The job is often soul-suckin’, but sometimes it comes through with the perks. Case in point: Tonight, me and fam-lay will be taking in our second Celtics game of the season, as LeBron James somehow squeezes his 10’8″, 971-pound frame (dimensions estimated) through the gates of the TD BankNorth Garden to lead his Cleveland Cavaliers into battle against the world champeen Boston Celtics.
The C’s will be without Kevin Garnett, meaning we’re likely to see an assload of Big Baby 17-footers, which is less than pipe, and the Cavs welcome back Joe Smith tonight, which adds another potent big with the potential to exploit a depleted green front line. The math don’t look great for the champs.
Still, a Boston win would put them in a virtual dead heat with the Cavs for the 1 seed in the East (the Celts would be up one in the win column, down one in the loss column), and beating Cleveland without KG would be a monster statement heading down the stretch. I, for one, can’t think of a better way to spend my Friday night.
Well, fuck it — you never look gift tickets in the mouth (especially excellent ones — Sec. 8, in the letters, FTW), you get to watch the most beastly athletic specimen alive up close and personal, you get to spend time with the fam and you can always see the movie tomorrow, right?
If you’re at the Garden tonight and down by where the fancy bastards sit, please join me in partaking of a snifter of brandy. Come by and say, “DEVINE, I DON’T MUCH APPRECIATE YOUR FOUL-MOUTHED NINCOMPOOPERY, AND I’M PRETTY SURE MARK EATON NEVER SAID THAT.” That way, I’ll know you mean me.
I may or may not be live-live-Tweetin’ the game over at my Twitter feed (to which you should totally be subscribed), so keep an eye out for my particular brand of worthless sports commentary occasionally dressed up in dick jokes.