Where Celtics eyes are smiling in L.A.

They boo Magic Johnson in Santa Monica.

They also sell green T-shirts that read "Beat L.A." Not that anybody needs one. Just about everybody packed into Sonny McLean's for Game 2 of the NBA Finals is already wearing Celtics green.

And it's standing room only at this Irish pub, a small slice of Causeway Street, right here on Wilshire Boulevard.

This might be the toughest place in L.A. for a sportswriter who grew up a Lakers fan. The game hasn't even started, and already the bile is rising in my throat. It could be the Buffalo chicken sandwich I ate two hours before tipoff -- I passed on the Tedy Bruschi burger -- but more likely it's the "Lar-ry! Lar-ry!" chant that breaks out when a Bird commercial flashes on the big screen.

Judging by all the fresh faces and new Kevin Garnett jerseys, half the people in the place aren't old enough to remember Larry Bird playing in the Finals.

I do. I remember it all -- Bird, Kevin McHale, Robert Parish, Dennis Johnson. I remember Danny Ainge and M.L. Carr swinging those towels, Cedric Maxwell giving James Worthy the choke sign, and announcers Tommy Heinsohn and Dick Stockton shamelessly slathering over the Celtics.

Then again, I saw the world in deep shades of purple and gold. I even got irritated at Chick Hearn when, in his even-handed way, he would compliment the Celtics on something. It took years for me to set aside my loyalties and finally admit how good those Celtics teams really were. Those epic Lakers-Celtics finals energized the NBA like no other.

Sportswriting, as the saying goes, kills the fan in you. For the most part, that's true. As an NFL writer living in L.A., I'm by nature a professional vagabond. I parachute into a different city each week without being tethered to any geographical allegiances.

But even after 20 years in the business, two decades of being clinical and cynical, I still can't help but pull for the Lakers. It's a family thing. My wife could barely bring herself to yell "Go Celtics!" when our son's YMCA team was stuck with that team name.

Once, as I'll explain shortly, my loyalty to the Lakers even cost me a summer job.

So, on Sunday night, I was a McCoy at a Hatfield family picnic. My buddy John tagged along, but otherwise I counted only two other Lakers backers in a crowd of about 200. One was hard to miss in a handwritten T-shirt reading "Lakers fan," and the other wore a purple wool cap. That got the respect of some good-natured Celtics fans who happily handed out high-fives.