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April 22, 2007

Take That, Evil Lakers!

Somewhere toward the end of the first quarter, I stormed off toward the kitchen, saying, "They're gonna blow it, oh man! This entire year, eight months, wasted! Worthless, overpaid, grumble grumble, and Diaw has just been horrible..."

"Daddy," Elijah said. "Stop whining."

"Touche," said Regina.

"What does touche mean?" Elijah asked.

"It means you got daddy good."

"I got you good, daddy."

"Yeah, yeah," I said.

Elijah replied,

"Now I'm going to throw the Lakers in the trash. Then I'm going to eat them as a sandwich, but an evil sandwich because they're made of evil meat. Then I'm going to turn them into lightbulbs and they'll have to light our whole house while we're making fun of them. Take that, evil Lakers!"

Then coach put in Barbosa, and there was joy in Sunsville.

Suns 95, Lakers 87.




It's funny to see how children react to sporting events and how they take cues from their parents.

My daughter revels in watching the Red Wings, my childhood hometown team. She casts aspersions and imprecations upon their opponents. Not bad for a five-year old.

When I was a lad, I was a huge Phillies fan. I guess I still am. My father and younger brother were longtime Dodger fans (a relative of mine used to be radio announcer for the Brooklyn Dodgers). Invariably, the Dodgers and Phillies would meet in the NLCS. One year when I was about six or seven, as the Dodgers were crushing my dreams, I sought out my mother's sympathetic ear and, through my tears, said, "Mom, those Dodgers are real fuckers." Consequently, I learned to associate the bitter taste of defeat with bar soap.

Hate Lakers. Love Suns. Me Happy.

One down, 15 to go!

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