When we woke this morning, who among us, the members of the Bermuda Triangle chapter of Hoopaholics Anonymous, knew we’d need those special protective glasses we bought off the interweb from Jeff Bezos . . .
. . . to listen to sports talk radio.
Sure, there’s the game tonight, but the Truth: That’s not as important in my neck o’ the woods than the reports that You Know Whom who used to coach up the road at You Know Where is now Winner Winner Chicken Dinner.
Thanks to Mr. Tyson.
In Tiffin, Ohio, where the solar blot is a 100% thing, and so many visitors were expected the police chief was advising locals to fill their tanks with gas over the weekend, they will be talking Buckeye football again before the more natural sundown.
As it is in Bessemer, Alabama. And Steeler Town.
But here in what I once attempted to designate Hoopsylvania — to literally no avail, I seemed to be the only one who found it cute — we talk hoops on the Fourth of July. And the 3d, 5th, 6th and the rest of the time.
In HoosierLand, the Bluegrass and Derbytown, we all got roundball eyes.
There isn’t an MD specializing in rehab here who doesn’t understand the phenomena known as the Basketball Jones.
For which there is no cure, I’ve found. Trust me, I’ve tried.
So, I’ve been on the phone all day talking with my peeps about the Calipari abdication. As well as at lunch.
The one who is a UK fan, or at least was until one and done arrived, advises he return to the flock.
The others bleed Cardinal, but still are fascinated.
(This is where members of the U of L commentariat, at least some, will come forward and with a straight face, tell us they could care less. Haven’t given it a thought.
Excuse me, I gotta sneeze: “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhbuuuhhhhhshit.”)
We love when BBN is in flux.
Because many who reside there are hoping for the reincarnation of the Baron eating chili at Brookings.
When in reality, a comeuppance may ensue.
And I/ we, having just experienced the same thing, if under different circumstances, sit back and watch the 3D version on IMAX with a smile on our face.
What a gift the day has bestowed.
I haven’t stopped smilin’ since I awakened to the news texted to me last night by Smarts after I was long in dreamland.
My response to him: (Warning more dirty words coming) “Holy Fuckin’ Shit.”
Indeed.
Whooooooo Pig Soleil!!!
* * * * *
In peripheral, obviously less important news, the national championship shall be contested tonight between the two schools have been a cut above since November.
In case you forgot.
— c d kaplan
Well, my toxic vitriol for BBN has wained some over the years and honestly, I don’t much care about what goes on down there. I care about what goes on right here in River City. As Denzel Crum used to say, “if you practice hard and prepare you don’t need to bust a gut worrying about your opponent”. Let’s just get it right, here.
I understand how their fan base has shifted their discontent into 4th gear. But their “Payne ” pales in comparison to ours. What I really don’t like is how far we have fallen. With Hall of Fame coaching pedigrees here, to think we were turned down in our coaching search by choices 1-3 and 1-3 are now seriously considering “you know who”, that is a shondah.