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Crot As I entered the arena, I could hear the roar of the crowd. “Celtics! Celtics! Celtics!” the crowd chanted. The smell of the stadium smelt like hot dogs. Maybe even with mustard. When I walked up the flight of stairs, I looked at every person around me. For each person, the expression on their faces varied. One girl was sad; another man was excited to be here. Others were simply spacing out. When I finally reached row 21 chair 12, I plopped myself down with French fries in one hand, and a Coke in the other. To the left of me sat an old man. He looked very excited to be here. But the women to my right had been yelling at her son to stay quiet. I could tell she was very annoyed, and was about to flip out on her son. After five minutes f devouring my French fries, I felt a tap on my left shoulder. The old man said to me, “Is it me, or is it VERY loud?” I replied, “No sir, it’s not just you, it is very loud!” “Okay, that’s a relief. Hey, I’m old, but not that old!” he said. I didn’t say anything else. I just nodded my head. Then the lights dimmed, and the only light that was left was the spotlight, which was pointed at the Celtic’s bench. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, here are the Boston Celtics!!!!!!!” shouted the announcer into the microphone. Then the crowd roared louder than a hungry lion. The Celtics stormed the court, leaving the sounds of their squeaky shoes and the pounding of their feet on the court. This night was a great night!