Last night, I had one of those peaceful evenings that I’m sure I’ll have a lot more of when I’m older. Two other Local Pub regulars and I watched the Detroit Pistons fail miserably against the San Antonio Spurs. The Local Pub, typically empty on a Thursday night in the summer, was at about ten percent capacity. I drank only three beers and ate (of all things) a salad. (When I ordered the salad, the bartender laughed at me—come to think of it, he laughed at me pretty much throughout the night.) Some weird moments from this mellow meeting of the Sports Junkies:
For some reason, management at the Local Pub decided to complete some rather loud construction work just after the game ended. Never mind that it drove away all the drinkers. We asked Dave the Bartender what the deal was and he said, “What can I do? The owners are Lebanese.” I have no idea what that means.
Tampa has a very transient culture. I was sitting with friends Tony and Main, who have lived all over the country. To give you an idea, Main is a Pistons fan, a Red Wings fan, a Buffalo Bills fan and a Yankees fan. Tony is a Padres fan, a Lakers fan and a Steelers fan (he doesn’t like hockey). I’d tell you how they formed all these allegiances, but the stories involve marriages, divorces, deaths, adoptions, the military and a whole bunch of other garbage you don’t want to hear. My point is, in Tampa, if you ask someone why they like certain teams from different cities, get comfortable. You’re in for a tale.
There was not one girl in the bar. Because of this, there was a lot of peaceful camaraderie. I’m not blaming girls for anything; I’m blaming us. Why are we so much less aggressive when women aren’t around? Oh yeah, because we’re territorial morons.
Sports are a major priority for a lot of men. I called my buddy Sean at half time. He lives in San Antonio. We hadn’t talked in three years. Since we spoke last, he has had a child, changed jobs and lost his favorite Uncle in a car accident. Nevertheless, the minute half-time ended, he cut the story of his son’s birth short. He never even told me the kid’s name. Not that I cared. The game was back on.
Salads suck.
Some notes from the game and then I’m out:
Ginobli was a mad man in the fourth quarter. There was no stopping him. It was like he was covered in grease and the Pistons wore rubber gloves.
The Pistons offense was moronic in the last three quarters. They avoided the paint, missed easy shots and took three pointers in transition. Larry Brown probably had cold sweats in his sleep last night.
As Main said, “When Sheed don’t get twenty points, the Pistons don’t win.”
As Tony said, “Do you think Hamilton puts on that face mask before he gets in fights off the court? I mean, does he carry it with him just in case someone swings at him in the strip club or what?”
Another quote from Tony: “The Pistons didn’t make a mistake when they drafted Darko. You pick the guy who fills a need for your team. They didn’t need Anthony or Wade. They needed a really tall foreigner to sit on the bench. And they needed to draft him in the first round. Don’t question the wisdom, Mr. Nate” (and yes, he calls me Mr. Nate).
When Hubie Brown calls his brother’s games, how come he doesn’t get just a lil’ bit personal? I mean, if it were my brother I’d be saying things like, “Oh, and Wallace with the miss. I’ll bet Larry’s madder than the time I pulled his pants down in front of all the girls at recess.” Just a thought.
My useless prediction: San Antonio will take Sunday’s game, and the series will go back to San Antionio with the Spurs up by one game. Then, the Spurs will either win it in game 6 (most likely) or lose it in game 7 (least likely). But what the hell do I know?