It's not easy being green: The NBA Finals 2010
MANILA, Philippines - Gisiiiiing, game 7 na! Breakfast is on me. Forget the shower, I’ll be at your door in 10 minutes!” That was my friend last Friday. He had rung my phone several times before that. The initial thought was to go back to bed and get more sleep. But, on second thought, I did want some longganisa (he promised) and, as I recall, I did enjoy watching the NBA Finals back in the ‘90s, although I was always more of a hockey fan than anything.
There we were, my friend in his favorite chair — all clenched fists and rocking his anxiety away to the jingles of every commercial — and me enjoying my breakfast. The game had not started.
I logged on to Twitter to check on my “tweeps.” It was already the highest trending topic so I decided to tweet my own sentiments about the game. Being a casual fan, I just wanted to get in the spirit of things, kill some time before it all began. I tweeted, “I’m going to sing 20 songs tonight if Boston wins.”
Not long after, I was deluged by tweets, from fans of the band that also happened to be Lakers’ fans. “It’s going to be the first time I don’t want to hear you sing,” went one; or “How about six songs for tonight’s gig, Miss Armi?” said another. That only made me more stubborn. Watching the game live as it was being played at the Staples Center in Los Angeles, I felt something inside me brewing — in green. Like most of our songs, it ended in heartbreak.
During timeouts, I even checked on a Twitter account that apparently belonged to Jesus. (At least it was called @jesus.) “There’s a basketball game going on and I think I remember who won this one.” With the clock dwindling down, I panicked and tweeted this online deity to “DO SOMETHING!!!”
(He didn’t — or did He?)
My boys lost. I’m an immature sports fan. I form personal grudges against anyone opposed to my team. For one, I disliked Pau Gasol for being too good — so much so I wanted to kick him if given the chance. (But he’s got skills even if I try my best not to acknowledge it.) I also go out of my way to ignore Kobe just for being Kobe. All of that — plus a penchant to root for (and empathize with) underdogs — made me go for the Celtics.
The look on my friend’s face was plain to read: “My life is over.” He even opted not to watch the last minute of the game. “I can’t watch this.”
I was not happy. I even suggested doing an all-instrumental set that night.
Before the end of the show that night, people started chanting for us to play Oo. I responded with a chant myself: “Bos-ton! Bos-ton!” To my surprise, they joined in. Perfect, I felt like a winner. For my team. That was the most I could do other than delivering puns and jabs here and there for those who were either wearing yellow or those who simply tried to distract me by going all Lakers on me. (I sent them home.)
My love of sports was rekindled. In fact, I would’ve watched all the previous games had I realized the fun in simply looking forward to the joy of winning something you have nothing to do with.
