Birthday Bucket List

Shot from the Portland City Grill before tip-off

When Lebron was interviewed after his first championship I heard him tell the reporter “this is the best day of my life.”  I was taken back, being ever-so-judgmental of him because he’s good.  But in my eyes he’ll never be “Kobe good.”  I looked at my friend and said “did you hear that?”  “He has two kids, and a wife, and THIS is the best day of his life?”  Let’s put sports in perspective.   With that in mind, so far to date, I had a really, really, really, good day last week. 

 

LeBron and Adam.  Both have 2 rings. 

Twenty years from now I’ll be trying to tell another one of my one-upper sports stories, at a bar-table full of wanna-be jocks, that never made it.  I could tell about the time I sat front row (beers on the dugout) at a Twins game in Seattle, and saw a Mariner base runner lean a little towards second, before getting back safely, on a left-handed pickoff attempt at first.  I yelled “he’s going RON” at Twins skipper Ron Gardenhire.  Gardenhire was standing next to the pitching coach who was about 8 feet in front of me.  Definitely within ear shot.  So I said again very confidently “Ron!  He’s going!  I saw him lean!”  Twins all-star catcher Joe Mauer looks in the pitching coaches’ direction for the call of next pitch.  And when Mauer relays to the pitcher, I get anxious.  My $9.00 bud light goes in the cup holder, I scoot forward on my chair, gently lift up my TC hat, and with anticipation and excitement, watch…Pitcher comes set, and with a perfect poker face, barely checks the runner at first, who is inching now to  a bigger lead.  He slide-steps to home, and the runner takes off!  Mauer stands up, steps over, and the ball hits him perfectly in the chest.  A quick transfer to his rocket arm, and a bullet to our shortstop, the ball beats the would-be base thief as he’s just starting his slide.  The ump lethargically holds up his fist to signal OUT, as if everyone couldn’t tell anyway.  The very favorable Seattle home crowd moans.  Except me.  I jump up with animation and squeal something to the effect of “I  TOLD YOU HE WAS GOING, I TOLD YOU!”  Gardenhire then turns around, makes eye contact with me, and touches his bill.  My brother and friends around me go crazy, and I almost get tears in my eyes.  Whether or not my “intel” assisted in the pitch-out, or they saw what I saw, I didnt care.  In baseball when you tip your cap to someone, it’s the ultimate respect.  I sat front row at a major league baseball game and was paid respect by the coach.  Bucket-list. 

From here you can smell the tobacco juice and ball sweat.  Cool huh?!



See.  Beers on the dugout.  When you're with me we play "a beer an inning".  Hope for long innings. 

Here’s another story.  Highlights from my best.  Jan 5^th, 2015:

-I sat on the court to watch my favorite basketball team, the Lakers, almost pull off an upset.   And before you start yelling who cares, understand that I get it.  I get the Lakers are down more than Corky from Life Goes On.  In fact, Rihanna should date one of them because they can’t beat anybody.  But this makes up for all the times I got to cheer for them raising another banner while your team didn’t.  (I don’t know too many Spurs fans) 

-I sat in Paul Allen and Marshawn Lynches’ seats because they didn’t show up to the game. 

-I caught the ball twice when it bounced out of bounds, and handed it back to the ref.  However, not before giving the ref a piece of my mind the second time, and telling him he needs to “get LaMarcus outta the key, he’s camping!”  The ref didn’t care. 



My shoes on the hardwood pic > your bare feet on the sand pic.  Any day. 

I had to refrain really hard not to jump up and touch the rim, just to say I did. 

The people around me must have been thinking who’s sitting in Paul Allen’s seats and talking to the players on a first name basis like he knows them?  It probably helped I had Ray Ray sit in my other seat.  He had his polished bald head, and was wearing a zip-up hoodie with guns printed all over the shoulders and collar.  He couldn’t have looked more like my body guard if he tried. The guy next to Ray asked him if he knows where Paul is?  Like he’s on a first name basis with Mr. Allen…

-I told Meyers Leonard to quit begging for calls because he’s wearing Kobe’s shoes, and he’s not going to get those calls until he gets his own brand.   He fired back, “ya, but he’s not playing tonight."   I had no comeback.

-I saw Ronnie Price get his nose broken and blood spilled profusely onto the floor.  No foul was called, and I literally got to yell "NO BLOOD, NO FOUL, I GUESS?!"  Looking back that makes entirely NO sense, because there was a LOT of blood.  Dammit. 


Look, blood.  No foul huh? 

