EVEN MAMMOTH WINFIELD CAN’T ESCAPE LONG SHADOWS

Celtics Roll Out Barrel Rolling Out Rockets

BOSTON — Larry Bird’s hair was dripping champagne. Kevin McHale was soaked to his shorts. Bill Walton was grinning underneath an NBA Championship cap and slapping hands with those high enough to reach him. The Celtics had just won their 16th title, the fans outside were mobbing the Boston Garden floor, and finally, finally, it was time for the big moment. Finally, it was time for . .
. a beer.

A beer?

EVEN MAMMOTH WINFIELD CAN’T ESCAPE LONG SHADOWS

Today’S Thought: Bird’S Greatest Hits May Be Yet To Come

HOUSTON — I have this idea for Larry Bird. One more year and goodby. Quit. Throw the sneakers in the gym bag, grab a ball on the way out. “Where you going?” someone would ask.

“Not sure,” he’d say.

And he’d disappear forever.

How good is Larry Bird? That good. So good that, at 29, the only thing left is the myth-making exit. The kind that comes too early, that kind that makes him legendary, a cult figure, even bigger when he’s gone than when he was around. A James Dean, an Elvis, a J.D. Salinger.