Thursday, August 16, 2007

“He brings peace! Break his legs so he don’t get away!”

I am cursed with a special torture. Everywhere I go, the home team wins a championship.

Once I thought this was a mere coincidence. In high school, when I was exiled from America’s Dairyland to the City of Windy Shoulders, the Bulls threepeated™. Easily explainable – Jordan, Pippen and Jackson, with some Rodman for insanity garnish.

Then, I went to college in the Big Rotten Suck-Ass Apple, and the Yankees go on a tear. I can’t rationalize the Marlins in ’97, though – I don’t even think G-d has a decent excuse for that nonsense.

Now, here in patriotism’s birth canal, I have seen the Patriots become a dynasty, and the Red Sox end 458 years of futility. This phenomenon can no longer be rationalized with some karmic quadratic equation. I am damned to watch other’s teams shower themselves in champagne like so much acid rain.

So here’s what I’m going to do. All those cities out there that could really benefit from one of their teams winning it all will get to bid for my services. Minimum bid is a house, couple of cars, and $1 million, post-tax, in cash.

Seattle: I know your town needs a championship. A ring would keep the Sonics in town, a Lombardi would allow everyone to stop bitching about the refs in the Super Bowl, and a World Series win would stop all that heckling Ichiro gets when he goes home for the offseason.

Phoenix: a ring proves that glorious passing and speed can beat rebounding, sound execution and lock-down defense. A Lombardi would really piss off football purists who understand the truism that is Cardinals suckitude. And a Cup would make everyone forget Mrs. Gretzky’s gambling problem.

New Orleans: you need a championship so people can move on from that natural disaster from a couple of years ago. Sandstorm, wasn’t it? Avalanche?

Chicago: you had your chance. Now you’ll have to wait another 44 generations for a new golden ticket. You blew all my mojo on the Bulls. You couldn’t let Barkley win just once?

Orlando: I’ll move there on one condition – I get to use Walt Disney’s zombie frozen head as a soccer ball.

Dallas: see, I really hate the Cowboys. Almost as much as the Packers. So I’ll need the services of Mark Cuban as my personal valet for 2 weeks out of the year, during which time I will be entitled to make personnel changes to the Mavericks, and wardrobe changes for Mark. How many billions of dollars does it cost to get a normal shirt, buddy?

Wisconsin: the Packers slipped in a Super Bowl win when I wasn’t looking. That alone is reason enough to withhold my powers from the Brewers. And they’re awesome this year – scrappy, young, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. It’s just too bad Brett Favre is a pill-popping hick. Trade him to the Lions, and maybe we’ll talk. But I doubt it.

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