My love of basketball was originally a coping mechanism I developed when I married and was subjected to hours and hours of it weekly. After playing along with a fake smile for a few years, I finally forgot it was an act and now my little soul has been sucked in. I have no complaints. Life is better with basketball.
I hate watching any other sports on t.v. but find basketball to be enthralling. Probably because you really get to see the individual players' emotions and every player has a unique style. Football creeps me out because of the see-through spandex, golf is just plain ridiculous (can we say white-collar ninnies?) and tennis is too way polite despite Rodick's childish temper tantrums. But in basketball you get a healthy blend of all the things you love about athletes. There are no "excessive celebration" penalties, no rules against trying to distract the other team with jeers and unflattering pictures of their moms, and best of all, appropriate attire! It kills me that beach volley ball players wear bikinis. Even worse that golfers wear $500 polo shirts and don't even get me started on those anachronistic baseball uniforms. Men in stirrups and knee socks? Los Angeles is not pleased.
But thanks to the Fab Five at the University of Michigan all those years ago, basketball has finally gotten it all just right! Although some ballers try to pretend they are gentlemen in their $10,000 suits, their cover is blown once they open their mouths to speak and you get a glimpse of their latest and greatest grill. These boys are professionals at embracing their inner beasts and raising hell on the court. Did anyone catch that riot on the Piston's court a couple years ago? Players running into the stand beating up the crowd? It was breathtaking (you know you want to watch the video). Horrifying, but breathtaking. Who are these guys and how can we get more of them? And Ron Artest's little habit of pantsing people in the middle of a play? Brilliant!
So now I have my own little fantasy team which I've named The Hollywood Chiggers and obsess over daily. I made a snazzy team logo, feel justifiably superior to everyone in my league who I'm beating, and check my players' status every night before bed. When one of my players is suspended, I'm outraged that he could be so thoughtless of me. When my little Josh Howard sprained his ankle last week I honestly thought about sending him flowers. Of course, the crown jewel of my team is my hero, Dirk Nowitzki, the German billygoat in sneakers. He was the only guy I really wanted out of the draft and a month later I'm still blushing that I get to call him mine. The only thorn in my side is that darn LeBron James* who, in my humble opinion, is the most exciting person to play basketball in the past 20 years. King James is not on my team and it is with some regret that I watch his highlights on t.v. everynight. Oh, to own such a man.
But really, does anyone else care about basketball as much as I do? Rather than subject you to more gushing about my wonderful beasts, I'll wrap it up for the night. Let it not be said that I didn't blog every day in November. Thirteen more days to go!
* wants me to give him credit here for having LeBron on his team and having a great logo as well. His team name is "Charlton Heston is my Moses" and he wanted the blue cross thingy as his logo. Are you happy, ? Credit given. And he loves these little asterisk thingies.