Saturday, June 14, 2008

Praying For the Boston Choke Party

I sat on my $2.49 oriental rug via Harlem 125th St. in a state of disbelief.
My legs nearly gave out. My palms were sweaty like a virgin's on prom night. My ticker was reacting to the rack of Monster energy drinks I had ripped through in Godzilla-size bites throughout the week.
I gasped for air as the Lakeshow let a considerable edge and the largest first-quarter bulge in NBA finals history dwindle before my very eyes.
Like Gordie in the film Stand By Me, when the boys encounter the dead body in the barren woods (before Ace and his crew come to claim him), I was paralyzed by shock.
This was supposed to be the night that Kobe took over, barrelling his way to the bucket and sniping from beyond the arc to leave Doc Rivers irate and Kevin Garnett exasperated with both himself and those cats sporting "Where's Waldo" unis. KG's two early fouls allowed Lamar Odom--who, according to the Zen Master, looked "lost" in the series prior to this--to morph into the vintage, versatile southpaw that evolved into such a highly-sought after product on the recruiting market before the University of Rhode Island shelled out Jay-Z-like dinero on the then King of Queens.
This was a carbon copy of Game 2--only it was the Celtics that chipped away at the ballooning bulge and re-wrote the second-half script. Unlike the Lakers in Game 2, however, the Celtics would end up on the right side of the scoreboard.
Buck Foston. Buck Foston. Buck Foston.
The Lakeshow held a commanding and convincing lead throughout the first two quarters (shattering the record for the largest first quarter lead in finals history, which was 20. The Lakers were ahead, 35-14, after the first 12 minutes in the glitzy confines of the Staples Center).
Bawston outscored the Lakers 31-15 in a corner-turning, game-altering third quarter that perhaps allowed the momentum to roll throughout the Irish sports 'baws' down in Mass and downtown Bawston.
A bank shot from Leon Powe, the behemoth who bulldozed his way to the cup while morphing into the catalyst and protagonist of Game 2, deadlocked it at 75. The Cs came surging back from a 24-point deficit in wowing form.
Things got scary. Those of us with a penchant for hating anything Boston with the same vitality that they hate us Yankee fans (I'm convinced that the prospect of them hating on our lives is what gets them out of bed in the morning) were starting to get concerned.
It was at this juncture, however, that things began to get interesting.
Kobe, who didn't have to be the veritable superman he was in Game 3 in the first half (Odom and Gasol, both non-factors in Game 3, would account for much of the damage), watched as a search warrant for his jumper was employed.
The Lakers were thrown out of their groove, severely. Still, the game was in their grasp and all they had to do was implement some hounding defense, let Kobe slip back into Hatchet Man and let every other intangible take care of itself.
Odom kissed one off the glass via a Kobe dish, staking the Lakers to a 79-77 edge with six minutes remaining.
Paul Pierce, apparently shaken up from the previous play, grimaced in pain at the other end of the floor as Kobe unleashed a dazzling two-handed flush on a fast break.
Moments later, James Posey splashed a trey from the corner to cut it to 81-80.
On the ensuing possession, Kobe could have demolished a beamer window with the textbook BRICK he put up. The Lakers regained the rock, however, and Gasol connected on a five-footer after Garnett bit on his fake. This crucial bucket allowed L.A. to regain the lead at 83-80.
Eddie House, who played under the legendary Laker coach Pat Riley (who coached the 1993 New York Knickerbocks who fell to Michael Jordan and the Bulls in the Eastern Conference semifinals that year....What, you don't remember that '6 Degrees of Jordan' facet that ESPN.COM used to rock?) during his rookie season with Miami, canned a jumper to give Boston an 84-83 lead.
It was their first lead of the ballgame and it manifested in fascinating, come-from-behind fashion blah, blah, blah you guys still can't pronounce "car" or avoid bragging about how much you alcohol you consume (why do Boston people always memorize their exact dosage of alcohol from the night before? If you were really that twisted how did you manage to calculate every drink you funnelled down your throat? Top-tier clowns you all are.
Anyways, Ray Allen snared a board off a Paul Pierce miss and pulled off a highlight-reel, up-and-under move. For those of you who missed it, Pierce looked like he was going to roll across the baseline and kick it out to someone for a three.
Instead, he leapt into the air and--floating somewhere between the surface and sky-- unleashed the nifty, acrobatic move before diving to the floor.
That's when I had a sudden self-revelation. I could no longer watch these NBA finals. On a night where the Lakers are head-and-shoulders better then their opponent for the first 30 minutes and can't crawl away with a W.......................
I don't want to hear these Jonathan Papelbon-worshipping cats self-boast about this until November arrives. It's just not right. G-men=world champions. What what! "Our team is done, 18-and1!" Clowns.
When I mustered the audacity to turn the t.v. back on and face my fear, Boston now held a three-point lead that they would only cushion in an otherworldly turnaround while the Lakers went Alaska-cold from the field.
My evening didn't get much better. I inhaled another Monster and then saw a movie about...well, a big green monster.
If only they made movies today like they did in the 90's. I like Reservoir Dogs Tim Roth (Mr. Orange) much more than I like Godzilla Tim Roth, I'll put it that way. You don't get much better acting than Tim Roth in Reservoir Dogs (Remember the commode story? That whole saga he memorized was pretty tight and indicative of Tarantino's uncanny yet elite dialogue)
Now Liv Tyler is smoking like a Cheech and Chong film, but is it really worth it to pay 10 bucks to see her in such a lackluster role?
If every film today wasn't the most intellectually-devoid piece on the planet, this smokeshow might be cast into some better roles.
Rest In Peace to Tim Russert, you are an inspiration to us all. You will be sorely missed.