling, and that during late-season day games temperatures often reach 200 degrees in the upper deck. Still, it’s important that we set an example for energy conservation.

--Assign someone to guard the fan during games, to make sure nobody turns it on. The guard will have to sit on a ceiling rafter, wearing a flak jacket and steel helmet. The perfect man for the job is the security cop who threw me out of the Garden during last season’s playoffs because he didn’t like my attitude. Tough man for a tough job.

--Dress up the exterior of the Garden. Look at this building--it’s an ugly brick box! All we need to do to give the place a classic look is install around the exterior several dozen 100-foot, simulated marble, Roman columns.

--Reassign Johnny Most, the ancient radio and TV play-by-play man. Send Most downstairs to South Station and have him call out train destinations. To handle the Celtic play-by-play, I’m sending you a new guy, who doesn’t have much broadcast experience but does have a unique attitude and flair. Name is Jack Nicholson. His color man will be a fellow named Dancing Barry.

--Institute a fan dress code. Celtic fans are the slobs of basketball. They feel dressed up if their T-shirts are rightside out. From now on, we’ll use the old dress code from the El Monte Legion Stadium teen dances: Guys wear ties; no Levis or capris, please.

--Trade Bird. I know Larry Bird has had some nice seasons, but clearly he is over the hill. Trade him to the Lakers for Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. In order to pull this off, you’ll have to trick the Lakers by planting rumors that Kareem is not doing much anymore in terms of rebounding and playing defense and they’d be better off with Bird, even with all his nagging injuries. The Lakers are dumb enough to fall for it, especially if you throw in McHale.

Enough for now, my dear Boston friends and partners. That should get you started. I’ll be sending along further instructions, on such matters as the new Celtic Girls and the mandatory team aerobic dancing sessions with Richard Simmons.

This is probably unnecessary, but I caution you to look upon me not as a two-bit crackpot investor, but as the nucleus of a growing power bloc of small investors vitally interested in moving the team into the 21st Century. Or at least the 20th.

And while my work calls for me to remain in residence in Los Angeles, writing for a local newspaper, you have my word that I will remain objective whenever writing about the Boston Celtics in particular, or East Coast teams and fans in general.

Sincerely,

Shamrock Scotty