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:: Friday, June 13, 2008 ::

:: That Sucked ::
After suffering through mediocre seasons from my Dodgers and abject misery from my 49ers, my Lakers gave me some hope this season that I'll finally witness something that won't make bitter and depressed.

We started strong.

We made a ridiculously one-sided trade in the real, professional sports world that made every wonder how the hell we pulled that off. (If someone even attempted this in a Fantasy League it would be automatically rejected and cause profanity-laced diatribes on the message boards for weeks)

Kobe finally won his MVP.

The Lakers cruised through the playoffs into a finals bout with the Celtics that revitalized the historic feud that peaked and died in the 80s.

The Celtics won the first two games, which was okay because good teams are supposed to win their home games. The Lakers did so in Game 3. We were going to have a good series.

And then THIS happened.

Good thing I was working tonight because even though it was deader than the nerve endings on Briana Bank's vulva, it was less painful than watching this game. If I watched this at a sports bar, I'd have been kicked out for unruly behavior including - but not limited to - excessive shouting, breaking stuff, hurling glasses, and punching anyone wearing green. (And this is the kind of place where coke deals go down in the patio, so you have to really do some dumb shit to get booted.)

If I watched this at home, my TV, tennis racket, various glasses, and several empty bottles of beer would be broken (kinda like my will to live at this point) and the relatively new bottle of Jameson's (1.75) would be drained.

I'm only slightly exaggerating.

As it is now, I'm going to finish my (pint)glass of whisky and stop typing before I really write something I'll regret. If my Lakers lose this series, I'm going to punch myself in the stomach, slam my head against the stove while it's lit, and then hurl my body in front of a bus after I light it on fire. Then once my soul leaves my battered corpse, I'm going to reach out, grab that soul, pull it back down, rip off my charred arm and beat the soul to death with that arm.

If you think I'm being melodramatic, you need to know that we were up by TWENTY FOUR POINTS.

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:: Miscellaneous Ramblings by Dan-E at 2:13 AM [+] :: | 0 comments

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