A portion of last night was spent searching- idly I feared- for video evidence of Sam Cassell's "baila cojones grandes." In those dark moments, we were faced with a life devoid of both NBA basketball and Sam I Am's peace de resistance. Shortly before going to bed, around 2am I think, I unearthed the following, a momentary respite from the specter that the result of the NBA's latest marathon negotiating session would turn nuclear winter into armageddon:
Treating a bullet wound with a Vicoden tab? Maybe, but what else did we have?
I went to bed hopeful and optimistic, as I have been all along (because, really, there's not much point in the alternative), that if nothing else, the two sides would at least agree to continue chatting into the weekend.
This morning, I awoke, sluggish, unmotivated and frankly somewhat grumpy, not mentally rebooted to the point where I knew to check for lockout news. I grabbed my phone, as I do every day within 90 seconds of getting out of bed, and was greeted with this.
If you are here now, I probably don't need to tell you what happened next. Fist pumps, uncontrollable grins and the shedding of digital tears of joy on Twitter. We've mocked the "don't care" crowd, created fantasy leagues, wondered aloud if we'll get discounts on League Pass (we won't, but who cares?!) and generally rejoiced. A lot of love to all the folks that gutted this thing out together, and an incredible amount of gratitude to the guys and gals that hung out in hotel lobbies at ungodly hours in the hopes of passing along the ever-so-rare nugget of good news. We made it, everyone!
This is going to be a whirlwind month (and season, really), but for the time being... go crazy, folks! GO CRAZY!!!
Lookin like a season. How u?