Friday, October 19, 2012

From my Blog:


It's one on a Saturday.  Jim aims the TV remote.  Knicks Nets game is in progress. 

"...rejected by Jason Kidd...Camby has it...pushing it...takes it hard all the way to the basket...foul...he'll get to the free throw line..."

Toward the kitchen, "Hey, games already started.  Got any beers?"

"Too expensive," says Jeff from the kitchen.  "We got Brandy.  Just as good.  Mix it with the Pepsi that's out there."

Jim mixes fifty-fifty.  "Yikes, this stuff is strong."

"Take it easy.  That stuff's 80 proof."

"...that's the right idea...little up fake...get to the free throw line...Camby makes the first one..."

"Come on," says Jim.  "It's already the second half."

We hear the horn.

"...Time out with the score...Brooklyn Nets 60, New York Knicks 40...Be back..."

 A man holds his back.  "Do you have annoying back pain?  Can't bend over to tie your shoes, play with your grand kids, pick up a penny off the sidewalk?  Then you need BenGay to relieve that back and joint pain."  (Yada, yada, yada.)  "But wait, there's more.  Call today, we'll double the offer.  Two tubes for the price of one, you pay only shipping and handling."

We hear the horn.

"...We're back.  The Knicks made some off  season trades, filling  their roster with playoff warhorses.  Guys are older.  Jason Kidd, he's 39, Marcus Camby, 38, Kurt Thomas, 40,  and Rasheed Wallace who's 38.  Some say they're just too old, all these youngsters in the NBA.  We'll just have to see..."

"They're saying the Knicks are a bunch of old men, can you believe?  Not much older than the Lakers, come on."  Jim gulps down his Brandy, and mixes a second.  Strong, but tasty.

"...Knicks will have to get down the court a little faster...well, a lot faster if they are going to keep up with the Nets today...70-45 Nets..."

"Hey, this Brandy tastes real good, you know.  Come on, Jeff.  What're you doing?  You'll mizzz the whole game."

"Breakfast. I'm making Pigs in Blankets. Found some hot dogs in the freezer...expired 2003, but hey, they look okay."

"Now what?"  Jim points at the TV.

Jeff sticks his head around the corner.  "Looks like he lost something on the floor?"

"'s Marcus Camby...looking for something...Oh, it's his bifocals, they got flipped off, banged up against the official's table...right under...okay, he's got them..."

Camera pans to Coach Woodsen, who's filling his cup from a large orange barrel.  Duct tape covers the old Gatorade name.  Stenciled below it is, 'Sunsweet Prune Juice.'

"Remember," says Jeff.  "Easy on the Brandy.  I'd like some with my P's in B's."

Jim empties the glass.  "I can hardly taste it," he says, as he mixes number three.

...and a floater by Kurt Thomas...nice shot...very impressive...but what this?  Time out?  Rasheed has dropped something, must be his lower dentures. Yup, see them?  There... skidding under the bench.  Okay, a quick wipe off, and their back in his mouth.  No problem, didn't even stop for a time out.  Okay..."

Jim smells the Pigs coming from the kitchen.  "That smellzz Real gooood." He flops onto the sofa, his head back against the cushion.  "You're mizzing this whole game."  He half closes his eyes.

We hear the horn.

"...Time out, we'll take it.  One fifty seven left third quarter...Reggie Evans 20 second quarter points for the's a 23 point right back..."

"Do you have those embarrassing, ugly, sickening age spots?  You need Porcelana.  It helps remove those nasty..." (Yada, yada, yada), "Money back guarantee if you don't look 60 years younger after just one application.  Don't wait.  Buy it now.  Don't look old."

We hear the horn.

"...We're back...Tickets for all Knicks home games, visit us on the web...19% shooting for the Knicks...1 for 15 from 3 point land...they'll have to do better..."

Eyes partially open, "What is that?" says Jim.  "It looks like a...cane?"

Jeff looks in at the TV.  "Kurt Thomas is watching from the bench, his chin on a...cane?"

"Whazzz going on here?" says Jim.  "They said they were old, but come on guyz?"

"Maybe he's got some kind of injury," says Jeff.  "But, wasn't' he just out on the court.  Makes no sense."

Jeff sticks his hand in the oven.  It feels about 350 degrees.  Good.  And in slides the tray of P's in B's.
The TV camera pans the Knicks' bench.  Some rub their eyes. Others yawn. All look haggard.  Then down at their shoes.

"...There see?  Right there.  Marcus Camby's new autograph shoes...Kinda like Air Jordans...I gotta get me a pair of them...M.C.'s Hush Puppies...with the Nike Swoooosh...look real smart, you know... and...there goes Rasheed, running off, another of his five minute bathroom breaks..."

Jim lurches up, and hits his forehead with the heel of his hand.  Then laughs.  "The Hell?"   He watches, confused, as Jason Kidd slowly pushes out onto the court in a...walker?  Kidd tries to dribble, but it's stolen, Jerry Stackhouse of the Nets, who slam dunks for an easy, real easy, two for Brooklyn.

" what...oh boy.  Kurt Thomas...It didn't look like anything happened...he just fell...and...what's this?...He can't get up?  Maybe because he' should I say it...beyond his years? There's two cheerleaders out there...lifting him by both arms..and pulling him over to the bench.  He seems out of it.  Real groggy..."

Jeff from the kitchen, "And the other cheerleader has an oxygen mask on him...and there's one on Camby.  They must really be out of breath.  Man, what a game." 

He stares through the oven window at his P's in B's.  They sizzle.  "Yes," and pulls them out.

Jim downs his drink. Number four.  "Thiz iz crazzzy."

All set, Jeff enters, holding the platter of P's in B's.  Along with a large jar of peanut butter, he sets it down on the coffee table in front of Jim, who lies there mouth open, eyes closed.  Figuring the amount of 80 proof Brandy in him, Jeff smiles, knowing the Pigs are all his.
And we hear the horn.

"...And that's it.  Game over..."

Oh boy," Jeff says."

Then he smells his P's in B's.

"OH BOY, " he says.

They have that old, godawful, greenish meat odor.  But because he's spent an hour screwing around with them, he figures enough peanut butter will kill the taste. Hard to make stuff that old taste good again. 

  "...Brooklyn Nets 109, New York Knicks 70.   It was a tough game to watch.  The Knicks have problems way beyond shooting and defense.  Just being able to stay on the court...they have to really work on that.  They simply ran out of steam about half way through the first quarter..."

As the Knicks depart, the camera follows them into the parking lot.  Still in their uniforms, they hobble onto the team bus. The one that has, 'Sunset Retirement Community,  Home of  Your New York Knicks.'  painted on the side.

And as the doors begin to close, the entire TV audience overhears Rasheed Wallace groan,  "Man, do I need a nap.  I'm sure glad tonight's Bingo night."

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