Quote of the day:

Lady Caroline Lamb describes Lord Byron in a nutshell; he's

"Mad, bad—and dangerous to know."

The Agony and the Ecstasy

Few things in this world can rival the exhilaration, unwavering devotion, eternal optimism, and, ultimately, soul-crushing disappointment of being a Phoenix Suns fan. For forty years, Suns fans have willingly subjected themselves to a form of torture; one that even Donald Rumsfeld would object to. A torture that they begin anew each October with the quixotic hope that this year, will be the year.

It would be one thing if you could count on your favorite team to simply be terrible; like the Chicago Cubs. At least the long suffering Cubs fan isn’t teased by consistent winning seasons, league MVPs, and the record for most trips to the playoffs (without winning a title). No, the Cubs devotee has it easy; they can buy their ticket, sip a beer, and watch their team lose in peace. But not the Suns fan, not tonight, because tonight is the night the Phoenix Suns must transcend their forty years of failures, heartaches, and almosts. Tonight is Game five of the 2007 NBA Playoffs.

Phoenix’s United Airways Center plunged into darkness. The crowd started to scream; the excitement reverberated through the rafters, into the parking lot, and didn’t stop until it reached the Alamo. The San Antonio Spurs’ starting line-up had just been announced to a cacophony of boos and hisses. The fans saved an especially vitriolic salutation for Spurs guard, Bruce Bowen, who had kneed the Suns’ star (and two-time MVP), Steve Nash, in the groin during Game 3. The pitch black arena illuminated to red and a giant fire ball ignited at center court. Prodigy’s techno-rock anthem “Firestarter” blared through the speakers, as a video showcased the Suns ability to dunk flaming basketballs. “Ladies and Gentleman,” the announcer bellowed, “please help me welcome YOUR Phoenix Suns!” Pandemonium ensued as the Great White Hope—Steve Nash—took the floor; still sporting the bandage over his nose from a head-butt to Spurs point guard, Tony Parker, in Game 1.

Many in the stands were also wearing band-aids across their noses in camaraderie. All of Arizona, and many in the media, felt Phoenix would have won Game 1 if it hadn’t been for the head-butt late in the fourth. After a quick tape-up, Nash had re-entered the game with only a minute left to go, took the ball cross court, and made a three-pointer to take the lead. Unfortunately he kept bleeding, and an antiquated rule—implemented after Magic Johnson’s HIV announcement in 1991— forced him back onto the bench. The Suns ended up losing Game 1, 111–106. Alas, this was not the last injustice to befall the Suns in this conference semifinals round.

As the house lights came on, a sea of orange-clad fandom began to chant: “SPURS YOU SUCK!” This rivalry had gone way past the friendly stage. The fans were foaming at the mouth. Two of their team’s best players, Amare Stoudamire and Boris Diaw, had been suspended from tonight’s game. During the last match-up, Robert Horry, a Spurs forward and notoriously dirty player, hip-checked Nash with eighteen seconds left in fourth quarter, sending him flying into the scorer’s table. A fight looked imminent, and Stoudamire and Diaw—who had been sitting on the bench—took a couple steps onto the court. In a true miscarriage of justice by all accounts, the two players (along with Horry) were suspended from—the pivotal—Game 5 by NBA commissioner David Stern (the series was tied 2–2). Signs reading “FREE AMARE” and “BURN STERN” littered the arena.

As play gets under way, the excitement turns to worry. Could they really beat the three-time NBA Champions without Stoudamire and Diaw? Even under the best circumstances a Suns fan is mentally preparing for an emotional rollercoaster ride. Over the last three seasons the Suns run-and-gun offense had earned them the appellation of “team most fun to watch.” This was the consensus of talking heads and casual observers, not the Suns fanatic. For the true fan, this game was going to be torture. As much as the die-hard fans prayed for victory, a secret part of themselves just wanted the Playoffs to be over—the heart can only take so much.

