Earlier this year, one of my cousins, Mats, thought he'd take a poll. Seems that Mats wanted to know where everyone ranked in the family, popularity-wise.
How cool, I said to myself. I like Pops and all. But, you know, he ain't got nothing on me.
The early rounds had me sweating.
I beat my great grandmother, Bertha, and then beat my own mother, Helga, handily. Bertha had a bad heart, while Ma forgot to invite everyone over for Thanksgiving in 1999.
Me, I just kind of float a long. Make no waves, make no enemies.
The middle rounds were a lot closer.
My brother, Sven, doles out hundreds of dollars as birthday presents every year, and my sister, Linga, set up four family members with dates that later became their spouses.
Somehow I squeaked by again.
And then finally it came.
Me or my son, Bjorn.
I won two state tournaments back in high school and Bjorn's only four, so he hasn't won any.
Wah la!
I won. I'm the coolest!
Stupid, you say?
Yeah, but no more stupid than the Herald putting members of the Celtics family up to a vote.
Do we have to know if Russell is preferred over Bird?
McHale over Garnett?
Cousy over Tiny?
Cowens over Heinsohn?
DJ over Sam Jones and KC?
Come on, there's enough love to go around.
Sure, we all have these discussions from time to time.
But in the end, nearly every one of us rightly concludes, hell, it doesn't really matter. They're all part of the same family, and that's kind of nice.
Yes, it is.
Next year my cousin, Mats, wants to hold another tournament. Same concept, only this time the family pets, dead and alive, will be included on the ballots, too.
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