I've been putting off writing about the Bucks' Friday night game because a) I've just been too swamped with work, being sick, and etc., and b) it's just too heartbreaking. At least the other night they smoked again, and maybe they'll have their mojo back for our next game this Saturday night.
Do I have to write about this? Yes, it will be cathartic to blog it, so here goes. Ugh, they come out losing. By the time we're seated and settled in, It looks like its going to be the down side of a blowout. By the fourth quarter, the Dad sitting behind us rounds up his kids three minutes in and leaves to beat the traffic exodus, since the Bucks are down by 20 or something like that. Brian and I agree to stay to the bitter end, because dammed if they again stage a comeback and we'll regret missing some fabulously orgasmic buzzer beating shot that wins the game. Of course, as anybody who follows the Bucks could figure, we went home with blue balls. I really thought they were going to do it. The stage was set perfectly, with under a minute left, we score, Philly has the ball, Bucks predictably foul, Philly misses the free throw so the Bucks are within winning --with possession, and we're supposed to hit a three to put us into overtime. Instead, we go for the safe 2, but that's OK. We still have time to foul and quickly hit it. But it was not to be. Ugh.
It shouldn't have come to this. The horrific turnover stat -- 20 in total -- doesn't tell the whole story. These weren't just "great steal!" turnovers. No, you'd think Brett Favre was playing for the Bucks because half those turnovers were the Bucks throwing the ball directly to a 76er. And the last time Brian and I went to see the Bucks play Philly, it was last year when ol' Allen Iverson had his best game ever -- against the Bucks. Who has his best game ever this night? Mr. Demi Moore! They ought to be ashamed of themselves.
We got there late and missed the anthem but I don't for a minute regret this, as we had a smashing dinner at Barossa. We've been meaning to try Barossa for months and finally we get there. They specialize in organic, naturally raised food. Must get there during the summer when vegetables are in peak season, for I'm sure they do it proud, like our other crunchy granola fine dining mecca, Roots. Barossa also pours a fine chocolate martini. I know, I know, chocolate martinis are a real gurl drink and real drinkers would never let such a thing pass their lips. However, I'm a gurl and I drink like a gurl, and these went down way too easily. I spent the first quarter realizing they hit me hard, and this was not a Bucks game you wanted to be drunk at. At least I know when to quit with the Martinis already, and I drank water the rest of the night. Fortunately I was straight by halftime to catch the old folks' game.
The old folks' game at Bucks halftime was great. People walking around with signs that say "You're never too old", somehow the Bucks' entertainment squad found enough guys from 55-83 who could still run, pass and shoot respectably to put on a good game. The star was this guy, whose name I neglected to write down, but he was 83 years old, and had a resume that read like Milwaukee's All American candidate: Captain of the 1945 Marquette University Basketball and Football (Marquette had football? A Jesuit Catholic University spent money on football? Well, the pope wasn't exactly catholic in '45 either) teams, veteran of course, Milwaukee Brewers' scorekeeper, and now he's just chilling out at the Village At Manor Park. Best of all, no black socks on any these guys. They're old folks. They know better: "We're playing basketball, not cutting the grass."
Philly's wearing of the black socks was allowable because their uniforms are jet black, but why are the 76'ers uniforms jet black? Are they, or are they not, named in honor of Philadelphia's claim to the home of Democracy? Their uniforms used to scream "USA!" with their apt color scheme of the ol' Red White and Blue. What happened? Are they trying to be Messers Street Cred? I know this was a recent development, because I saw an 11-year-old kid with the old blue and red jersey (with Iverson's name and number on it), topped off with a cap and attitude, looking very much like Mellow Gold-era Beck. Philly, get the old uniforms back and lose the black socks while you're at it, because once Iverson retires or gets traded, you've lost your hard street cred anyway.
Note to the girl singer sitting in with Streetlife, the Bucks' house band: Although Wisconsin is not yet a state that outlaws the performance of "Holloback Girl" by anybody over the age of 23, you might do well to avoid doing so anyway. No girlfriend, you ain't no Holloback Girl, and nobody will ever accuse you of being one, so this was a waste of your opportunity to front some of the city's best session men. Good thing girlfriend's name isn't listed on Streetlife's site, she can anonymously put this atrocious attempt at blue-eyed hip-hop behind her and move on with her otherwise promising career. And jumbotron camera guy, Warren Wiegratz is un-hip enough as it is -- did you have to focus on him trying to kick it out on his keyboards, to the snickers of the fashionably jiggy girls sitting by me? No, you did not. Shame on you. I hope somebody focuses on you when you're failing at swank.