Anyway. I'm here. My breathing slows down, and I realize things look a lot different from courtside. John Barry, a Bucks rookie, checks into the game, and I can see the pain on his face as he gets booed. He looks like he might cry. Barry was the Celtics' first-round draft pick, and was traded to the Bucks before he ever played a game for in Celtics Green.

The Garden faithful have not taken kindly to him.

The guy from Fox just got a friend--another reporter type, who brings along some sandwiches and two cups of soda. I'm no longer feeling quite so confident--can they arrest me for this sort of thing? Impersonating a hack? Mr. Fix and his friend are talking about the NCAA tournament, and fox Man is leaning back, eating his sandwich, much more in his element. I'm beginning to sweat.

A blond woman from Sportschannel just sat down on the other side of me--now, there are no seats left. She seems to know everyone else here. In fact, everyone seems to know everyone else. Except for me.

***

A Celtics flunky comes within seconds of the beginning of the second quarter to give us breakdown of the first quarter. Things are getting more serious: the photographers are running around while the reporters are taking notes, exchanging knowing glances and trading stories.

By 4:12 of the second quarter, I've calmed down--but only a little. Can the people sitting around me read my writing? Can I read it? The half begins to wind down, and just as I begin to think that I'm being paranoid, Mike Dowling asks me if I'm actually from Channel 4. Before I can answer, the Bucks' Eric Murdock hits a three-pointer at the buzzer. Dowling is distracted, then he starts talking to someone else. I'm saved, at least momentarily.

Halftime. Someone comes down to the press table and asks who wants to participate in the Boys and Girls Club Celebrity Shoot-Out. I wonder what would happen if I offered to do it. I let Mike Dowling do it instead. He and his partner sink 22 free-throws in a minute to tie Dallas Cow-boy quarterback Steve Beuerlein and his partner, who's shooting at the other end. The Boys and girls Club gets some money. Everyone's happy.

***

It's 8:35 of the third quarter. I look around me at the Garden faithful, and remember that I did invite a friend to the game. Poor Pete. I can barely make him out, slouching down, surrounded by fat men and their children.

With 7:30 left in the third quarter, Parish steals the ball and antelopes it into the basket. He's not especially graceful. It's a close game: 76-75, Bucks.

At 2:45 of the third quarter, my pen runs out, just as I was trying to figure out if my fellow sportscasters were as interested in me as I was in them.

The last thing I have written down is: "Is my presence here not as exciting to everyone around me as I might expect? Does anyone even care?"

I sweat away, penless.

***