A New Year with New Purpose

Remember when Rocky was screaming on top of that Russian mountain after having left the KGB in his fur boot dust on a snowy wilderness road? And remember as he screamed “DRAGGGGGGGO” at the top of his lungs in anticipation of fighting the Russian giant? Well it’s that kind of eagerness, fueled by anxiety and adrenaline, through which I have suffered while imagining the day eldiablogrande would actually spell my email address correctly and invite me to contribute to this madness. Thankfully, that day has come, and I no longer have to play chess in my cabin w/ Uncle Pauley and my random unidentified trainer.

I’m fresh off a Sixers defeat. It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Basically, I equate a Sixers victory to a morning blow job. I don’t expect wins…but I certainly appreciate them when they come along. And when they occur a few days in a row, well…I start to think there may be more of them to follow. Call me greedy, but I prefer hungry. Hungry for W’s like a discriminated against fat man recently denied a bountiful Chinese buffet.

Yeah, the Jazz are a good squad. They have an Alaskan who can drain 20 footers w/ one hand, two hand, even three hands. They have a fat pasty Turkish dude who once starred in Sex in the City, and they even once had Officer Polynice. But this game was ours for the taking. To think we lost despite our beloved Sammy tossing up – and making - shots the likes of which even Nick Burns would have applauded. But in the end, Mitt Romney was on their side, and that is a battle Mo Cheeks simply can’t win. So I swallowed the loss, but continue to ponder a few lingering questions: Is there any chance Gordan Giricek does not smoke unfiltered cigarettes? Is there any chance Sammy actually has eyes in the back of his head? Is there any chance that Lamont Barnes is still playing basketball? No, maybe, and I shit you not. But random thoughts aside, I came away w/ positive impressions. Once Iggy learns how to consistently burry 18 footers off the dribble in the fourth quarter, our interior defense improves, and Sammy’s Dream Shake is perfected, we will contend for the right to upset the Celtics in Round 1 of the playoffs. You can write that in your book. That may seem far-fetched, but need I remind you, DR loyal reader, that Seal is married to Heidi Klum. Exactly.

As I will do every Friday, or at least until I’m distracted by the sight of Carlos Ruiz catching Brad Lidge heaters in late February, I now present a look ahead until my next assigned posting next Shabbat. I encourage you all to place money behind these predictions.

Friday at the Lakers: Lamar Odom has decided to take the evening off in favor of a massive amount of marijuana and a career in tackle football. It would appear someone wanted the role of jesus shuttlesworth but was offered the role of his cousin “Booger.” In any event, that leaves the Sixers against Kobe, D Fish, and that young fella in the middle. Though Kobe may very well drop 45, Sammy’s defense will negate the big man, Sweet Lou will takeover in the fourth, and Iggy will seal it w/ a monster yam late. Sixers win 102-96.

Sunday in the mile high city: A tough one to call, considering the obvious. We battle, scratch, claw, voodoo doll, you name it, but the combination of AI 1, Melo, the altitude and Julius Hodge’s ghost of drive-by’s past dooms us in the end. Sixers fall, 108-99.

Tuesday against Mill-eh-wah-que. Not even a smooth shooting tall Chinese man can stop us at home after a long road trip. Sure Royal Ivey has a cool name and Charlie Villenueva can’t grow hair, but we have the kryptonite required to defeat these superpowers, and it’s called youth. And youth doesn’t sleep when youth returns from west coast trips. Youth spits hot fire on teams hailing from the good land. Fuck the Algonquin’s, Sixers prevail: 98-94.

Wednesday at Toronto: My only concern here is Toronto is in Sammy’s adopted home nation. The adoring crowds outside the hotel room may be too much to handle for even the most well adjusted celebrity. While the optimist in me fully expects Sammy to shine in this setting, the realist in me knows the Raptors give us fits. We get distracted by Chris Bosh actually looking like a Raptor, and unfortunately the Sixers suffer a let down and fall short. Raptors 102, Sixers 88.

Be vigilant. Stay positron. And be thankful we no longer have this man.