-Nick Young a.k.a. Swaggy P, in only Swaggy P fashion tried to cross somebody up in the first half.  He shaked, when he should’ve baked, and dribbled the ball off his foot to half-court.  Picked up the ball, noticed the shot clock had 2 seconds on it, and let one fly.  All net.  I immediately stood up and unintentionally screamed “THAT’S WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT”.  Why did I say that?  I don’t know.  BUT, I do know that play made the top 10 that night, and you can see Ray and yours truly (the only one in a Lakers jersey stand up) under the hoop start yelling.  I made the top 10 bitches. 

- Big Rob Sacre noticed me half-way through the second quarter.  He had to use his hand to hold back his smile.  It was a : 3 years of serving him long-island ice teas, driving him to his dorm, taking numerous shots of Patron, helping him guest bartend, and 'damn, someone I know wearing a Laker jersey in Portland' kind of a smile, that he held back.  He came over at the start of the 4^th quarter after a time-out to give me some love.  Boom.  Three years of not getting tipped for all my drinks I've given him, for one fist-pound in front of everyone?  Ill take it!  Now I was the one trying to hold back a smile. 

-I yelled at Nick Young to get back on defense.  He smirked.  I wish I could’ve thought of a “I’m a better rapper than your girlfriend, Iggy” heckle.  But I’m not.  And I didn’t’. 

- I yelled “WOLF” as loud as I could, when nobody else on the team did!  Price got picked from behind and that led to a Blazer run-out and easy layup.   I followed it up with a “ITS NO WONDER KOBE YELLS AT YALL ALL THE TIME, YOU DON’T EVEN TALK ON DEFENSE” type-of-coaches rant.   For one game I was super-fan who was an un-paid coach.   I was the white Spike Lee, watching his favorite, but appalling team, and pretending that the players were actually listening to me.  Hell, they don’t even listen to Byron Scott, let-alone the guy who took Marshawns spot, because he’s probably brushing up on his hooked on Phonics.

-At half-time our row was presented with a page containing the half-time stats that are passed out to the coaches.  You don't get that in the 300 level.

 

- I caught the girl sitting next to me trying to take a picture of me.  I’m sure it was a snapchat to her friend with the caption: who the hell is this guy? 

-A random drunk dude kept running down the stairs to give me hive-fives before being escorted back to his seats above me.  We’ll never know who he thought I was.   Damn middle-class. 
 




Freeze shot after Lillard catches fire.  I'm not hard to spot.  See the only guy in misery in a sea full of happiness?  That's me.   

-I literally had front row to watch the games best pick and roll/ pick and pop matchup (Lillard and Aldridge) run two-man, the last 3 min of the game, and score on every possession.  I don’t know any combo point guard/small forward in the league that can guard that, especially when they both were hitting jumpers, let alone the Lakers.  It was like watching a pick and roll breakdown on what to do when the defender goes under or over the screen.  (i.e. Stockton and Malone) The Lakers had no answer on offense down the stretch either.  Watching them look at each other with no movement or fluidity, its no wonder why the #24 guy, takes most of the shots.  The Lakers should hire William Shakespeare when Kobe sits out.  At least that will make one good play maker.   And in some weird circle-of-life karma, was that old vet I didn't get to watch, who had to watch this game frustrated on his couch some 1000 miles south on the coast.  Resting his tired legs, and seeing the new generation of ballers, like Lillard, effortlessly drop 39 on the Lake show.  There was something so bitter-sweet about not watching Kobe, but witnessing first-hand, a newer version of one of the best players in the league take over the game in the clutch.    

In the end, do I care that Kobe was “resting”?  Hmmm, not really?  Who’s to say what I would’ve done if he would’ve played.  Really, by hearing he wasn’t playing, I posted about how grumpy I was that I didn’t get to see him on my birthday.  Someone I know felt bad for me, made a couple of calls, and before you know it, I’m playing a waiting game on my phone from some guy I've never met, and he’s texting me “If Paul and Marshawn, or his agent, don’t go tonight, you get their tickets.  It’s not for certain, but if you don’t get them, at least you’ll have a good story to tell.”

Life is weird.  12 hours ago I was watching my friend sing Pearl Jam at strip-a-roki. ( It’s a seedy little hole called the ‘Devils Tooth’, where C-squad, skinny-fat girls, take off their K-mart under-panties on stage, while you sing karaoke next to them.  It’s so disgusting and shameful, that it automatically makes you have the best time you can have without getting a virus)  And now, 12 hours later, I’m waiting to see if I get to sit on the floor at a NBA game watching my oh-so-beloved-and-awful LAKERS!??  Very rarely can you say WTF, but really…WTF?!   For all the times I mumble “I have the worst luck” when I get a parking ticket or I run out of hair-gel, I’ll remind myself of this experience and think “well, not really”.   

Bucket list:  Sit court-side at an NBA game, on your birthday, to watch your favorite team play, and interact with the players.  Check.