My sister called last night with the news that I'd missed watching one of the greatest basketball games of all time. I knew that. Instead, I'd followed the Suns 161-157 double-overtime win over the Nets (the fourth-highest-scoring game in NBA history) via ESPN GameCast, which is just a step too slow. But my sister and brother-in-law had me to thank for the fact that they were able to bear witness.

To allow Regina extra time to paint butterflies on custom-made picture frames, I've been dragging Elijah out to Encino a couple of afternoons a week. There lives his cousin Alison, and there Elijah can disappear into Ali's bedroom for a couple of hours to dance around to some of the most godawful kids' music ever recorded. Meanwhile, I sit on my sister's couch and complain that there's nothing on TV. Or at least I did.

"What are you complaining about?" said my sister. "I feed your son and give him a bath. I even wash his hair."

"It's not enough," I said.

One evening last week, I saw that the Suns and Rockets were scheduled to play on NBA TV. But my sister's TV plan didn't receive that channel.

"Hey, Margot," I said.

"What do you want?" she said, with more than a touch of wary bitterness in her voice.

"Didn't you say you wanted to get Lloyd the NBA League Pass for Chanukah?"

"Yeah..."

"Is there any chance you could give him an early Chanukah present?"

"Maybe."

"You'd better hurry up, then," I said. "The game starts in an hour and a half."

And thus I got to watch as much of the Suns-Rockets game as I could. At some point, I had to leave because Elijah reached the portion of the evening where he writhes on the floor and claws at his eyes. But I was back a few nights later to watch the Suns put the blocks to Sacramento. Of course, I missed the instant classic against New Jersey, but there will be more. At this very moment, the Suns have put up 24 on an admittedly inferior Boston team with five minutes left in the first quarter. That offense is cookin' now! I never thought I'd write this sentence, but it looks like I'll be heading out to Encino as often as possible.

All this, of course, is prelude to another awesome Elijah story.

Elijah, Ali, and I were horsing around on my sister's bed. It's what Elijah and I call playing rough, but Ali is a bit more fragile than my son, who enjoys getting dropped on his head, so the game gets a little less rough at her place. .

"Let's make a movie," Elijah said.

"Where's the movie?" said Ali, as she gazed toward her parents' bedroom TV.

"No, Ali, we're going to pretend to be in a movie," I said.

"What movie? Where's the movie?"

"Our movie!" Elijah said.

"When's the movie going to be on?" said Ali.

"We're in the movie," I said.

"We're in the movie?" she asked.

"Yes."

"What movie?"

"OK, Ali," said Elijah, taking control. "It's a superhero movie. You're Hawkgirl and I'm Orange Lantern."

"Orange Lantern?" I said. "What does he do?"

"He burns people with an orange iron," said Elijah.

"Then why isn't he called Orange Iron?"

"Because he's not."

"OK. So what's our movie called, Elijah?"

"Borat!" he said.

Where he heard about Borat, I don't know. And I don't care. I'm just glad it's in his vocabulary. As long as he doesn't start singing "Throw The Jew Down The Well" at school, I think we'll be fine.

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