Monday, March 21, 2011

Late Night Fantasy Basketball

I looked in the freezer for ice. Nothing. Scotch, no rocks then. I felt a drunken confidence about my team I'd not felt since I told myself Brandon Jennings was a "steal" in the fifth round on draft day. I'd gone into the playoffs second overall and managed to squeak thru the first round 5-4 on all the small ball cats. A couple nervous moments when I was down 6-3 on Saturday night, but Sunday games from a few of my key guards smoothed things over and put me into next week against a tough 6th place team that had somehow started Tyreke Evens, even though he wasn't due back until late March. It was a good feeling. I had money riding on this one. The kind of money you don't want to lose or very bad men would come looking for it. Money I didn't have. I made a few calls just in case, first to my opponent, then to Carlos Boozer and the rest of his starting forwards. "Hello Carlos....It's not important who this is.....Don't steal any minutes from Taj Gibson this week or things could get very ugly for Tom Thibodeau in the coach of the year race!"
I hung up satisfied and poured myself another warm scotch, reflecting on the nausea I felt from being forced to start Ron Artest for another god damn week. He'd do for now. My whole team would. But it was unacceptable against the powerhouse number one ranked team I would meet in the finals. A team that had sleepwalked through the season and won the first round 8-1 like it was carrying in the groceries for dinner. No, I'd need to take drastic measures if this season was gonna climax into a championship, need to do something rash. I took a drink and made another call, this one all the way to the White House....

1 comment:

  1. Hey we've all been there. No ice for the scotch. Nothing good can ever come of it. Just bad decisions and wrong number after wrong number.