wentdog said: I almost forgot, but congrats on your Spurs winning another one bro!
Man, it’s like this: You tell yourself it’s just a game and it has no bearing on you, it’s about them, the players, the team. It’s only a reflection of you because everyone who knows you knows how much you really care, how upset your stomach is by the grimace on your face, how you’re walking around with a constant, close-mouthed, teeth-grinding scowl because as over as that series really was early on, it was still not over until last night. What they don’t know is how you refused to wear anything red at all, or white during the Miami home games, only black and shades of gray, and how you wouldn’t wash your black and gray striped flannel pajama pants because that’s what you were wearing when the playoffs started and you wouldn’t get a haircut or change your cellphone ringtone or write deeply negative comments on Heat fans Facebook pages until it was all said and done. Make no changes. Don’t rock the boat. Keep pounding the rock.
And as superstitious as all that is, and as difficult as life has been lately, between the salmonella and the antibiotics and the dog getting sprayed by a skunk and losing power at the most inopportune times this weekend, I know I didn’t help them one bit. I probably only hurt myself. So when I sat down with my brother and watched my team fall behind by sixteen and fail to score over and over again in what should be (and thankfully, eventually was) an elimination game, I drank a second Old Thumper before the first quarter was even over, because I was either going to be just toasty enough to really appreciate it, or too drunk to feel it. I didn’t want to feel what I might feel from last year all over again. That sounds like something Yogi Berra might have said, but this is sports we’re talking about, so that probably works.
Ultimately, I can’t say anything about my team that someone hasn’t already been said better. All I could think of was how I watched them win with my brother in 1999 during a lockout season on a shitty TV in my one-room apartment, and then in my own living room while my brother was building a house in 2003, and again two years later, when they stole one from Detroit and my brother-in-law called me from Vegas at midnight because he knew I’d be up, and then in 2007, sweeping LeBron’s Cavs in what amounted to a Sunday afternoon movie matinee, complete with popcorn, soda and big, wide grins, through a long drought to finally get there again last year… another year ending in an odd number, another chance at the King, proof that team trumped talent, only to wind up in heartbreak and disarray and a terrible ending to a model franchise. I thought they were done, and in the worst possible way.
I’m happy that last night changed that story a bit. No matter what is in the past or what will happen in the future, I’m pretty happy with the present. I’m a little hungover, very relieved, and thrilled for my team. So, thank you.