A Warning to Basketball Fans: Don't Let a Team Run Your Life

I'm not often in a confessional mood, but after the San Antonio Spurs collapsed again in a game they had in seemingly unshakable command, I must admit my problem.

The two teams for which I root, the Houston Rockets and San Antonio Spurs, sometimes run my life. I have at times lived and died by tough losses, and playoff defeats have sent me spiraling into depressive periods. Don't let this be you. Take my advice. It's only a game, right?

Except for me, basketball has never been just a game. That is, when I began following the sport fanatically. I often struggle in the ladies department, work in a crap industry, and have found myself alone on many Friday nights. Enter the Spurs and Rockets. Basketball lifts me up, it gets me excited and I watch enough of it that I consider it one area in which I'm not a moron.

I don't make excuses and I try not to come off as a homer. I know my teams are flawed, and as the Spurs shooters missed at least 22 wide-open jumpers tonight, it's clear the Hornets were the tougher team. Instead of writing this cautionary rant, I should be penning something about Chris Paul's greatness.

He broke Alvin Robertson's streak of 105 consecutive games with a steal, but unless he suffers a career-ending injury, he will accomplish far greater feats. Paul is destined for a level no statistic can encapsulate, and his second-half performance added another bullet point to his already stellar pro resume.

The Spurs led by seven with several minutes to play, but David West drilled back-to-back threes to cut the lead to a point. Every shot the Hornets made in the fourth period was tougher than any the Spurs missed. In a battle of wits and mental toughness, though, the Hornets won the final minutes decisively.

Tonight's loss reminds me why I picked the Hornets as a Western Conference contender.

Friends will tell me to shut up and move on, but that's the problem. Sometimes, I do not know how to do that. I invest myself in the Rockets and Spurs, and when they cough up games, nausea swells in my throat, and anger grips me. Fourth-quarter meltdowns are the worst.

Heading off to bed, I'm pissed off and ready to vomit. Some of you might consider super fandom a goal. I call it a cancer. When you love teams so much that they can break your heart through a TV screen, it's time for some priority re-evaluation.

It's hard to cast aside basketball when I yell at the TV like a psychotic coach. "Weak side defense!" "Play for the damn pass on that lob, not a Chris Paul score." "That's OK, Matt. It was wide-open. Keep shooting those."

Since no NBA team will or should offer me a head coaching or general manager position, I'll keep the venting to myself. And every person who reads this article.

Enjoy the weather outside, or if you live up North, let it become your newest reason to fume. Liking a sports team this much is not cool. It's childish, ridiculous and fool-hearted. So, as I likely do what the Spurs are doing tonight in the visitors locker room at the New Orleans Arena, and wonder how the hell this one got away, I beg you not to be me.

Buy a puppy, love it and nurture it. Go splurge on an expensive dinner. Run over to a music shop, buy a trumpet and learn how to improvise and solo over Miles Davis' "Straight, No Chaser." Watch Goodfellas on mute and see if you've memorized the script yet.

Anything but watch a basketball game and let it turn your day from mediocre to awful.

When a Manu Ginobili miss has me stomping like a toddler with my hands cupping my face, I know I have issues. Does anybody know a basketball shrink? I'll pay up front, and I won't be late to my appointments.

Difficult as this was to write, to admit how much I worship these two Texas teams, I had to do it so you will not repeat my mistakes.

I like you enough to advise you not to let a sports adulation get this out of hand. Call me a sore loser, but please, don't become one.

The Spurs now head to Orlando for a tough game against the surging Orlando Magic, and they might drop that contest, too. I will likely spend much of tomorrow afternoon figuring out how I will handle another loss. I also have to work and finish some last-minute Christmas shopping.

I am a dumb, inconsolable wreck. What's happening in Washington or in Darfur is much more important than a basketball game. Remember that the next time you think about approaching my level of fanaticism, and swat away the temptation.

When you let a basketball team sometimes run your life, the losses on the court won't be the only ones you mourn.

Sincerely,

Robert Kleeman