On Sunday evening I’m going to sit in an upper level seat behind a goal post at the U.S. Airways arena. I won’t be able to high-five any of your dazzling defense efforts, but I’ll be “hell yeah”ing as loud as possible, assuming of course there are no conservative, fragile old ladies near me.
Wait…screw the old ladies. How’d they get up that high anyway? And it’s the playoffs, so prudence can go right out the window.
Now, if you make me angry (by pulling a total 180, maybe I’ll call it a “Channing” – no offense Frye, I’ll be watching and praying for you as well) I’m going to be punching my friend Erik in the leg. Erik really needs his legs for work and I’m sure he won’t appreciate it, so don’t disappoint me. If Erik steps away for a ridiculously expensive beer or a delicious personal pizza, I’m going to have to punch one of the old ladies, or worse, the smelly drunk who will inevitably sit next to me taking over half of my seat with his breath alone. Not that I’ll mind much…I’ll be happy just to be there – combating the trendy Lakers fans and coming up with thoughtful commentary whilst screaming at the team to do work and accidentally kicking the poor guy in front of me.
What I want to see from the whole team on Sunday are more stops, some go-go Gadget arms, some holy-crap-did-his-legs-just-disappear-dunks and for Pete’s sake, please give us some more heart stopping 3’s!
I’ll be the blonde with a black bow in my hair, so watch out Dudley – ‘cause I’m watching YOU! With binoculars, but hey…real fans don’t need to be right up in the action. We exude action and our presence can be the straw that humped the camel’s leg. What?