It's been a long time, no? Well, the 18th Letter has been put to bed, Legs is likewise sleeping, and I have, hopefully, enough Labbatt Blue and ketchup chips to last me three NBA games. We begin with Heat-Bulls, 5:36 remaining in the final quarter. Call it a comeback.
- Ernie and the gang were talking before the game started about the possibility of Amare Stoudemire being traded to the Heat for Shawn Marion. I'd comment on the ridiculosity of such a trade were I not praying with every fiber of my being that it actually Mehmet occurs.
- The Bulls are within one with just under four minutes left. Is the Heat-Bulls rivalry underrated? I dunno; what I do know is that the Bulls are now up by one and there are apparently 21,000 fans in the United Center. Can we send some of them to Memphis, Atlanta, and New Jersey? I'm all for spectator parity.
- For Kmart: I was in the supermarket yesterday, at the checkout, and The Killers' "The World We Live In" was playing. I just might not be going back to Le Peninsula.
- A promo for The Score riffs on Christian Bale's recently leaked rant on the set of Terminator Salvation. Dear Mr. Bale, lighten the fuck up. Mott's Clamato with a dash of vodka always does it for me.
- Apparently you can get a delay of game for touching the basketball after it comes out of the basket. The fuck? How about a delay of game for rolling the ball inbounds and walking it up court?
- I'm proud of my fellow countrymen for, like Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and clamato juice before it, co-opting Stagg chilli in a can. That shit is life.
- After Ben Gordon makes three free throws, we're tied with six seconds left. Wait for it...
- Dwayne Wade has butter fingers! I'm trying not to kick something right now. Dwayne, Chris Paul and Brandon Roy are this close to bumping you out of my Top Five.
- All is forgiven (for now). Wade steals the resulting inbounds pass with 3.5 on the clock. Then he makes an AMAZING pass to Shawn Marion, who wins the game with a thunderous dunk. Awesome, I just watched that.
- Now it's time for
(a cigarette and more beer)
Celtics-Mavs and/or Warriors-Blazers, depending on which is more interesting and if I can watch the Blazers' game on the Internet. By the way, for those who have followed my basketball infidelity, the Blazers are my new obsession. In fact, I'm really only hanging on to the Heat out of loyalty. Until they trade for Ill Mare, that is. Then I'll be all, "Fuck the Blazers."
- According to Doug Collins, Rick Carlisle is a very effective offensive basketball coach. According to me, he has very well-parted hair.
- I must admit, I'm having more fun right now writing this diary than watching the game, mostly because I fucking hate the Mavs. So here's a random observation from earlier today: I saw a cardinal outside my window this morning. And by cardinal I mean a red bird, not a senior ecclesiastical official of the Catholic Church. (I'm so witty when I'm hung over after drinking 10 beers and a bottle of Jack Daniels the night prior.)
- Marv reminds us that Doc Rivers used to do play-by-play. I wish he hadn't. Rivers sounds like a three-pack-a-day smoker gargling gravel.
- Bill Simmons wins: On Saturday at 5 p.m. EST, H-O-R-S-E comes to All-Star Weekend. If you thought cupcakes and Superman capes were avant garde, imagine the posibilites with H-O-R-S-E: a halfcourt shot with a deflated ball; a shot from the stands (off the scoreboard, natch)...hell, this deserves its own post.
- Speaking of the dunk contest, I humbly submit the Tequila Dunk: bounce ball, lick salt off wrist, catch ball in right hand, eat lemon with left, throw down, then remove jersey to reveal a Jose Cuervo T-shirt. Innovation and crass commercialism! Our society in a dunkshell!
- The Mavs are up by nine at halftime. Back at the studio, Kenny candidly admits that All-Star Weekend is one big pussyfest for *snicker* "single guys" as Chris Webber shifts uneasily in his chair.
- Wait, Dwayne Wade is wearing that Band-Aid because he took a shot to the face from Juwan Howard???!!! Juwan Howard is still in the L? Color me incredulous.
- I'm skipping over to Warriors-Blazers. The Trailblazers are down eleven, and the announcers are boring as all get out. I feel like I'm listening to a radio broadcast. Cure: more beer and a handful of Reese Bites, AKA "the best thing to happen to mankind until they find a cure for cancer."
- LaMarcus Aldridge plays the piano and admires Ray Charles. I, on the other hand, play the skin flute and admire Stephen Geoffreys.
- The Warriors announcer -- in between sporadic naps and nips of whisky from his hip flask -- informs me that it's pronounced "fort" and not "fortay." THE MORE YOU KNOW!
- The 18th Letter was sleepwalking, so I put her to bed. Trust me, it was by pure will that I tore myself away from such a riveting broadcast. And I come back to find my Internet video feed stopping and starting like an epileptic donkey. I'm switching back to TNT's broadcast of Celtics-Mavs. Here's hoping Marv Albert tells me Boston's team is actually pronounced "Keltics."
- With only a few minutes left in the third, we're pretty close, which is why I'm hanging in on this one instead of watching Lost. Spoilers: Jin isn't dead!
- Doc Rivers gets his second T and is tossed. This leads me to wish someone, somwhere makes a compilation video of NBA coaches getting tossed and posts it on YouTube. As an amateur lip reader, watching coaches shout "Go fuck yourself!" while storming off the court is edutainment.
- After three, the Celts are down by six and Rondo has a triple double. Six techs in the game total, and I'm itching for a hockey fight.
- Celts are down two with just under six left, Mo Williams is an all-star, and Joaquin Phoenix is the new-millenial Crispin Glover.
- Josh Howard gets his sixth foul. Celts up by three. And my cat is fucking lampin' on the carpet. In the history of cold lampin' that fucker only comes second to William Drayton.
- We're down to 1:38 to play...Dirk ties it. He absolutely refuses to step up to the platform of surrender. I'm jonesing for triple OT. Otherwise, I have nothing else to watch while I drink these last few eleven beers.
- Pierce with a sweet fade-away...Nowitzki travels...Pierce CANNOT BE STOPPED...Jerry Stackhouse is on the sideline, wishing he were Juwon Howard...Meanwhile, over in Oakland, it's a massacre...This game is over, and Doug Collins is (again) name dropping Michael Jordan.
Good night, folks. Have a safe Valentine's Day.
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