I know I’m not supposed to care that the Cavs lost to Philly lasterday, giving up a chance at an historic 40-1 home record for the season, but I do.
As Coach Mike ran the bench into the ground – thereby defeating the purpose of “rest” to some extent – I couldn’t help but have my teen angst.
I don’t condone this “we don’t care if we lose blah cliche cliche cliche only about the championship cliche blah cliche cliche cliche cliche” talk.
I guarantee some of those guys do care about being on a team that did something only one other team in history has done.
(Including LeBron – one-upping Jordan in anything is a legacy/branding boon.)
Stop second guessing potential injuries and resting starters and just play the game.
Yes, I can just see the aftermath of a Game 7 Finals loss: LBJ sulking in the locker room, bemoaning the fact that if only he hadn’t played those extra 20 minutes back two months ago, he would’ve had that little bit of extra energy he needed to get through.
They’ll get so much rest in the first round, how would it have mattered? They’ll sweep DET (with large margins of victory), the time between games in the first round is spread so far that everyone always complains, and Hawks-Heat almost certainly goes seven games.
Sitting down in fear of mythical injuries is playing scared, and I just don’t “get” that. Plus, this just makes the whole thing complicated, because they really should’ve been 40-1, having essentially forfeited for their second loss. It’s like some kind of upside-down asterix on the whole thing.
(By the way, I think Chicago wanted to play Boston, hence their loss to TOR.)
There’s your hardcore NBA commentary. I have no idea how anyone else feels about this issue btw – please let me know.
Here’s a preview of the @ColleenBurns-centric NBA Playoff preview:
…and then totally give you a lap dance =)
See how great Twitter can be if you just allow it to happen?
The only thing that will get rid of my teen angst is if you go read about Brad Radby’s Yard Sale At Grandma’s, a super sensitive movie he made in 2001.
Meryl gets tired, and Bruce figures out what’s going on, especially because the doctor, who is Peter O’Toole, stops by and tells everyone about the Big C and how bad it’s coming after Meryl’s tummy. That’s when Laurence has a heart attack and gets adult diabetes, and Bruce gets a cramp in his shoulder.
I don’t want to say too much, but it’s one of those deeply cutting and personal stories about quirky families.
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