For game five of the Bulls-Celtics playoff series, I go to Plan B -- or is it C? -- in order to keep myself from losing my mind: Inebriation.
If you recall, my first plan -- not watching the game -- didn't really work. I wound up making a fool of myself in front of a bunch of track-and-field fans. My second plan -- reading while watching -- was a complete failure. I came close to going insane.
I figure this time I'll get drunk. That ought to do the trick. I mean, it's done wonders for so many other people down through the ages.
So I go over to Norm's house and his lady friend, Sandy, couldn't be nicer. Feeds me pizza and bean dip -- uhm, that stuff is dee-li-cious! And I bring over an 18-pack of Budweiser, cause that's Norm's favorite beer.
I down one and then I down another. And by the third quarter I'm into my third -- which for me is serious boozing. I'm feeling no pain. Feeling groovy. Definitely enjoying the company. It's me and Norm and his daughter, Audrey, and his friends, the double Bs -- Brian and Brian. After the half, Milo comes by. What a great game. Back and forth they go. Up one, down one, up three, down three and so on and so forth.
At the start of the fourth the Bulls go on a mini run and take an eleven-point lead. But you know how it goes with the champs -- they make their own run. Cut the lead to eight, five, three. Next thing you know we're in overtime -- again.
They go up and we fight back. But we can't stop Paul Pierce. He hits one, two, three -- four cold-blooded, killer shots in the O.T. We're down two with three seconds left and coach Vinny Del Negro calls a time out and sets up this play. They fake an inbounds pass to Ben Gordon, but they throw it to Brad Miller, the back-up center. Is that brilliant or what? He's the last guy Boston thinks will get the ball. They probably forgot he was even on the court -- probably think I'll get the pass before Brad Miller.
Miller's got an open lane to the basket, just like Vinny planned. All he has to do is run in and slam it home and the game's tied and we're going to double overtime -- just like last game.
And he's running. At least, I think he's running. I mean, that is running -- isn't it? It's hard to tell cause he's so freaking slow -- Brad Miller has got to be the slowest man in basketball. And by the time he makes it to the basket the Celtics have closed in on him and as he rises to lay it in Rajon Rondo whacks him across the face. I mean, we're talking solid punch to the face. Knocks him down. It should be a flagrant -- two free throws and the ball on the side. But the refs don't call flagrant. They call a regular foul. Which means Miller's got two free throws to tie the score with two seconds left.
"How can that not be a mutha-fuckin' flagrant foul?" says Norm.
"He popped him in the face!" says Brian.
Miller goes to the sideline to wipe away the blood. And they stitch him up to stop the bleeding. And he staggers back to the line and he misses. Of course, he misses. You try shooting a free throw after getting smacked in the face. And the Bulls lose.
There's not much to say. We just stare at the TV. We've devoted over three hours of our lives to this gut-wrenching basketball game and now it's over and we've lost. There's nothing we can say cause what can you say. I feel like a boxer who's been through fifteen rounds with the champ. Too stunned to talk, too exhausted to cry. Too many blows to the head.
Milo leaves. Audrey goes to her computer. But Norm, Brian, Bee and I just keep staring at the tube. They're replaying the footage of Rondo whacking Miller in the head -- over and over and over.
"Can you believe this shit?" says Norm.
"No," I say.
"He fouled him," says Brian.
"Just smacked him in head," I say.
"Ain't that a bitch," says Norm.
I get it together to get on up and get my coat and head out to my car. On the radio, they're playing "Purple Rain" by Prince. I crank up the volume so it's blasting out of my brain: "Purple Rain, Purple Rain, I only want to see you in the Purple Rain...."
I've watched so many basketball games for so many years, you'd think I'd get tired of it. But I don't. Just the opposite. The more I watch, the more I want to watch. Just keep coming back. There's something about the way they go at it. I think of Brad Miller. The man took a fist to the face. Hit me like that and I'm in the hospital for a week. But Brad Miller? He just wipes off the blood and takes his free throw. Yeah, he missed it. But he took it.
Keep coming back. Never quit. Bulls got game six on Thursday. Win that and it's game seven on Saturday. Lose either one? Well, take the summer off and come on back next year.
Showing posts with label Paul Pierce. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Paul Pierce. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Benny Jay: Fit Me For A Straitjacket
I wanna try something different for game four of the Bulls-Celtics playoff series.
As you may recall, last time I didn't watch it. This time I'll watch it but I won't care. I'm serious. I'll be indifferent. I'll lie on the sofa and half watch while I read a book. Yeah, that's it. I'll catch up on "Clockers," Richard Price's novel. Every now and then I'll look up just to, you know, check on the score....
