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A home-court advantage skews the betting line as the familiar environment provides the hosts with ample rest and a raucous crowd that lifts spirits and distracts opponents with verve and inflammatory chants. No mathematical formula can quantify the edge but few avid gamblers dedicated to the taboo science will admit to discounting the location factor.For fans treasuring celebratory moments, the home-court victories summon up invaluable memories, as what Knick diehard cannot recall Patrick Ewing exchanging high fives with court-side spectators after flushing home John Starks’ missed lay-up at the Garden in Game Seven of the ‘94 Eastern Conference Finals? Yet, it is that exact same series that will back up my belief that road victories speak to one facet of sports that attracted me at a pre-pubescent age: the F U Element.

Reggie Miller redefined the art of taunting in Game Five by miming the chokehold to avid Knicks’ follower and famed director, Spike Lee. Miller is to New York what Ulysses must have been to the South. The “Prissy Jump Shooter” as the Washington Post’s Mike Wilbon once called him, kicked me in the gut with his remarkable 25-fourth quarter performance.

Just as my Yankees set-up their title-clinching win at the Stadium in ‘96 with two remarkable road victories in Atlanta, the Knicks won that Game Seven over Indiana well before Ewing’s put back. By escaping Market Square Arena in Indiana - which neared decibel level for a Pantera concert due to its high school gymnasium-sized structure, with a win in Game Six despite the hangover from Miller’s devastating performance, the Knicks invariably secured a trip to the finals.

I remember hearing Knick fans hollering from their windows and balconies following Ewing’s stuff. Amazing as that scene was, I would rather have stood as the lone Knick fan at Market Square during Game Six and raised my two arms stoically in vengeful bliss as my Knicks marched toward New York breathing a new air of confidence.

Maybe I’ll forever be stuck in the ‘90s when it involves professional sports, especially concerning the NBA, but my trip back over 10 years ago segues into this season’s Boston Celtics. First off, let me completely dismiss any New York, WFAN-listening, Jeter-adoring fan isolated totally in the Metropolitan area that dubs me a traitor for rooting for a team from that Paul Revere-toting city. My hatred for teams transcend territory as I loathe the Red Sox and Spurs more for their dynamic than their regional ties. No Celtic-Knick rivalry from days gone by will deter me from trumpeting the C’s this season as they feature three of my all-time favorite players in Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce and Ray Allen.

Months before this season tipped off, I anticipated a Knicks’ meltdown with Isiah W. Thomas leading my beloved team into the NBA’s version of Iraq. With a fervor to ally myself with true competitors, I began rooting for the Celts to embarrass all the cynics who twisted a jolt for the league into only noteworthy news by considering all three superstars past their prime.

A 26-3 record at New Year’s allayed my tepid worries regarding the team’s chemistry but to quiet a sports critic is to convince an Evangelical that the rapture may never come. With each passing accomplishment, I skirted a full-on argument with phlegm and half-uttered astonishments muddling my point by saying wait until they go to Texas.

The trip to the Lone Star state presents the ultimate litmus test for an outstanding team on par with the ‘98 Bulls who somehow finished the season with a 72-10 mark before winning their fourth title in six years with Jordan back in the league. The Celts began the Texas Triangle with an improbable victory over the defending champs by erasing a 22-point lead. The final piece of the Celts’ championship puzzle - Sam “I Am” Cassell, who the C’s acquired within the past month, delivered the dagger, resulting in a 2-0 season sweep of Tim Duncan and company.

Despite the sensational victory, the headlines the next day focused on the Spurs’ apparent slip from the top of the league as many turned aghast after hearing of San Antonio’s failure to secure a safe lead. The Celts also slipped from the top bill entering Tuesday’s game in Houston as T-Mac and the Yao-less Rockets dragged their 22-win streak along with them. The Celtics bruised the Rockets with menacing interior play led by KG but solidified with another role player - Leon Powe. Prior to the contest, I did not read a single article predicting a Celts’ victory despite a now league-best 55-13 record.

The C’s capped the three-for-three trip with a close win in Dallas in which Allen, who missed the first two victories, drained a crucial three. The three-for-three outcome in Texas had not been accomplished since the Sacramento Kings swept the Spurs, Rockets and Mavs on the road in ‘01.

As the tumbleweed rumbled down the heart of Texas leaving a dust of green destruction behind, I could only let out a wry smile knowing that the NBA has itself a superb team that lives on gritty defense and presents the possibility of a tantalizing finals a year after the Spurs thumped the Cavs.

As loud as the NBA World has been about the recent major deals in the West and the Rockets’ improbable winning-streak, that’s how quiet the hawks that have ripped into the Celts are right now. Coach Doc Rivers seems to instill a humble nature into this team, and I respect that, but for us ruthless showboats, Kobe displayed what winning on the road is all about the other night in Utah.

With the Jazz riding a 19-game home win streak, Kobe put up 27, 8 and 7 and in Hollywood style tugged at his jersey in the waning seconds prompting the fans to fling debris toward the court. Maybe not the most savory of endings but deafening silence or contentious pining, either way to walk into someone’s house and lay claim to dominance speaks to that child in all of us that feeds off of Schadenfreude - which according to Lisa Simpson means “shameless joy.” What other way to end such a diabolical blog than with a German phrase?