Life Goes On

Published: November 1, 2011

Tonight the NBA won’t be tipping off. This will trigger a cascade of other non-happenings around the world.

People won’t be donning their gear, heading to their arenas, and dreaming of defeating the hated whomevers.

Restaurants and bars won’t be brimming with fans, ready to take a load off and relax from the daily grind.

Your season ticket family won’t be having its annual tip-off reunion.

Complete strangers won’t be hugging and wishing each other well after a last minute win.

Friends won’t be talking about the game, before, during, and after.

My best buds won’t be coming to town to take in a home game.

I won’t be going to my best buds’ town to take in a road game.

Families won’t have their faces painted in their teams colors.

Kids won’t be asking their parents why each teams don’t have their own ball.

Colleagues won’t be getting together, catching up, and talking about their field while taking in a game.

Couples won’t be having their first dates, 100th dates, or getting engaged at games.

Pets won’t be getting extra treats after screaming at their owners scare them to deal while screaming at the tv . . . or radio . . .

Blogs won’t be exploding with optimism, pessimism, silly trades, and bad nicknames.

Statistics won’t be dragged through the mud as somehow `wrong’ while inferences made from the same events . . . the games . . . are hailed as brilliant observations.

Salary won’t hit its head on any form of a cap.

Bobblehead collections won’t grow.

Fans won’t be getting floor seats from their reps, then wave proudly to their sections.

Guys won’t be getting other floor seats from their reps for the girls, allowing hell to be raised in the balcony.

Shoes won’t need buffing after not kicking the backs of chairs.

Kids with no business knowing more about the game than some adults won’t be making fools of their neighbors by making the correct call.

Tens of millions of nachos won’t be eaten.

All those uneaten chicken fingers sitting pristinely in the aisle won’t be metabolized.

Bam-bams won’t be bamming.

Alleys won’t be ooping.

Wait . . . What’s that? This just in! Many of things are going to happen anyway . . . just not at an NBA game!

Life goes on, even if NBA basketball does not.

People will return to the NBA, but the real cost, the kind that can’t be measured in millions or billions, are mounting starting now.

The cost of the things so many people treasure in their lives.

The cost of bringing so many people together from all over the world.

The cost of giving people something to talk about.

The cost of what was possible.

The cost of the good could have been done.

Those things . . . they will never be recovered.

I hope you are proud, all of you NBA people. We were counting on you, and you failed to deliver. Why? Because you can’t turn a profit. The big, bad businessmen can’t turn a profit. Some of you do, but you can’t as an enterprise. Yeah, it’s difficult, but you are supposed to be successful, you are supposed to be able to earn so much more than everyone else. Your millions are supposed to mean you are good at this stuff. Well maybe you aren’t. You are ordinary, just like everyone else.

The players who want to play . . . but not enough . . .  you aren’t getting off so easy either. You think you are so special. You deserve so much. You are worried so much about future players and current fans. Well actions speak louder than words. There’s not a superstar among you today. Or tomorrow. Or until you do something to get this foot off my neck. No. You are ordinary, just like everyone else.

You want to see something special, go look at that list. I didn’t just make that up. Those are all things that have happened to me, with me, or in my eyesight. That is real. That is life. It may be common, but it’s special. That is why you play. Not for points. Not for gold. You play for the glory of the people. You play so people can have more first dates. You play to make the world a hair more live-able, or at least to give us the chance to do so.

Scoff if you want at the dreamsicle of an idea, but rest assured, when all of that stuff goes away, all the stuff that’s greater than the game, you’ll lose all meaning, all significance, and all your precious money. It only matters when people care deeply enough to stick with you through the rough times . . . and yes, this is me sticking with me you spoiled children. The bandwagon folks will have nothing to grab onto if the true fans don’t keep thing going day in and day out.

We, the ordinary, did everything we were supposed to do . . . everything . . . and you, the amazing, betrayed us by not holding up your end. We, the ordinary, crossed the finish line; you, the amazing, quit. We, the ordinary, succeeded; you, the amazing, failed. We, the ordinary, paid the price; you, the amazing, spent the money and more.

And, no, I could not care less that it doesn’t work that way. That’s the way it’s supposed to work and that’s the standard you are being held to.

We, the ordinary, just want you, the amazing, to be amazing, to be amazing for us, to be amazing with us.

Like I said, the fans will come back and maybe never speak of this again, but make no mistake about it: You hurt us.

If that doesn’t bother you more than the $300,000,000 in losses or the “my superstar hurts” aches and pains you feel, then YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS BEING IN THIS BUSINESS.

Get on with your lives and stop screwing up mine.

I’ll be nice again tomorrow.

Good day.


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