I get through exactly one paragraph as the Bulls race off to a strong start. I'm too excited to read. I'm on my feet, clapping and cheering and talking to the TV. I'm telling the Bulls to calm down, like they can hear me. Or like they would listen to me if they could. I'm working the refs, telling them to call it both ways -- "he hacked, ref -- he hacked" -- and not just against the Bulls....
I'm alone in the house. Just me and the dog. And she's sleeping....
Near the end of the first quarter, I call Milo. He says he's not watching, like he's got more important things to do. Ha! I know different. I bet he's watching. I bet he just wants me to think he's not watching. I bet he just wants me to think he doesn't care about the Bulls as much as I care about the Bulls because he doesn't want me to know that he's as big a loser as I am. But, I'm on to you, Milo. I know you're watching. Oh, yes, I know....
At the end of the first half, the Bulls, up by two, leave Ray Allen wide open -- and I mean, absolutely all alone -- behind the three-point line in the corner. He drains the three, and I throw up my hands. Ray Allen is simply one of the greatest three-point shooters in the game. Why oh, why, oh, why would you leave him -- of all people -- open for a three?
That's it. I can watch no longer. I walk to the video store. I tell the video store guy how much I love Roman Polanski. He tells me a good Roman Polanski movie to watch. I can see right away that he's one of those guys who doesn't care about sports. Probably thinks that anyone who cares about sports is weird. Which we are. Talking to him about Roman Polanski is my way of proving to myself that I'm really not some weird guy who's obsessed with the Bulls. Except, of course, I am....
On the way home, I duck into a corner bar to catch up on the score. Bulls up one. Good! On I walk, enjoying the foliage and the twittering birds. Cause that's what normal people do on a nice spring day. They don't sit inside and watch the Bulls on TV. They enjoy nature....
When I get home, I think -- I'll just take another peek. Bulls up by five. Oh, that's good. Then Boston scores a bunch in a row. Glen `Big Baby' Davis hits a basket. I used to like Big Baby -- cause he's fat. And, generally, I like fat basketball players. But now I curse him -- the big fat pig. What can I say -- it's the playoffs....
It's a back-and-forth affair: Bulls up one, down one, up two, down three. At commercials, I pretend I'm Derrick Rose and I've just intercepted a pass. I imagine that I score a bunch of points in a row and that we -- the Bulls -- are running away with the game. I know I need help. I'm sure there's a doctor I can talk to or pills I can take. Maybe I should try a different hobby....
Bulls up three. Seconds left in the fourth quarter. Rajon Rondo has the ball for Boston. He dribbles right. He passes back to Ray Allen, who -- no! -- is open. I mean, wide open. I mean, so freaking wide open that he has enough time to shower and shave before the closest Bull can run to him. He shoots. He hits. All net. What do you expect? He's open. Why would the Bulls leave Ray Allen open -- again? Noooooooo....
In the first overtime, Boston goes up. I can't bear to watch. I settle on a new strategy. I'll run out of the room when Boston has the ball and I'll come back when I think the Bulls have the ball. That way I minimize the bad things and maximize the good things that I see. Great idea. Can't believe I didn't think of this before. And so I go -- in the room, out of the room, in, out, in, out....
Bulls down three. Seconds left. John Salmons to Ben Gordon. He dribbles right. He fires up a three -- good! Yes! Yes! Yes! Double overtime....
The Bulls score first. They score again. There's a commercial. I pick up the clutter in the living room. I empty the dishwasher. I gather up newspapers and dump them in the recycling bin. If there were a Bulls game every day, the house would be spick-and-span....
Bulls up three. Seconds left. Paul Pierce shoots. John Salmons blocks the shot! Game over. Bulls win! Bulls win! In double overtime. Playoff series tied at two. Next game in Boston....
I jump up and down. I sing, "Go Bulls, go." A song, by the way, that I made up. A song that only I know. I call Norm. I call Milo. I call Johnny. I call Daddy Dee. I suddenly remember that after every Bulls home win the radio interviews a player on the court. I rush to the radio just as they're finishing their interview with Joakim Noah.
"Finally, Joakim," the announcer is saying, "what about these fans?"
"Off the hook," says Joakim. "Off the hook."
If he only knew -- lord, lord, lord, if he only knew....
