You Need to Be a Soprano to Understand These Fans

I took a vow, somewhere on the drive between Tony Soprano’s Bada-Bing Club on Rt. 17 in nearby Lodi, and the Meadowlands where Chris and Pussy exhumed the body of a garbage hauler they had buried, to be nicer here to people than maybe I am to folks back in L.A.

In fact I would urge Kevin Brown, Tim Leiweke and the Grocery Store Bagger to move to Jersey as soon as possible and I can say without reservation, I’d be nicer to them all. I’ll even pay for the Bagger’s one-way airfare.

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I ARRIVED officially as Mr. Nice Guy at the Continental Airlines Arena at 11:30 a.m., nine hours before game time, and already found some idiots tail-gating atop the toxic landfill they call the Meadowlands.

I told Bill Pawelko, who had set up four easy chairs and a barbecue “to get a life,” and then introduced myself as Bill Plaschke in case Pawelko was related to Paulie Walnuts. Pawelko gave me this sob story about being a long-suffering Nets’ fan, so I guess he believed me when I told him I was Plaschke.

“Wait until you hear the fans cheering ‘N-E-T-S, Nets, Nets, Nets,’ ” said Steve Pawelko, Bill’s brother. “It’s just like the ‘J-E-T-S, Jets, Jets, Jets’ cheer.”

I said, “I’ve never seen a group of people so intent on proving to everyone else in the country they know how to spell,” and then spelled out my name for them: “P-L-A-S-C-H-K-E, Plaschke, Plaschke, Plaschke.”

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THE NETS failed to sell out several playoff games, and opened the season before a crowd of 8,749. With so many people in New Jersey getting whacked, that’s understandable. By November, there were only 5,234 here for a game with the Bulls.

There is talk the Nets will move to a new arena in downtown Newark, and Steve Pawelko wanted me to know Shaquille O’Neal has bought a bunch of land around the proposed Newark site.

I guess he has gotten Uncle Junior’s blessing.

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THERE WAS no line and no one stepping forward to have their faces painted for free before the game. On my trip to Sacramento, the line stretched as long as a football field. I didn’t find that odd. The only reason to live in Sacramento is if you’re in the Witness Protection Program, and painting your face to change your identity is an everyday thing.

I ran into four bruisers, Arman Sarkisyan, his brother Robert, Greg Grigorian and some guy who insisted that I call him, “Freddy Krueger.”

I asked them if they could tell me what it was like to be a Nets’ fan, and one by one they identified themselves as a Clipper fan, a Laker fan, a Yankee fan and Freddy Krueger, and that was his story and he was sticking to it.

Right now I wouldn’t want to admit I’m a Nets’ fan either.

I’d suspect a number of Nets’ fans are trying to get a hold of Dr. Melfi; they’ll probably have to wait in line behind David Stern and NBC executives.

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MISS LIBERTY, Sondra Fortunato, told me the Nets had paid her to come to the game with a crown on her head, dressed in a flowing red gown two sizes too small in some places, and to just walk around. Fortunato, who appeared in “Smokey and the Bandit,” a few decades ago, had a picture of her and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar pinned to her dress, and when she leaned over to give me a better look, I was worried she might just keep falling and smother me. That’s something you’d see on “The Sopranos.”

“I just won the Miss Liberty contest in Jersey City; it was a very challenging contest,” she said, and in my new capacity as Mr. Nice Guy I think I said something really sweet like, “What a great way to celebrate your 50th birthday.”

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THE CROWD that waded through garbage outside the Arena can be best described as grungy. In fact, everyone looked right at home. If looks mean anything, you needed four things to get inside: a ticket, a big belly, tattoo and an attitude.

I don’t want anyone to misunderstand, though. When Tony iced the guy at the Meadowlands Parkway off Rt. 3 in Secaucus it was because the guy was a hit man who was coming after him.

I want to make it clear here that I’m not going after anyone other than Salma Hayek.

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A LOCAL newspaper said negotiations were ongoing to have Bruce Springsteen sing the National Anthem on Sunday.

Instead, it was Ron Rains from “The Guiding Light.”

And to think I was here to hear it.

The crowd was urged on by the scoreboard with the “New York Post Noise Reader.” It was about as accurate as most of the stories in the Post.

Somebody dressed from head to foot with the name, “Sly Fox” and the number “1” on his back tried to incite the crowd. For awhile, I thought he was the only celebrity in attendance.

Come on, I can’t be blamed for not seeing Danny Devito. Billy Crystal, Chris Rock and Phil Mickelson were also here.

I have no idea who Mickelson was betting on.

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WITH 2:13 to play, and the Lakers in position to win again, the folks who run the arena decided to put some real heat on L.A.

On the overhead scoreboard, they showed a stirring scene from “The Sopranos,” a reminder to the Lakers that folks around here have a way of dealing with people who cause problems. A minute later Shaq was laying on the floor and writhing in pain after having his legs cut out from under him.

The Lakers went on to win, and we’ll all be back here Wednesday.

Won’t we?

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T.J. Simers can be reached at t.j.simers@latimes.com.