These NBA playoff games are killing me.
With the Timberwolves playing out in California against the Kings, their games are finishing up at about 1 in the morning. I’m that rube that can’t seem to walk away from the game once I’ve started watching it, and so I’m averaging about five or six hours of sleep on game nights, which isn’t nearly enough for me. It’s not so bad when the Wolves win – at least then I can go to sleep feeling satisfied. It sucks, however, when they commit 76 turnovers and lose like they did last night. I went to bed annoyed, and woke up feeling worn out. When I looked in the mirror this morning at the bags under my eyes I realized that if the Wolves make it much farther in the playoffs I’m going to begin looking like Keith Richards.
Looking like Keith wouldn’t be all bad, though. I could probably start getting away with breaking the dress code at work by wearing unbuttoned silk leopard-print shirts. I’d also look into the possibility of carrying a massive knife everywhere I went and begin the practice of mumbling incoherently. As the Wolves advance deeper into the playoffs, I would delve deeper into my newfound heroin addiction and destroy my nasal passages by doing enough cocaine to kill a pony.
This is what playoff basketball is all about – sacrifice, pain, and fan deterioration. If the Wolves were to reach the NBA Finals, I would begin aging more rapidly than the bad guy at the end of Indiana Jones & The Last Crusade (“What’s h-happening to me?”). But I’m committed. My enjoyment of sports is more important than the destruction and decay of my body. Looking like the ancient, mummified husk of a man rather than a living, breathing person is such a small price to pay for momentary excitement.
I haven’t talked with Bridgette about all of this yet. I’m thinking that I probably should. I’d just like to make sure that she’d still be interested in dating a man who resembles an old leather wallet with indistinct speech.
Word has it that Keith Richards will be play Captain Jack Sparrow’s father in the Pirates of the Caribbean sequel. Thought you’d dig that…
Jason-
Yes I have heard that, and no, I don’t dig it.
Thanks for nothing.
You and my roommate Brian have this sacrificial committment to the T-wolves. Perhaps he could pull off a Mick Jagger look.
Hey Peter, can you pick up some milk on the way home tonight? We’re all out.
Since the Wild didn’t go far into the postseason [hey, neither did the B's], I wondered when your budding relationship would be tested by sports. I had a fear that it would go until the NFL season, but now I know:
You’re about to get to make her into a Sports Fan’s Girlfriend.
This’ll be fun.
I watched the Miami/Indiana game.. but I couldnt make it through the T-wolves game… sucks they lost… I guess you didnt suffer enough to make them win.. thanks peter.. really.. thanks…
You’re about to get to make her into a Sports Fan’s Girlfriend.
Oh boy. If that’s the case then I think I’m in trouble…
Peter knows better than that…well if he didn’t know before, he does now.
…well, I’ve officially been scolded publicly.
Must be bad karma for all my years of sowing alienation and awkardness.
Andrew, that’s no problem, I definitely can pick up some milk. I will also buy you a new stereo and pay you double rent next month. In addition, I hereby commit to massaging your feet with oil on a monthly basis, and to pop your zits for you, even if they’re on your back. I look forward to this new chapter in our lives! See you tonight!
I also meant to ask you if we can throw away the Washcloth rag you have on a stick you use for cleaning yourself? It’s really begining to smell.