"Strange memories on this nervous night in Phoenix. Four years later? Three? It seems like a lifetime, or at least a Main Era — the kind of peak that never comes again. Phoenix in the middle 2000's was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run . . . but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were here and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant....

"History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of “history” it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole NBA generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time—and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened.  My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty nights — or very early mornings — when I watched the playoffs half-crazy and, instead of going home, aimed for Central Avenue, lightning across the town or cruising at 25 miles an hour wearing a Suns jersey...booming through Majerle's and Durant's, chilling at Chez Nous, not quite sure which corner it's on when I got near there (always stalling at some gas station, too twisted to turn off the car while I fumbled for a Chez Nous ad in the New Times)...but being absolutely certain that no  matter which way I went I would come to a place where Suns fans were just as high and wild as I was: No doubt at all about that. There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across downtown, then up Scottsdale or down in the East Valley....You could strike sparks anywhere.

"There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning.  And that, I think, was the handle — that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that.  Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting — on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave.

"So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill on South Mountain and look North, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark — that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back."

- lifted from Hunter S. Thompson, because he knew then how I feel now.

Today is not the day to lay blame.  Sure there is ample blame to go around from top to bottom, but there will be time enough in the coming days, weeks, months, seasons for that.  Too much in fact.    I pity the team now as the tidal wave of doubt, incessant media scrutiny and gossip falls on Kerr, D'Antoni and the Team.  Scurvy vultures of all stripes will begin picking at the live carcass of the 2008-2009 Phoenix Suns. Even if the internal psyche of the team hasn't cracked, the weight of this doubt, derision and dismissal is heavy enough to break a sane and confident team.  If asked and hounded continuously about what your problem is, I'm sure prisoners eventually confess to every crime, real or imagined.

There is plenty of blame to go around, but right now that is pure utter bullshit for beancounters and wannabe basketball experts.  For all you "experts," NONE of you saw this 0-3 meltdown except for a handful of crazy Spurs homers that predict Spurs in 4 or 5 every time. 

No, today is not a day to lay blame, it is a day of mourning for the team and the fans.  In the coming season, I promise to defend the GM, the coach and the players because I think for the most part, they are good at what they do and made some gutsy decisions and some right decisions. 

They wanted to win and gave their best efforts.   They lost the fun and still did not win.  The sold their soul but did not win.  I wish they could have won, but valued their guts and efforts just the same.  I will defend them better than they defended themselves on the court last night.  But ultimately, any defense of words I offer is fleeting, as it is what is done on the court that counts, not a few words from fans writing from their mother's basements.


So long, Bandwagoners, someday you scurvy fistfuckers bastards will get what you deserve!