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Red Auerbach is only weeks away from his 85th birthday, and the cigar-smoking patriarch of the Boston Celtics is as sharp – in mind and tongue – as ever.  He answers the telephone, his voice a time machine that warps me back to his native Brooklyn, and the volume on his television descends before disappearing altogether.  I imagine him sitting comfortably in his recliner, that trademark cigar jammed between his fingers, thick smoke hanging in the room like a fog bank at sea.  I introduce myself as the Editor-in-Chief of Celtic Nation.  Auerbach listens politely in a way that reminds me of Marlon Brando in The Godfather, and I suddenly realize that this comparison isn’t far from the truth.  Larry Bird said it best:  ‘When Red Auerbach walks into the room everyone knows their place.  Everyone respects him.  And when Red says something you listen to him.”