As you may recall, last time I didn't watch it. This time I'll watch it but I won't care. I'm serious. I'll be indifferent. I'll lie on the sofa and half watch while I read a book. Yeah, that's it. I'll catch up on "Clockers," Richard Price's novel. Every now and then I'll look up just to, you know, check on the score....
I get through exactly one paragraph as the Bulls race off to a strong start. I'm too excited to read. I'm on my feet, clapping and cheering and talking to the TV. I'm telling the Bulls to calm down, like they can hear me. Or like they would listen to me if they could. I'm working the refs, telling them to call it both ways -- "he hacked, ref -- he hacked" -- and not just against the Bulls....
I'm alone in the house. Just me and the dog. And she's sleeping....
Near the end of the first quarter, I call Milo. He says he's not watching, like he's got more important things to do. Ha! I know different. I bet he's watching. I bet he just wants me to think he's not watching. I bet he just wants me to think he doesn't care about the Bulls as much as I care about the Bulls because he doesn't want me to know that he's as big a loser as I am. But, I'm on to you, Milo. I know you're watching. Oh, yes, I know....
At the end of the first half, the Bulls, up by two, leave Ray Allen wide open -- and I mean, absolutely all alone -- behind the three-point line in the corner. He drains the three, and I throw up my hands. Ray Allen is simply one of the greatest three-point shooters in the game. Why oh, why, oh, why would you leave him -- of all people -- open for a three?
That's it. I can watch no longer. I walk to the video store. I tell the video store guy how much I love Roman Polanski. He tells me a good Roman Polanski movie to watch. I can see right away that he's one of those guys who doesn't care about sports. Probably thinks that anyone who cares about sports is weird. Which we are. Talking to him about Roman Polanski is my way of proving to myself that I'm really not some weird guy who's obsessed with the Bulls. Except, of course, I am....
On the way home, I duck into a corner bar to catch up on the score. Bulls up one. Good! On I walk, enjoying the foliage and the twittering birds. Cause that's what normal people do on a nice spring day. They don't sit inside and watch the Bulls on TV. They enjoy nature....
When I get home, I think -- I'll just take another peek. Bulls up by five. Oh, that's good. Then Boston scores a bunch in a row. Glen `Big Baby' Davis hits a basket. I used to like Big Baby -- cause he's fat. And, generally, I like fat basketball players. But now I curse him -- the big fat pig. What can I say -- it's the playoffs....
It's a back-and-forth affair: Bulls up one, down one, up two, down three. At commercials, I pretend I'm Derrick Rose and I've just intercepted a pass. I imagine that I score a bunch of points in a row and that we -- the Bulls -- are running away with the game. I know I need help. I'm sure there's a doctor I can talk to or pills I can take. Maybe I should try a different hobby....
Bulls up three. Seconds left in the fourth quarter. Rajon Rondo has the ball for Boston. He dribbles right. He passes back to Ray Allen, who -- no! -- is open. I mean, wide open. I mean, so freaking wide open that he has enough time to shower and shave before the closest Bull can run to him. He shoots. He hits. All net. What do you expect? He's open. Why would the Bulls leave Ray Allen open -- again? Noooooooo....
In the first overtime, Boston goes up. I can't bear to watch. I settle on a new strategy. I'll run out of the room when Boston has the ball and I'll come back when I think the Bulls have the ball. That way I minimize the bad things and maximize the good things that I see. Great idea. Can't believe I didn't think of this before. And so I go -- in the room, out of the room, in, out, in, out....
Bulls down three. Seconds left. John Salmons to Ben Gordon. He dribbles right. He fires up a three -- good! Yes! Yes! Yes! Double overtime....
The Bulls score first. They score again. There's a commercial. I pick up the clutter in the living room. I empty the dishwasher. I gather up newspapers and dump them in the recycling bin. If there were a Bulls game every day, the house would be spick-and-span....
Bulls up three. Seconds left. Paul Pierce shoots. John Salmons blocks the shot! Game over. Bulls win! Bulls win! In double overtime. Playoff series tied at two. Next game in Boston....
I jump up and down. I sing, "Go Bulls, go." A song, by the way, that I made up. A song that only I know. I call Norm. I call Milo. I call Johnny. I call Daddy Dee. I suddenly remember that after every Bulls home win the radio interviews a player on the court. I rush to the radio just as they're finishing their interview with Joakim Noah.
"Finally, Joakim," the announcer is saying, "what about these fans?"
"Off the hook," says Joakim. "Off the hook."
If he only knew -- lord, lord, lord, if he only knew....
