Tonight, as I sat eating artichokes and Miracle Whip for dinner, my L.A. Lakers fell to the Oklahoma City Thunder by 16 points. The Thunder, hurdling down the court, drooling with the incipient taste of victory, outscored, outran and outstripped my team.
Transitioning away from a triangle offense, the best coach of all time and well, the withering of youth, the Lakers have had a tougher break than most this strange season. They’re about as uncomfortable in their own skin as a new graduate in a shit economy.
They’re going through their early twenties, drinking too much, sleeping too late and making rash decisions. Their 17-year-old liver kicks back now, and their swimsuits just seem way too snug to be their own.
I’m not sure how I feel about Mike Brown, but I see Bynum’s copious gray hairs and Pau’s ever-drooping shoulders. It will be one, but not the other. I see the potential of Kobe hanging on to something that ain’t good anymore, as he’s a man with nothing to lose. Even worse, I see Kobe’s lower jaw retract, like an abused dog curling away from the threat of a cane.
It’ll be up to Mitch Kupchak and his widow’s peak to decide now.
As for now, a long, lonely offseason. And perhaps some pickup games with Chris Paul and the Clipshow.
Loss is hard, but it happens.
Let’s just hope now that the Celtics and Heat feel that next - it’s been a strange, strange season and I am wishing and hoping for an underdog to take advantage. OKC, Pacers - i’m betting on you now.
Do me good.