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The Timberwolves almost killed me last night. No, really. They were trying to kill me.
You know, one of the really cool things that occasionally happens when you watch sports is that from time to time, you get to see a performance where a guy wants to win a game so badly that you get the feeling that there just isn't anything the other team can do about him. I mean, despite the fact that the game would have gone to OT if Chris Webber (Call a time-out, Chris! Call a time-out! Heeee hee hee, I still hate him) had gotten that three-point shot to fall, it still seemed like Kevin Garnett was the Man of Destiny.
My post-game text message to Pool Boy said, "That game just about killed me dead." He called right after that, and we had the whole conversation of, "Kevin Garnett was -- " "I KNOW!" "And Sam Cassell and his damn creaky hips and -- " "I KNOW!" "And Madsen's big fat baby hands -- " "I KNOW!"
Heh. It was one to get the fans riled. All's well that ends well. I'm sure my pulse will return to normal at some point.
Heh, I've had that conversation with my sister about the Florida Marlins. Except with Dontrell and (last year) Pudge and Luis.
I don't see a lot of Timberwolves games, so until now, I didn't get the KG hype. OK, get it now. I think the only reason the other TW's were on the court was to botch things to allow for even more KG heroics. An amazing end to a great series.
Damn shame that Lakers are going to take them out in 6. And I mean that, as a big Spreewell fan.
Thank god there was no ceremoniously scheduled family dinner, or we most certainly would have lost.
Yes, yes, you're very funny. Your joke is only about three hundred years old, so it's good to make sure you keep returning to flog it again and again.
Actually my joke is only a half year old, given that it dates to the moment when your abandonment murdered the Vikings season and crushed the hopes of a state full of fans.
p.s. the Timberwolves game starts at 7:30 tonight. ORDER IN.
Broadway Pizza, 2135 Cliff Rd. 651-683-9989, Eagan, Minnesota.
These people are going to start to think you're kind of a punk if you keep pickin' on me, you know.
Don't worry about ordering in. Red McCombs and Glen Taylor just called and told me to tell you that going forward they are providing meal service on gamedays. Expect the catering van right around tip-off.
At least I have remained loyal to my hometown and have not fled the climate like a scared little girl.
Oh that will haunt me as I sip a poolside pina colada next February. Remember, let the car run a few minutes-- the engine heat makes it easier to scrape the ice off the windshield.
Yeah. I've seen you doing the pina colada thing. Certainly a MAJOR stud moment.
I like pina coladas (and getting caught in the rain).
You have been ruined by too much sun. RUINED, I tell you. The mere fact that you would admit to a fondness for pina coladas? No one will ever let you into an ice fishing house again, you coast-ified freak.
You have no authority to be indignant on behalf of the Vikings or the Timberwolves. You are banished.
Good. Considering that it's Sunday, I'm happy to be banished, given that at my current location I can at least go and purchase the makings for my pina coladas. I would say that the windchill has addled your mind, but I think that would imply there was something to diminish in the first place. By the way, hometown advocat, where is it in the frolicanddetour archives that you were bawling about the weather and your windshield wipers or something?
I don't believe there was any bawling, smarty-pants. I believe there was observation only. I dealt with it, didn't I? DIDN'T I?
Shall I quote, hometown girl?
"7:36: Scrape side windows, covered with surprisingly stubborn clumps of ice, in turn covered with blobs of snow. Note stupidity of weather. Swear. Mutter to self. Thinka bout moving to Florida Decide California would be better."
Ahem.
It was 7:36 in the morning. I was in a weakened condition.
You are more than welcome to join me by the pool for a pina colada (just not during a Vikings or Timberwolves game).
Wow, I make a peace offering in order to make up for so brutally humbling you by pointing out the faillings and self-proven inconsistencies in your points, and you snub it?
Geez, next time I'll just gloat.
Just because a girl turns you down for a drink, that doesn't mean you have to get all nasty. If you'd stayed in the Midwest, you would know better.
Last word. Mine. Right now. Any further post by you will be a silly attempt to back out of your earlier defeat.
But I expect one nonetheless.
Do I want to make out more with Linda, or with Poolboy?
Decisions, decisions...
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