Editor's note: 11 F-Bombs and an S-Bomb.  You've been warned.

Fuck.  I just drank the Kool-Aid.  I JUST DRANK THE FUCKING KOOL-AID AND I DON"T KNOW WHAT’S IN IT!  FUCK!

Yeah, I know.  My last post was all like, "Hey, there’s hope, but like, no there’s not, because, like the the Spurs are evil robot geniuses who will eat our souls but they needed to fatten them first by feeding them a little hope and shit."  But here’s the problem.  At some point prior to that post I HAD ALREADY DRUNK THE FUCKING KOOL-AID.   I am already committed to having my hopes up for Game 5.  I may as well walk wearing a Barack Obama-style t-shirt of Boris Diaw that says "Si Se Puede!" in French, because I DRANK THE FUCKING KOOL-AID!  I swallowed it, hook, line and sinker.  I own it, lock, stock, and barrel.  I put all my eggs in the basket.  I can’t stop making metaphors for complete and total commitment.  Shut me up with SOME MORE OF THE FUCKING KOOL-AID ALREADY.

After Game 3, ZonaFlash got all gonzo on us with a post entitled "Fear and Loathing in Phoenix, AZ", but I don’t think he realized it could get worse.  Guess what?  It’s worse.  I don’t know that any of us realized that a Suns win was worse than a sweep.  You want fear?  I will show you fear in a handful of words: I DRANK THE FUCKING KOOL-AID.

And now, what?  A Game 5 loss will be a bitter, but seemingly inevitable pill.  But a win... Does anyone even realize what a win means?  It means DRINKING MORE OF THE FUCKING KOOL-AID!  It means the expectations inch a little higher, and by a little higher I mean anything less than winning this series, steamrolling the rest of the Western Conference and defeating either the Boston Celtics Atlanta Hawks or Detroit Pistons Philadelphia 76ers for a title will be abject failure.  HAVE SOME MORE FUCKING KOOL-AID, ALREADY!  WHAT’S THAT CLANGING NOISE?  THANK YOU, MASTER, MAY I HAVE ANOTHER FUCKING KOOL-AID, PLEASE?

GO PURPLE AND ORANGE KOOL-AID!   YAY!