With 2:29 left to go, the Spurs battled back from a game-long deficit to tie the game at 79. The floor became sticky with split Bud light, and kettle corn. Men started to cry, children screamed obscenities, “dogs and cats living together”…ok that last one’s from Ghostbusters. But if there’s one thing a Suns fan knows, it’s the sign marking the beginning of the end.

“BEAT THOSE DIRTY SPURS!” the crowd demands. After Bowen kneed Nash in his basketballs in Game 3, Amare told the press that San Antonio was “a dirty team.” This came as news to no one, and the Suns played up the good guy versus bad guy storyline by having The Imperial March (Darth Vadar’s theme) play as the Spurs entered the arena. The most fiendish thing that happened during the series, however, was not perpetrated by the San Antonio Stormtroopers.

Widely regarded as one of the worst called games in playoff history, the Suns narrowly lost Game 3, in large part, to a disproportionate amount of phantom fouls, and egregious no calls. Conspiracy theories concerning Commissioner Stern rigging the playoffs to have mass-market teams in the finals aside; fans felt that there was something rotten in San Antonio. Indeed there was. Less than two months later, Game 3 referee, Tim Donaghy, resigned after an FBI investigation discovered that he had placed bets on games he’d officiated; including a bet against Phoenix in Game 3.

With only a minute left, low-blow-Bowen hits a 3-pointer to give the Spurs their first lead. As the seconds tick down, Suns nation holds their breath. Could they finally break the streak? Could they triumph in the face of adversity and injustice? Spurs have the ball, Suns are down by three, eight seconds left, Nash goes for the steal. The audience prayers for a miracle, hands cover eyes, mouths, and cheeks—three, two…

…there’s always next year.

The desert's saddest vaquero

Old town ABQ. Bought my first pair of Minnetonkas, but only tried on the sombreros.

I am seriously considering attending

8 Things that have happened this month

8. I tanked my GRE test, I'm math disabled and anti-standardized tests

7. I have been in the process of applying to the History Graduate program at UT Austin

6. I found out UT is only taking 8 students out of 300 applicants, and you can't have tanked your GRE exam, whoops.

5. I am on the verge of giving up my scholarly dreams because reality has set in.

4. Decided reality bites, so I have to try harder to be successful or I'll end up like Winona Ryder in the movie where she can't get a fast-food job because she's over qualified.

3. I met Snoop Dogg and he was awesome.

2. I moved into a beautiful new apartment in Clinton Hill/Bed-stuy, pics to come.

1. Started reading a Sookie Stackhouse novel to pass the time on my commute, so embarrassing.

Halloween or Bust

It was the latter. So even though I made an awesome Alice Cooper (which no one in mid-town NYC got BTW) I worked until 10pm and then through a series of Lemony Snicket's unfortunate events ended up going home, to do nothing. I was the ONLY person dressed up at noon when I headed for work, which was slightly embarrassing, I did get some stares from horrified children, and a couple of people told me "wow, you look really scary". Which of course Alice Cooper does look really scary, but I got the feeling they were being more insulting than complimentary. So I didn't dress up like a "sexy" Alice Cooper, or nurse or what-have-you. But that is such lame-sauce anyway. By the time I was headed home I saw hundreds of costumed revelers on the trains and street. Honestly I was a little let down, I thought New Yorkers would have gone all out and been super creative/original. But mostly I saw vampires, Michael Jackson's, Catholic School girls, and the normal fare. My favorite costume was actually this Asian kid who was dressed as the Sham-Wow guy, and kept yelling out "you're gonna love my nuts!"- awesome. My least favorite was a middle aged drunken loser who was "count suck-me-off" He wore a vampire costume with a blow up doll attached to his crotch, he kept thrusting his nasty pelvis and grunting. PS he was also downing cans of bud light. The weird part is that people kept telling him he was awesome and had made their night. Barf-a-roni. Well there's always next year.