Wednesday, June 14, 2006
What a remarkable day
Well, let's see...I've moved from one city to another, and yet I'm spending the night in a third city while most everything I own is spending the night in a fourth city. And yet for reasons that are way too complicated to explain, this was actually the plan all along. If you figure it all out, then you win -- and your prize is that you get to explain it all to me.
What a day. As expected, it's one of those days where your first meal comes at one in the afternoon and consists of some fast food, and your second meal comes at two in the morning and consists of a bagel. It's the kind of day where the muscles in your body each fall into one of two categories: 1) achy, or B) numb. It's the kind of day where you make lists that alternate between number and letters for no reason, and you can't bring yourself to go back one line to fix it.
Of all the days in your life, it's probably the one that you should not have capped off by attending a sporting event in the standing room only section. But hey, I've been waiting eighteen years for this, and it is the NBA Finals after all. I remember the Miami Heat losing the first seventeen games it ever played. I was there thirteen years ago for the Heat's first-ever home playoff game, in which Michael Jordan smoked them for 56 points and yet they almost beat him anyway. I distinctly remember the team giving out clackers that night, noisemakers designed to distract the opposing team to the point that they can't hit their free throws. So I knew something was right when I walked in the door of the arena this evening, and the team was once again handing out clackers. Someone clearly has a sense of history. And someone's looking pretty smart right now, as the game was ultimately decided when the other team's star player, a ninety percent free throw shooter, missed a free throw with one second left.
Nail biter? Sure. They spent the first quarter using the video screen to showcase the various celebrities in attendance at the game, ranging from Michael McDonald to Gloria Estefan to Dolphins running back Ronnie Brown, giving them each the opportunity to look poised and smile for the camera. Late in the fourth quarter they show Gloria again, and this time she's biting her nails. Eh, you can't blame her, she's been a season ticket holder for all eighteen years. She'd been waiting for this as long as anyone. And you've got to love a game that, after all those years of waiting, literally comes down to the last second. There's nothing like walking down Biscayne Boulevard after midnight while all of downtown Miami erupts into pandemonium over the fact that the home team actually won.
What a way to cap off a day. Of course I'm probably not so enthused about it if Payton's crazy final shot with two seconds left on the shot clock hadn't dropped, but that's the way it goes. With six minutes left the Heat had lost this game, and they had lost it badly, and everyone in the building knew it, too. How they stole the game back in the final six minutes...well, you had to be there. And I was - even if I was standing on a makeshift platform poised above the worst seats in the house, about nine hundred feet above the court. From what I could tell, no one in the seats below was actually making use of their seats anyway. You don't go to a game like that to spend any time sitting down.
Well, I've got to get a little bit of sleep so I can go finish tomorrow what I started today.
Well, let's see...I've moved from one city to another, and yet I'm spending the night in a third city while most everything I own is spending the night in a fourth city. And yet for reasons that are way too complicated to explain, this was actually the plan all along. If you figure it all out, then you win -- and your prize is that you get to explain it all to me.
What a day. As expected, it's one of those days where your first meal comes at one in the afternoon and consists of some fast food, and your second meal comes at two in the morning and consists of a bagel. It's the kind of day where the muscles in your body each fall into one of two categories: 1) achy, or B) numb. It's the kind of day where you make lists that alternate between number and letters for no reason, and you can't bring yourself to go back one line to fix it.
Of all the days in your life, it's probably the one that you should not have capped off by attending a sporting event in the standing room only section. But hey, I've been waiting eighteen years for this, and it is the NBA Finals after all. I remember the Miami Heat losing the first seventeen games it ever played. I was there thirteen years ago for the Heat's first-ever home playoff game, in which Michael Jordan smoked them for 56 points and yet they almost beat him anyway. I distinctly remember the team giving out clackers that night, noisemakers designed to distract the opposing team to the point that they can't hit their free throws. So I knew something was right when I walked in the door of the arena this evening, and the team was once again handing out clackers. Someone clearly has a sense of history. And someone's looking pretty smart right now, as the game was ultimately decided when the other team's star player, a ninety percent free throw shooter, missed a free throw with one second left.
Nail biter? Sure. They spent the first quarter using the video screen to showcase the various celebrities in attendance at the game, ranging from Michael McDonald to Gloria Estefan to Dolphins running back Ronnie Brown, giving them each the opportunity to look poised and smile for the camera. Late in the fourth quarter they show Gloria again, and this time she's biting her nails. Eh, you can't blame her, she's been a season ticket holder for all eighteen years. She'd been waiting for this as long as anyone. And you've got to love a game that, after all those years of waiting, literally comes down to the last second. There's nothing like walking down Biscayne Boulevard after midnight while all of downtown Miami erupts into pandemonium over the fact that the home team actually won.
What a way to cap off a day. Of course I'm probably not so enthused about it if Payton's crazy final shot with two seconds left on the shot clock hadn't dropped, but that's the way it goes. With six minutes left the Heat had lost this game, and they had lost it badly, and everyone in the building knew it, too. How they stole the game back in the final six minutes...well, you had to be there. And I was - even if I was standing on a makeshift platform poised above the worst seats in the house, about nine hundred feet above the court. From what I could tell, no one in the seats below was actually making use of their seats anyway. You don't go to a game like that to spend any time sitting down.
Well, I've got to get a little bit of sleep so I can go finish tomorrow what I started today.
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