Benny Jay: Howling At The Moon

I get a call at seven thirty or so from Norm. He's at the Bulls game with his stepdaughter, Audrey.

He tells me it's halftime and the Bulls are losing by eleven to Miami.

Damn! I hate Miami. I don't want to hear about it. I don't want to face another Bulls loss. I can't take this season. Win one, lose one, win one, lose two -- the inconsistency is driving me nuts.

Norm starts in about Ben Gordon: too short, can't play d, can't dribble....

I can't take it anymore. I love Ben Gordon.

We hang up. I get busy. Time passes. I forget about the Bulls.

I go to the kitchen to have a delicious glass of chocolate milk.

I turn on the radio. There's six seconds left in the game. Bulls down by three. And Ben Gordon has been fouled in the act of shooting a three-point shot. Can you believe this! He's going to the free-throw line to shoot three free throws and possibly tie the game.

I turn off the radio. Too scared to listen. Then I think -- be a man! I turn it on again.

Gordon dribbles three times. Takes a Breath. Shoots. Good!

I pick up an orange and start tossing it in the air.

Gordon dribbles, breathes, shoots -- Good, again!

I close my eyes. I hold my breath. I cross my fingers. I say: "Please, please, please...."

Gordon breathes. Shoots. Good!

He did it. He did it. He did it. Ben Gordon tied the game!

I call Norm.

No answer.

I leave a message: "I told you not to hate on Ben...."

I rush back to the radio. Miami's inbounding the ball. Chalmers looks, looks, looks -- he throws it in. Intercepted by Hinrich. Bulls ball; Bulls ball.....

The crowd's howling. I'm howling. I call Norm. No answer. I jump up and down. I sing. I dance. I rework the Cubs fight song, which I sing as I loudly clap along: "Go, Bulls, go; go, Bulls, go -- hey, Chicago, what do you say, the Bulls are gonna win today...."

Nicky, the dog, comes into the kitchen. I pound her on the back: "The Bulls have the ball, Nicky; the Bulls have the ball....."

The commercial ends. The teams return to the court. Six seconds left. The Bulls have a chance to win the game.

Thabo Sefalosha's inbounding. He's looking to pass it in. He's looking.....

"Pass the ball," I yell.

He throws it away. Miami's ball. "Noooo!" I yell. "Noooooooo!"

I actually moan.

The phone rings. It's my older daughter calling from Iowa. She's been watching the game on TNT. "Can you believe this?" she says.

"They threw away the ball," I say.

"I know, but what a great game...."

"I can't believe Thabo threw it away...."

I don't wanna listen. But I do. Wade gets the ball. He throws it to Marion. He dunks. Bull lose.

I turn off the radio. I slump in a chair. I can't talk. Norm calls. But I'm too sad too talk. I walk the dog. I call my daughter. "I'll call you tomorrow," she tells me. "I'm going to a friend's...."

She's already over it -- she forgot about this game as soon as it was over. But not me. I can't forget.

I walk on. I don't even feel the cold. I take out my phone. I start to call Milo. I need to talk to someone. I'm halfway through dialing when I realize -- he goes to bed early. He's probably asleep. He's too smart to stay up late for this crap. I put away my phone and keep walking.

This love for the Bulls -- it's insane. It's irrational. I'm a lunatic. It's a curse.

I make a decision. That's it. It's over. No more. From here on out, I'm through with the Bulls.

I look at the moon and I howl....