The Good Men Project

I am prone to man crushes when it comes to professional athletes. It started with Jim Plunkett, when he was drafted by the Pats, and has continued all the way up to that tall drink of Cuban water on third who came off a horrible season in Florida to lead the Sox to reverse the curse of the Bambino. I am not alone. A recent column in Rotoworld, the bible of fantasy sports, talks about the phenomenon (http://bit.ly/nynF0).

My most recent man crush started a year and a half ago and involves the world champion (reigning, at least for a few more days) Boston Celtics. Last year I was doing a little piece for Boston Magazine about the Russian Masseuse, Vlad Shulman, who has been the team’s secret weapon since the days of Larry Bird (http://www.bostonmagazine.com/articles/the_best_hands_in_the_game/) Management for some reason decided that they didn’t want a member of the press, even a lowly freelancer such as me, speaking with Shulam, so they gave me a press credential and let me loose in the locker room instead. Talk about a sports fanatic’s wet dream. There I was in the Celts’ locker room, free to talk to whomever I wanted.

The first thing I noticed is that the locker room is a lot smaller than I would imaged. And the players, up close, are a lot bigger. I’m 6′3″ and 215 pounds, when walking up to KG or Perk, I felt like the little kid on the schoolyard who no one wants to pick for kick ball. Pretty quickly I learned that most players treat even the beat reporters from the local papers like a necessary evil. Answers are short and generally given with an annoyed expression. I wouldn’t take kindly to guys popping off while I changed my underwear either, but the writers are just trying to do their jobs.

The protocol is to stand well behind the locker of the player you want to speak with. When he becomes free, you can ask him (very politely) if he has a minute for a question. Mostly the answer is no. When I asked Ray Allen, he turned and looked me in the eye and asked who I was and what I was writing about. He was in a state of undress, so he asked me to wait a minute so he could get his shorts on. Then he shook my hand and told me to sit down. We talked for 20 minutes about the Celtics of old and how Vlad fit into that picture and how he, Ray, felt putting on the same green Celtics jersey as Bill Russell and Larry Bird. He told me how he prepares relentlessly for every game and tries to lead by example. Frankly after the first five minutes, though I had my tape recorder on , our conversation had nothing to do with my article.

Ever since I have been a Ray disciple. My favorite Ray moment was in game 4 of last year’s final. I had traveled all the way to L.A. to see my man play. The biggest upset in history was in the making. Ray had the ball with moments to go, and the Laker’s defensive specialist, Sasha Vujacic, covering him. “I got this,” he told captain Paul Pierce. Ray put a move on that left Shasha slack-jawed as he went to the hole to deliver the dagger to the heart of the Lakers, clinching the game and, for all practical purposes, the championship. Witnessing that moment in person was the peak of my fandom.

That’s my Ray. Who’s your man crush? Come on, you can confess. And, yes, that’s yours truly in the photo, the guy wearing the number 20 jersey, green pants, and love beads, whispering in the ear of my guy after he drained a three from the corner late in a game last week.