All across the Magic City this Thursday night, pots are getting wrecked by spoons, more car horns are getting leaned on than rush hour on the Dolphin and every half-decent bar is passing around shots of Jameson in honor of Bron Bron. Your Miami Heat are 2012 NBA Champions.
These guys were at Finnegans Two on Lincoln Road, where a crowd spilled out onto the pedestrian mall and merged with the game-watchers at Hofbrauhaus and Polar Bar. All night long, "Let's Go Heat" chants were reverberating down the sidewalk -- and damned if David Caruso (Mr. CSI Miami himself) didn't stumble by halfway through and wave at the crowd. (At least we were all pretty sure it was him.)
His wife chimed in, her Costa Rican accent thick: "When Mike Miller got it going like that, that was it."
"Tonight, it's this!" Red yelled, banging his pan as a bus drives past. The driver gives him a thumbs up. How fucking anti-aloof scenester is that?
I'm banging pots with half of Hialeah on W 49th Street. Banged my pot so hard the handle broke. Dudes with conga drums, guiros and maracas providing a little salsa flavor to the mix. Shirtless dudes dancing w buxom young girls sweating up a storm. Kids on the hoods and roofs holding up homemade championship banners. People taking shots of rum and tequila. People have taken over the street, cars can't get through. Pure bedlam. Go Heat!
Motorcycle cops trying to clear the street. Crowd won't let 'em. The crowd won.
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