6 Thoughts
1) ...aaannnnndddd, we're back! What? Where have we been? Long story - more on that down in #6. Our last post was November 13th - that's like three and a half months ago. Jesus- I knew that game schedule I printed up off the interweb was wrong! Anyways, we are not even going to recap the chunk of the season we missed because we have already done it in emails to most people who read this blog, or at least the ones who know anything about basketball, which isn't that many of you, frankly, and also because it would take a super-long time. Miami was 6-4 when we left off, and feeling like a disaster; after tonight's game, 42-15, so things are looking a lot, you know, better. That should suffice as a recap. Let's just pretend we never left off, shall we? So, without no further ado: Let's Go!
2) The Sacramento Kings, not the most talented group in the world to begin with, came to the game in Miami without talented, but mouth-breathing, and over-over-over shooting lead guard Tyreke Evans, left behind in Sacramento with foot problems (over Christmas, in Connecticut, I had to go "hood up" on a parka to keep the biting cold off of my delicate neck, severely limiting my peripheral vision - "Look, I'm like Tyreke Evans," I pointed out to M.Minutos). Noting Evans' absence, Heat color commentator Tony Fiorentino related that he once considered chopping one of his own feet clear off just to avoid having to make a road trip to Sacramento...just kidding, he loves Sacramento, although he and Eric Reid sounded just a little bit too happy that the Kings are considering relocating to Anaheim next year. When Evans stayed in California, this game was pretty much over. Miami led by 19 after one, it wasn't even really that close, and it didn't get no closer...
3) Out of the Miami starting lineup: Zydrunas Ilgauskas. None too soon since he had become the Heat player most likely to cause a self-inflicted serious head wound in Casa Dos out of frustration with his play. In to the Miami starting lineup: the Screen du Jour, Erick Dampier. Seeking out screening opportunities all over the court. Constantly. Like, all the time...
4) Sacramento rookie DeMarcus Cousins is, how shall we say this, a little bit "spirited." He fights with coaches. He fights with teammates. He fought with his college coach. He is 7 feet tall and takes a ton of bad jump shots. He has the perpetual look of a man who was sitting alone in an empty subway car, and then you entered the subway car, looked around at all the empty seats, and then walked over and sat down right next to him. He is wearing his headband backwards. I mean, he's doin' it all. Eric Reid, in describing him, called him "a very passionate man." Yes, for a borderline psychopath. He also loves fine wines from Provence, Chinese architecture, and slapping small dogs. Love that DeMarcus Cousins - missed his first 8 shots on his way to a solid 3-14 in 28 minutes.
5) The game, as we said, was super-boring, so there was a lot of time to talk about other things for Eric and Tony. You would imagine that they enjoyed All-Star Weekend, right? Especially the dunk contest, right? I mean, Blake Griffin dunked over a car! Oh, no - they did not love that: "I didn't like it at all," grouched Eric, "the dunk contest is getting out of hand when you start bringing props like cars out there. The NBA needs to reel it in and get back to emphasizing the art of dunking..." Wow. You know who loved it, though? DeMarcus Cousins.
6) So. Where. Have. I. Been? Well, it's like this - in late fall I felt like I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown? Why? Because I am an aging angsty white boy - that's what we do! The why is not really important. What is important is how I'm dealing with my problems: therapy! Boy, I love therapy. One hour a week just talking about myself: Love It! There are three things that I especially enjoy about my therapy sessions: 1) Swearing is allowed; 2) My therapist has taught me that feelings are okay. It's okay to be angry. It's okay to be happy. Everything - every thing - is a-ok!...More importantly, in my case, it is also okay to not have feelings! "I don't feel like I have empathy for other people." "Who says you have to have empathy for other people?" "Great!"; 3) Every Tuesday night, after my hour, I drive home on Military Trail in West Palm Beach, making a quick stop at a convenience store at the corner of Military and Belvedere to get a pop for the drive home while I am reveling in my lack of empathy - 'cuz it's okay. I drive by that corner all the time - it is only five miles from my office - but I have never stopped there until I started my therapy. Jeepers Creepers, that's a suspect freakin' place. It doesn't look bad, but it feels bad, I can just feel the danger around that corner - every person on that corner is unsavory, every time I get out of my car, I feel there is a thirty percent chance I'm getting mugged, even though I'm a powerful 6'1", 180 pounds. The dude who works at the counter looks like an Indian Mr. Grinch, and he is constantly in some sort of skirmish with a "customer," tonight a young woman who claimed that she should be allowed to write him a check for a pack of cigarettes because she left her wallet at home, although she, you know, remembered her checkbook. Last week I was standing in line to pay for my pop, I was like second in line, and there were like four people behind me, and this scruffy black gentleman comes in the door, sizes up the line, then comes over to me, hands me a crumpled up dollar and goes, "Bruh, can you just get me a Philly Blunt?" I didn't know what to do - I didn't want to be unhelpful (even though I lack empathy for others), but I could also feel the eyes of the four people in line behind me boring into the back of my skull. Also, I don't really know what a Philly Blunt is - I mean, I have heard of it because Marky Mark is always rapping about it on my- I mean M.Minutos' - ipod, and I assume it is some sort of cigar, but I'm not too sure. By the way, I was the whitest person in the store, by far. So I just kind of say, "yeah," and take the dollar, and then I get up to the front of the line, and put my pop on the counter and tell Indian Grinch, "May I also have a Philly Blunt, please," and he's like, "What flavor," and I'm like, "A Philly Blunt," and he is like, "What. Flavor." And I'm like, "oh," and I just turn to the gentleman waiting over by the door for whom I'm making the purchase, and he is like, "Any flavor, it don't matter," so I turn back to Indian Grinch, and I'm like, "What flavors do you have," and the four people in line behind me make a sound like this: "Uhhhhnmnnfffffckkkkkk..." Finally, Indian Grinch just shoves one small cigar-looking thing on to the counter in front of me, goes, "Peach?" and I look over at my patron in the doorway, and he nods, and I say "Ok," and pay for it, but in my mind I'm thinking, "Peach - kind of faggy..." Anyways, therapy is pretty awesome. I might not be making a lot of progress, technically speaking, but I'm feeling a whole lot better.
See you Thursday night, we will hopefully be continuing to do what we do...
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