Seriously, I'm almost too afraid to watch. I'm fearful of what I may see on the tube. I'm fearful of the way I'll probably act when I see it. Will I throw the remote? Will I make the kids run stairs? Kick the dog? I don't have a dog. Kick the neighbor's dog? I hate that dog.
Look, like most, I'm comfortable with the possibility, nay, probability that the Rockets will get run out of the gym this afternoon while jagoffs like Nicholson and Tarantino cluelessly look on. Hell the Rockets are 13 point dogs in this game. Vegas knows best. Well usually, unless others know better.
But I've already had a pretty good weekend as it is so this little NBA game shouldn't really sting that much. I shot a 39 on the back at Kingwood Cove yesterday. Had a glass of Crown Cask after dinner last night. Pitched batting practice to my six year old this morning without throwing my arm out or taking a comebacker in the fellas. I've got 6 ribeyes marinating and a six of Shiner Bock iced down as we speak. Rockets lose, and I should be able to shrug it off and say oh well. Nice run. Then get back to the business of lamenting the fact that the Astros are morons for not going to a 3 man rotation. I mean, should a reasonable person expect more from this Rocket team? Or any team missing its two best players? Probably not.
But instead of letting me wallow in the inevitibility of a convincing Laker win, the NBA, in its infinite wisdom, can't let sleeping dogs lie. Nope. They have to tweak the nose of Rocket fan by bringing in the David Stern's bag man, Joey Crawford. Call it an insurance policy for the League. I call it shenanigans. Shenanigans I tell you. Consider these little tidbits from clutchfans.net.
In the last two years the Lakers are 21-11 in playoff games. They're 14-10 in Crawford-less games, and 7-1 with Crawford as one of the three whisitles. F'n 7-1. The lone loss was a Celtics 131-92 mud-holing. It's tough to fix 40 point blowouts even with three Joey Crawfords in the building.
The Rockets on the other hand are 7-3 this post season in games without Crawford, and 0-2 when Crawford "officiates". It's "officiating" in the sense that Piss Christ was art.
Everyone knows the tired story here with respect to David Stern's patterns. So let's pull a "crazy Ivan" and recap a little Crawford history. Houston does the inthinkable by taking game 1 in LA, enter Crawford in Game 2. Houston slays the giant in game 6, here comes Crawford for the elimination game.
You can set your watch by this crap. Last year in the Utah series, Joey goes to Utah for Game 6 with Lakers up 3-2 and sure enough no game 7 needed. In the next series vs. SA, Lakers lead 2-1 with Game 4 in SA. The league sends Joey Crawford to San Antonio. Given the history between Crawford and Tim Duncan, it's stunningly inappropriate for the League to allow Crawford anywhere near this series. Of course, LA goes up 3-1 with 93-91 road win effectively ending the series. To make matters worse, the NBA apologizes for Crawford's no call on Brent Barry to end game. Sorry San Antonio, you're S.O.L. Next series vs Boston with the Lakers down 0-2, Crawford officiates, Lakers win. David Stern is Vince McMahon without steroids and Jesus.
So, I'm afraid for the Rockets. I'm afraid for my mental health and inanimate objects within arm's reach. Animate objects have the luxury of running away from me as I curse the Samsung showing Kobe Bryant taking his 11th and 12th free throw in one half of basketball. If you're a Rocket fan or just a fan of truth, justice, and the American way, you should be afraid as well. Joey's coming. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
It makes me long for the days when the NBA was actually a sport and white guys could rap.