December 14, 2011

Hooligans Return on Christmas Day

My husband thinks I am addicted to Angry Birds. Maybe I am, but it really isn’t my fault. The fault, dear Brutus, lies with the National Basketball Association (NBA)
And now those hooligans are coming back Christmas day. Yippy, skippy!
I was raised in a family that loved watching professional sports, and spent countless Sunday afternoons in our back yard while my father listened to the Cubs or the White Sox on AM radio. Baseball I can deal with, and even understand. (Let’s not get into juicing or Albert Pujols right now, okay? Did you see the market comparison between St. Louis and Los Angeles on Sports Center? Seems that Pujols will lose about ten million dollars by moving to the bigger market, assuming he moves.)
Football I can also deal with. Lying. Fair weather fan that I am, I could deal with it until Peyton couldn’t play this season. We gave up free tickets about two months ago because we didn’t want to drive to Cincinnati to see a Peyton-less Colts game. (Again’s, let’s not get into that right now, okay? And we won't talk about cities or companies and named stadiums.)
But I cannot tolerate watching the NBA. Having been weaned on a "classless" Indiana high school basketball system, basketball is sacrosanct. (Again, let’s not get in to what happened at the Xavier/Cincinnati game the other night right now, okay? Bad news all around. Everybody lost on that one. They all needed a good swift kick in the ass.)
Time has changed all three of the professional sports I’ve mentioned. Money is king and yes, I am cynical. But years of watching the NBA next to my husband – who considers his team in the NBA above all others – has taught me a few things. (Gun to his head – he would watch NBA over NFL or MLB.)
NBA basketball is boring. There are a few superstars that everybody talks about, and that’s about it. You can watch the last thirty seconds of the game and get it. (This is a little surprising that it lacks drama -- because NBA players sure have drama out of the stadium, she said wryly.)
The season lasts forever. Even starting late, I know the corn will be knee-high by the time we get to the playoffs.
The tickets are outrageously expensive and the food is outrageous expensive and the parking is outrageously expensive. A number of cities have built new stadiums for their hooligans, and mostly continue to fill them. I also love the concept of the “plaza” level where a server will come into the stands, take your order, and deliver your outrageously expensive food to you for an additional fee. (You caught me there, but those tickets were given to us, okay?)
But I love my husband. And he has missed his team lo these four months and seven days.

So I play Angry Birds and every once in a while say, “yeah, that was a great steal” or something that I deem appropriate. Now, I must go and kill some pigs.