Weekly Wizard Haiku: Week 2
Another week has passed, and the Wizard returns!
Wow. I just wanted to see if I could pull off a sentence using the 3-1/3rd person perspective, which is referring to myself in the third person while using a self-created nickname instead of anything found on my birth certificate.
It's all the rage in the Intentionally Ironic Overconfidence Community (IIOC), and yes, it's also very risky. Hope you're still with me.
Sincere thanks to those who voted last week's effort into the Article of the Day box. With only a couple hundred readers (and 28 clicks from Mom!), I think you should all be proud of yourself for rocking the democratic process.
So, sit back and push play on the sophomore album. Shorter, more concise, and strategically designed to disappoint:
Is it Pau or POW?
Mama feed you rice cakes, like
Prisoner of war?
Landing Pau Gasol was the move that put the Lakers back into the title hunt out West. But somehow the answer to all of those supposedly superior West coast problems had nothing in the tank against the blue collar bruisers in the East.
That's right. Blue collar. Three career All-Stars on one team, fighting like a bunch of coal miners who just got Punk'd and have never heard of MTV.
The Celts brought their lunch pails. The Lakers brought finesse in the form of a pampered superstar and a malnourished center who needed about 50 more pounds of muscle.
But the scariest part is that before it all started, at least outside of Boston, the majority of us thought the Lakers were going to run away with this thing!
K.G. lose contact...?
"Anything is possible!!!!!"
He must have found it.
Never a big Garnett fan (never a hater either, just sort of indifferent) throughout his career in 'Sota, I've watched him a lot more closely this year. I guess I'm probably arriving at the party a little late here, but this dude is insane!
Whether it's been the persistent "muh-th-fk-as" mouthed almost every time the cameras could find him or the mild mannered post-game interview, he certainly has never failed to surprise me.
And because my imagination is a little hard to control, I've forever linked him with the Alien Queen that used to give Sigourney Weaver a hard time. Bald head. Big toothy scream face. Saliva trails. No? Just me?
I thought that if the tiny alien head was really in his body, it would have slowly extended from his mouth in this year's finals. But alas, when he leaned back and screamed that anything was possible and it didn't come out...well...I blame it on Michelle Tafoya. He didn't want to come off, umm, weird in front of her.
Lakers take in rear.
No! Not like that. Gross! Boston's
Coach is a Doctor.
As an ever-disgruntled Orlando Magic fan, it pains me to see Dr. Rivers holding anything shiny over his head. But I must give credit where it's due. After escaping the Hawks and Cavs, they drastically improved against better competition and were the wire-to-wire best team in the league.
And regardless of the referee scandal that may or may not ever be, it's been a positive year for the NBA in a recent history of flat-liners.
But for now I'll drop-kick the basketball into the back of the garage.
With a month and a half until college football practice starts, it is officially time to pull out the old bacon ball and dust it off. To stare at it. To smell it. To kiss the tip of it. Just the tip...
Same time next week, sports perverts!
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