Monday, April 20, 2009
Benny Jay: Cell Phone Play by Play
I wasn't gonna watch game one of the Bulls-Celtics playoff series. After the Bulls looked awful losing the last game of the regular season to the dreadful Toronto Raptors, I sent Milo an e-mail announcing that I was officially through with these worthless bums -- forever!
Plus, I had a track meet to attend. So I'm sitting on the aluminum bleachers of Hanson Stadium watching the 4/200 meter relay when Norm calls.
"You watching this?" he asks.
"No, I'm at a track meet," I say. "How bad are we losing?"
"We're not losing -- we're winning. In Boston -- we're beating them in Boston, Benny...."
"No...."
"Yes...."
"How much?"
"Up three...."
"Oh, my God -- call me back. Keep me posted!"
A few minutes later, he calls back: "We're down one. Nine seconds left. Derrick at the line...."
"Oh, my God!"
"What?" says Daddy Dee, who's sitting next to me.
"Rose on the line," I tell him.
"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" says Norm.
I interpret this as a made free throw. "Bulls tied it," I tell Daddy Dee.
"Whee! Yeah!" says Norm. "Derrick Rose...."
I interpret this as another made free throw. "Bulls up one," I tell Daddy Dee.
"Celtics call time out," says Norm. "I'll call you back...."
A few minutes later, my cell phone vibrates. "Yeah?" I say.
"Damn," says Norm.
"No," I say.
"What happened?" asks Daddy Dee.
"Noah fouled Pierce with two seconds left," says Norm.
"No!" I say.
"Yes!" says Norm.
"Damn!" I say.
"What?" asks Daddy Dee.
I fill him in: "Noah fouled Pierce. Two seconds left. Pierce on the line. If he makes `em both, the Bulls lose...."
"Tied," says Norm.
"He made the first," I tell Daddy Dee.
"He missed," screams Norm. "He missed! The Truth missed, Benny!"
"Overtime," I tell Daddy Dee.
"Keep me posted," I tell Norm.
My phone vibrates -- Norm again: "We're up two in the OT...."
"Just stay on the line," I say. "I can't take this anymore. I need the play by play...."
"Okay, Rose has the ball," says Norm. "No. Agh! Ugh! Man...."
"What? What? What?"
"Agh!"
From the anguished tone of his wail, I gather something bad has occurred.
My phone vibrates. It's my sister. "Hold on, Norm -- I got another call. I'll put you on hold." I switch to my sister. "Are you watching this?" she asks.
"No, I'm at a track meet," I say. "But I got my friend on the other line giving me the play by play. What's going on?"
"Well, there's three minutes and four seconds left and the Bulls have the ball. Now it's three minutes and three seconds, three minutes and two seconds, three minutes and one second...."
"Stop counting down the time -- tell me what's going on!"
"Three minutes left...."
Oh, brother. I love her dearly, but she's the absolute worst at play by play. I switch back to Norm. Apparently, he never knew I had him on hold cause he's in the middle of yelling: "Damn, Benny...."
I'm just about bellowing: "What? Is it good? Is it bad? What? What?"
"You got to calm down," Daddy Dee tells me.
"Tyrus hit a jumper -- Bulls up one," says Norm. "Celtics call time out. They got a last chance!"
"Call me back," I say.
I watch the runners. I hunch over and remind myself to stay calm. I'm surrounded by people and I don't want them to think that I'm any weirder than they probably already think I am. I cross my fingers. I actually cross my fingers. I have officially lost my freaking mind.
The phone vibrates. It's Norm. He has this tone of wondrous satisfaction: "We won, Benny...."
"Yeah?"
"Thirty-six points and eleven assists for Derrick Rose, Benny. I told you, dawg -- Dee Rose is the real deal...."
The phone vibrates. It's my sister. "They did it; they did it," she says.
"I know, I know...."
The phone vibrates. It's Young Ralph: "Did you see this?"
"No, I was at a track meet...."
"Tyrus Thomas won it with a jumper -- Tyrus Thomas!"
Daddy Dee's phone rings. It's his son, Jordan. "Yeah, I know," I hear Daddy Dee saying. "Hold it." He tells me: "Jordan says the Bulls are gonna sweep `em!"
All around me I heard the sounds of people officially jumping on the Bulls bandwagon, as calls come in telling people the unbelievable news: Bulls win! Bulls win!
My phone vibrates. It's Milo: "Did you see this?"
"No, I'm at a track meet. But I heard."
He can't resist. He says: "Why would you care, Benny? I thought you were through with the Bulls -- remember?"
