The pain of the octopus
Sad to say that i couldn't really get in the right state of mind for last night's games. First of all, having Lakers/Suns and Wizards/Cavs unloading on each other back-to-back sort of made me take the two for granted. Secondly, no matter what she says, there's no way my girl likes it when I show up in town and then promptly quarantine myself from 7-12:30. But the really fuck in my socks came in the form of two totally unholy forms of discovery, which I will detail below:
1. The sad football news out of Houston. I don't really mess with "real football;" to me, one of the four great perks of moving to H-Town was going to be witnessing Reggie Bush on a weekly televised basis. I know that I could rack up 1,000 yards in the Denver system, that Carr, Andre, Moulds, and Davis are a pretty darn adequate cadre of skill players, and that real men need defense, and that, like Kubiak said, they're never going to be able to outgun the Colts. And while I want to believe that Bush will change football forever, these ultimate weapons don't always translate into the pros. But I don't want to be the city missing out on this on the big stage. Incidentally, I saw some scouting schmoe's site refer to Gayle Sayers as "Black Magic," which might be the best nickname ever.
I wonder, though, why it is that football itself is having so much trouble with this pick. Isn't it the NBA that's supposed to be concerned only with meaningless highlights and superluous talent? Don't winning and losing dictate interest, not flash? Maybe it would get a lot of these holier-than-thou NFL fans to quit bitching if you accused them of sounding like NBA'ers.
And not to harp on the fumes raised by my McSweeney's joint this week, but how come "physical playoff basketball" is the very stuff of manhood, but the Brawl is thuggery incarnate? Watching "classy guys" in the Lakers and Suns bare their teeth time and time again, I had no clue what made some moments "competitive" and others "uncalled for." This goes hand-in-hand with another question raised by last night: what to think of LeBron dropping forty in the playoffs? Are they the playoffs, which means the points count double? Or are the refs still favoring offense like they supposedly did throughout the season? Seems like yet another case where too much contrast between the two phases lends itself to incoherence.
Suns like weak, floundering; Lakers have found something, but it may not be there in round 2. The Wizards/Cavs game was similiar—somewhere between the first two, reminding us that storylines must cool before they rise up with certainty.
2. The other cause of death: apparently, two people who live in my girlfriend's complex have complained to the landlord that I've been seen in "in my underwear in the common area." Apparently, old running shorts on laundry night is a little too risque for them—like they don't live two minutes from the heart of the state's mightiest gay district!!! And if they're really so worried about the moral fiber of their block, they might want to take notice of the dude in the next building's courtyard who'll serve anyone (Houston's eternally feeble patterns of gentrification) or the multiple registered sex offenders on the block (ask your gov't). Fuck this town.
Actually, this Texans thing is perfect. A city that in the end is run by bland, rational, business-minded concerns that trump the will to style. And Bush drops to a team that needs him just as desperately but is savvy enough to realize it. Culture, bitch.
Leinart to Arizona is beyond perfect. . . why does he look so down?
PS: Not they need anyone to link to them, but Deadspin weekenders MJD and MDS are doing some amazing things with the tricky project of internet draft coverage as we speak. Salute!