Why I Probably Shouldn’t Watch Basketball

“Spurs or Cavs?”

As questions go, it was relatively innocent. And as nights out go, it was, to be frank, short. A few days back, I was staring at a flatscreen at Mercury Bar, watching the Cavaliers go gently into that good night, when the girl sitting next to me posed the question. (Disclaimer: I don’t really feel like reviewing the locale—simply put, $8 for a weak whisky and coke… not a sports bar, but a bar that shows sporting events.) Being, y’know, me… I took the bait.

Cavs. Not because I pull for LeBron and the boys—to be honest, my feelings towards basketball resemble 98% of this country’s thoughts on hockey. I was watching for two reasons: first, my boy Mikey was in the sixth row—sorry, bud—and second, I pull for underdogs. (The Vikings, the Twins, the city of Buffalo in general.) There’s something distinctly American about pulling for underdogs. I’m serious—when they signed the Declaration of Independence, Richard Henry Lee was already pulling for the Cubs. They cut it from the Preamble.

“Me too! Ohmygawd, right?”

Great. We talk. We talk about basketball, fine. We talk about underdogs, she gets it. We talk about her being the only girl on her hockey team back in high school… kind of hot. The Cavs, meanwhile, continue to blow the greatest opportunity afforded to the city of Cleveland since “The Drew Carey Show”. Small price to pay for human connection. She puts a tentative hand on my shoulder. “My boyfriend’s coming. I can’t flirt with you anymore.” Oh. Graight.

I’m not saying that it was indicative of my generation. (beat) Okay, fine, that’s exactly what I’m saying. I watched the rest from a secure location (read: booth with Artesia and Alistair) and observed the following: she’s obviously not into this guy, he’s obviously crazy about her, the Cavs are getting outmuscled in the paint and kind of deserve to be swept. But you can’t admit your unhappiness these days. You make hopeful small talk about a doomed sports team while your boyfriend’s in the bathroom. (Or, conversely, you pretend that your conversation’s going somewhere and that 3-0 isn’t an insurmountable deficit.) Displays of effort or passion are completely inappropriate. If you really need to devote yourself to something… pull for an underdog. But in fifteen years, when you’re still alone, marry your best friend and pull for whoever’s in first.

Wow. Sorry. Was that cynical? That was cynical. It’s a good thing that Company is playing right down my street—I really need to hear “Being Alive” now. Um… there’s always next year, Cleveland? (And again, Mikey… sorry, bud.)