Ha, ha, ha. Funny man -- a regular George Carlin. As the gun goes off for the start of another race, I tell him: "Well, Milo, I guess I changed my mind."
Plus, I had a track meet to attend. So I'm sitting on the aluminum bleachers of Hanson Stadium watching the 4/200 meter relay when Norm calls.
"You watching this?" he asks.
"No, I'm at a track meet," I say. "How bad are we losing?"
"We're not losing -- we're winning. In Boston -- we're beating them in Boston, Benny...."
"No...."
"Yes...."
"How much?"
"Up three...."
"Oh, my God -- call me back. Keep me posted!"
A few minutes later, he calls back: "We're down one. Nine seconds left. Derrick at the line...."
"Oh, my God!"
"What?" says Daddy Dee, who's sitting next to me.
"Rose on the line," I tell him.
"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" says Norm.
I interpret this as a made free throw. "Bulls tied it," I tell Daddy Dee.
"Whee! Yeah!" says Norm. "Derrick Rose...."
I interpret this as another made free throw. "Bulls up one," I tell Daddy Dee.
"Celtics call time out," says Norm. "I'll call you back...."
A few minutes later, my cell phone vibrates. "Yeah?" I say.
"Damn," says Norm.
"No," I say.
"What happened?" asks Daddy Dee.
"Noah fouled Pierce with two seconds left," says Norm.
"No!" I say.
"Yes!" says Norm.
"Damn!" I say.
"What?" asks Daddy Dee.
I fill him in: "Noah fouled Pierce. Two seconds left. Pierce on the line. If he makes `em both, the Bulls lose...."
"Tied," says Norm.
"He made the first," I tell Daddy Dee.
"He missed," screams Norm. "He missed! The Truth missed, Benny!"
"Overtime," I tell Daddy Dee.
"Keep me posted," I tell Norm.
My phone vibrates -- Norm again: "We're up two in the OT...."
"Just stay on the line," I say. "I can't take this anymore. I need the play by play...."
"Okay, Rose has the ball," says Norm. "No. Agh! Ugh! Man...."
"What? What? What?"
"Agh!"
From the anguished tone of his wail, I gather something bad has occurred.
My phone vibrates. It's my sister. "Hold on, Norm -- I got another call. I'll put you on hold." I switch to my sister. "Are you watching this?" she asks.
"No, I'm at a track meet," I say. "But I got my friend on the other line giving me the play by play. What's going on?"
"Well, there's three minutes and four seconds left and the Bulls have the ball. Now it's three minutes and three seconds, three minutes and two seconds, three minutes and one second...."
"Stop counting down the time -- tell me what's going on!"
"Three minutes left...."
Oh, brother. I love her dearly, but she's the absolute worst at play by play. I switch back to Norm. Apparently, he never knew I had him on hold cause he's in the middle of yelling: "Damn, Benny...."
I'm just about bellowing: "What? Is it good? Is it bad? What? What?"
"You got to calm down," Daddy Dee tells me.
"Tyrus hit a jumper -- Bulls up one," says Norm. "Celtics call time out. They got a last chance!"
"Call me back," I say.
I watch the runners. I hunch over and remind myself to stay calm. I'm surrounded by people and I don't want them to think that I'm any weirder than they probably already think I am. I cross my fingers. I actually cross my fingers. I have officially lost my freaking mind.
The phone vibrates. It's Norm. He has this tone of wondrous satisfaction: "We won, Benny...."
"Yeah?"
"Thirty-six points and eleven assists for Derrick Rose, Benny. I told you, dawg -- Dee Rose is the real deal...."
The phone vibrates. It's my sister. "They did it; they did it," she says.
"I know, I know...."
The phone vibrates. It's Young Ralph: "Did you see this?"
"No, I was at a track meet...."
"Tyrus Thomas won it with a jumper -- Tyrus Thomas!"
Daddy Dee's phone rings. It's his son, Jordan. "Yeah, I know," I hear Daddy Dee saying. "Hold it." He tells me: "Jordan says the Bulls are gonna sweep `em!"
All around me I heard the sounds of people officially jumping on the Bulls bandwagon, as calls come in telling people the unbelievable news: Bulls win! Bulls win!
My phone vibrates. It's Milo: "Did you see this?"
"No, I'm at a track meet. But I heard."
He can't resist. He says: "Why would you care, Benny? I thought you were through with the Bulls -- remember?"
Ha, ha, ha. Funny man -- a regular George Carlin. As the gun goes off for the start of another race, I tell him: "Well, Milo, I guess I changed my mind."
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