A Thirty-Year Investment Finally Pays Off
It's difficult for me, a man who considers himself one of history's great underdogs, to accept the fact that my two favorite sports teams are at the top of their respective leagues and are, in fact, so dominant that for the first time in my life no one is able to make fun of them. I've followed The Los Angeles Dodgers and The Phoenix Suns with deep-rooted faith and transcendent passion for the last 30 years, and have received mediocre payback. The Suns went to the Finals in 1993, led by Charles Barkley at his impish playboy best, but got trumped by bald black Jesus and his first crew of disciples. The Dodgers won a title in 1981, a strike year, and 1988, when it was immediately decided that they were the worst team ever to win the World Series. Otherwise, there have been more than enough playoff games to keep me interested, but nothing to satiate me. I never felt like, say, Iraq compared to the United States, but more like Holland, a pretty successful sports fan country that always had to get out of the way of the mighty Lakers/Yankees jackboot.
Now, the Suns enter the NBA playoffs with the best record in the league, the number-one seed, home-court advantage throughout. How am I supposed to deal with that? This is no ordinary team. This is one of those teams that changes how a sport is played. The Suns are a bad-ass high-speed New Jack basketball ballet, led by a self-effacing Canadian guy who actually criticized the war with Iraq when it started and a droopy Southerner who has a vertical leap of about 100 feet and looks as though he smokes about an ounce of the Chron before every game. Then there's Amare Stoudemire, who is the living definition of bad-ass confidence on the court, and is a quote machine. "I have a tendency to elevate and dunk on people," he said recently. Indeed you do, Amare. The team's FIFTH scoring option tied for the league lead in three-pointers while still being engaged to a perky but talentless midlist sitcom star. You will have to endure reading about the Suns, if you read this dum-dum space at all, until June.
Meanwhile, over in Major League Baseball, the Dodgers are 12-2, hammering the hell out of every team they play, seemingly unable to lose a game, staging insane comebacks, getting great pitching and clutch hits, and generally confounding all the moron pundits (led by the inevitably wrong Joe Morgan) who said the team would be a disaster this year. But apparently, the Harvard-trained computer brain that put them together knows what he's doing. I also love the fact that my favorite player, Milton Bradley, is leading the charge instead of getting into fistfights with fans and ripping off his jersey on the field during important September games. My other favorite player is Carlos Zambrano of the Cubs, who also has a bad tendency to throw inside at key moments.
Hmm. Why do I like the talented players whose excessive tempers subvert their skills and good intentions? That doesn't make any sense at all...
Anyway, for the time being, I'm one of those assholes who paint their faces with team colors. Will whore for playoff tickets. Now, let's crush those Grizzlies (not a real team)!