Kidnapped In Overtime

From the top of the concrete stairs leading into Boston Garden’s choice courtside section, I watched in amusement as a Phoenix Suns fan tackled a referee in the melee pouring onto the parquet. Tie game. Jeezus, three overtimes? I snorted out a small laugh. It had been a few minutes of real basketball and everyone had held their breath for the last ten seconds on the clock, hoping this one was over. Even a lady cop who has as much interest in the game as crotchet gets drawn into the action when it gets this nuts. But enough. I brought my head around to the aisle seat, six rows down from where I stood, and felt the next breath freeze in my throat; the Senator’s fourteen-year-old daughter, my charge for the evening, was gone. Read more