These Are The Widest Days

Feel the Longform over at AOL, where I rally for the cause of sports-as-entertainment. This is probably my best one yet: the bosses have made it clear that they want these as Shoalsian as possible, and on this one I "voice-ed up" their edits for maximum effect.

I also broach the possibility that LeBron—as a player, and as a viewing proposition—is more hit-or-miss than the Pistons, but that's the price we pay. And also part of why we're willing to pay it.

Found it kind of tickling today that, thanks to Henry, the entire ESPN audience knows how generous OKC was to me with its vinyl. Since that cat is so far out of the proverbial bag, it's time I admit something serious. I hate the Spurs, Pistons, and anything else that passes for "perfect" basketball, because of my own illness.



See, I am a sick man. Among other things, I suffer from some form of obessive-compulsive disorder, primarily when it comes to dog-eared corners on record jackets. Yesterday, I accidentally drove somewhere with a pile in the trunk, and fucked one jacket up some. Then Iater, I was easing off an old corner price tag, and a tiny swath of the cover came off.

I have been tormented by these two things all day, even though the scale of disaster was small and their victims reasonably minor. I've spent a lot of today revisiting LeBron, replaying the game in my head, and having unexpected, though not unrelated, chills in my arms. Nonetheless, I've been bothered by perfection squandered, the line of battle claiming some collateral, and small errors as outweighing cumulative victory.

Now you can see why the FreeDarko brand of basketball is such a psychological release for me. I believe in entertainment, but I believe just as sharply in productive therapy.