Crestfallen, I make my way to the carport, pick up the weather-worn Wilson and commence Operation Stress Relief.
You’re killing me, NBA owners and players. That you’re squabbling over millions of dollars that the fans are on the hook for is inconceivable. Do you realize I can’t afford to take my family of four kids to a Bulls game because tickets, concessions and parking causes four weeks of constant, debilitating heartburn?
The first three shots go in but go in hard, rattling the rim like a pinball.
A 50-50 split in millions of dollars of revenue between you millionaires seems more than acceptable to a guy who cringes every month when the mortgage bill arrives. Get over yourselves. If the players union doesn’t want to drop from receiving 57-percent of revenue to anything lower than 52, well, then, agree to the 50-50 with the contingency that the remaining 2 percent goes to a decrease in ticket prices.
I relocate to the right corner baseline, and all that can be heard for a while is the sweet sound of cloth tearing. Shred. Bounce. Bounce. Shred. Bounce. Bounce. Shred.
Owners, think about the fans for once. In case you forgot, we’re the ones in the seats, at the concession stands, on the merchandise page of the team’s website. We’re the ones tuning in on TV.
I take a few steps to the left and open the bank a few times. It doesn’t sound pretty, but it gets the job done.
Couldn’t we form some sort of Fan Union? Who cares about salary caps; we’re here to demand a ticket price cap for three, maybe five years. Deal with it.
Way off, sailed west. Wind got it, I’m sure. It happens. Go ahead, chant, “Air … ball, air … ball, air … ball.” I’ll come back and bury it from 20-feet out.
I kept a good distance from the NBA for a long while, since a few years after the Bulls dynasty ended. But last season the vigor was renewed, and I saw how the game has come back around. Tough, unyielding defense is being played again. The ball is being dished around more. Teamwork is essential for long runs in the postseason.
Top of the key, good! What is that, 7 of 10 from this spot? I’m pushing my luck now. Arms are getting tired. Legs died five minutes ago.
Maybe it’s some kind of post-baseball blues, but being a Cubs fan, I went through that back in June. The Bears are still interesting, and there’s always my Fantasy Football team, The Conquistadors, led by Drew Brees, Arian Foster, and lately the Detroit Lions defense.
Short. Short. Urghhhh, that rim is the size of a gutter, I tell you! Short. Breath. Swish.
I need an NBA season. It’s gettin’ cold out here on the carport. I wonder if I can still make it rain with gloves on?
Contact: bspencer@oakpark.com
Twitter: @oakparksports