Rafter madness
The Celtics won, but Lenhart never went jacketless again. He had officially become a recurring character, one of the dozen or so regulars whose appearances on the Jumbotron send the Garden into a frenzy. The video and sound producers in the ninth-floor control room call them “Super Fans.’’ They are catnip to the crowd.
Every season, thousands of people flash across the larger-than-life video screens that ring the scoreboard, dancing during timeouts, mugging in high-definition, most never to appear again. But the Super Fans, with their distinctive look, singular schtick, and satisfying familiarity, have become stars, fielding autograph requests, hugs, and high-fives. At the Halloween game, people dress like them.
“It takes me an hour to get out of here,’’ said Danny Rose, a Quincy fourth-grader known for wearing an oversized, stuffed basketball on his head and firing his arms rapid-fire to the music, his cherubic face transformed into a mask of concentration. “They all want their pictures.’’
