R-E-S-P-E-C-T-L-E-S-S Americans at a Wolves Game

Damnit! My door wouldn’t lock. What do you mean? I turned the key but like its one of them new apartments that has keys with chips in them to deter copied keys or something. Damn that sounds like a hassle. So your apartment aint locked? Nope. It’s all good. It’s not like there’s people who randomly go up to doors and try them to see if they’re open. Yeah, I know.

Since Wes’ door wouldn’t lock, he was late to pick me up and there went out faded hopes in attaining a Randy Foye bobblehead. We’ll just woo some kid into a corner with some blue cotton candy and swipe one, I told him.

On our way through the skyways (enclosed building connectors for cold cities like Minneapolis) we get to hear the usual assortment of bums who are somehow so musically talented that instead of getting some prized “Gifted” scholarship years ago, they relegated to entertain moneyed folk with their speakeasy ramblings on the flute or paint tub turned drum. Some were pleasurable yet not enough to warrant a one dollar bill from me; they’d go take another hit on my dollar – hell no! But then again, I’ve always thought that their latent musical talent may be some wicked after effect of LSD.

Oh, the dreaded gates. I always get padded down and looked at because of my Osama-ish appearance. I don’t blame them. But it’s like “C’mon, like I’d waste my martyrdom at a Wolves event.” No, even if I believed in that doo-hicky nonsense, Allah would have me got with more of an illustrious bang. The security checkers aren’t as bad as before: they tell my friend to open his North Face but the man’s hand opens my coat all the more.
Here we go, gate 104. Dude, Wes go! I can’t, National Anthem’s playing. What? So fucking what, we just paid to sit down. Um, ma’am can I go to my seat. The AARP usher who wo-manned gate 104 wouldn’t let me pass. She held her hand there refusing me. I, again, asked politely. No. Ok, is there a law or a rule against letting me pass? No answer. She stopped paying attention. I looked at her name tag. Ok, Patricia. Bitch. I wish I said that. And now that I think about I should have caused a ruckus. What sort of mired my way and stance was I didn’t just pay for the ticket, my friend, Wes, invited me. So I thought, play it cool and shut up so we could watch the game in a peace or cause a stink and blow up? I hate regrets. The only thing I did do? I filled out a complaint. There is no rule against letting in people during the National Anthem, Patricia’s supervisor said it was “out of respect”. To who? Certainly not me. The funniest part of my dealings with the unnamed supervisor was when I was filling the complaint out I over heard her say to co-workers “Hey, guys we’re going to Burger King afterwards, wanna come?” Damn, so fattie, “out of respect” is going to spend $7.32 of her $8.50 from supervisor security on getting fatter?

Okay, back to my seat and the game. I’ll shut up for the meantime. I miss half the first quarter, but when I sit down, the couple in front, out of respect to my viewing pleasure, starts to make out. The woman stuck her tongue in the dude’s ear. Ewwww! Wes, you see that? They’ve been doing this since I sat down. This continued all night. The woman must have been horny as hell because she kept on stroking his hair and bring his head towards her.

The game, well what can I say: the Wolves suck. It wasn’t a defensive game as the low score (without OT) would indicate but a poor shooting night from both squads… Yes, the trashy Wolves dancers! None of any Minnesota cheerleaders ever look that good, compared to other cities, damnit you ugly dames! And too, it’s soo sexist: bring in the male cheerleaders. Where are the feminists when you need them? Yup, playing servant to their man, just how they like it… This fucking 5 year old next to me wont sit still! I’m bout slap the shit out of him. Why did his dad bring him if this kid isn’t even interested in basketball let alone old enough to know what’s going on? I guess, to get away from his wife… Oh, there’s Bill Russell in that stupid ass Coogi sweater chatting to Wolves GM Kevin McHale, McHale must have loaned it to him. Wes, I should go over and say “Bill, you’re my favorite player. Can I have your autograph?” But then I’d say, “Bill, you gave my mom herpes back in ’64!” and run away… Rashad McCants? Damn, haven’t seen you in a while. Why are you on the fringe of the timeout circle?... C-Webb, number 84? Take a seat, though and stop banging into people – raggedy knees… “My mom was watching Oprah today and this ambitious 16 year old did some study and found out that the 80% of the ice cubes at Taco Bell have bacteria in them.” His reply, “Fuck, that! Shit, I could told you all that without doing research!”… Whoa, there that couple goes again. I should so offer them $5.95 for 30 seconds of some action… The Half Time Show: more black people entertain us! This isn’t a circus people, stop exploiting! Dude, Marc. Huh? White people cannot entertain. True dat… Mark Madsen, who gets paid $3 million to cheerlead on the bench, is the first player on the court after half time. He goes to one end and shoots free throws. Why? Like the Wolves will ever put him in! Oh, here come the rest. Why did Madsen stop? Yeah, the rest of the players are black and… oh, see he picked up the ball and is now dribbling towards the three point line… now he gives the ball to Mike James… there he’s going to retrieve rebounds to kick it out to the productive players… oh now he’s stretching… Damn, didn’t realize how scared of black people Madsen was… The kid dancers, they are better than the bra stuffing women. They’re agile and smooth and after a mistake, they get right back in the groove. No wonder Nike uses children for their corporate empire… They don’t stop do they? Now the dude in front of me is hitting on the woman next to him, that’s not his wife… Wes, see that adopted Korean with the iPod? Yeah, what? Her pops with the beard is next to her. They’ve haven’t said a word all game. I guess that’s what we in America respectfully call “Parent and Kid Bonding”. Take them to an event they're not the least bit interested, to appease your spouse or duty, and not talk for three hours. Why’d he adopt in the first place?... Damn this cat in front of me smells like booze – they’ll surly get it on now… Marc, Ricky Davis just dipped and fast, out towards the tunnel… now he’s engaging with a man and he hasn’t stopped talking for half the third quarter… Madsen is at the free throw line. And he misses. “Not enough focus Madsen. More practice!” we yelled…Is it just me or is Mike James trash?… BS, Sheed gets the Obligatory Techinal… Earth to Randy Foye, you’re not a savior nor are you Stephon Marbs, stop thinking you’re a hero and stop losing it for the Wolves in the last seconds… It was the Wolves’ rookie night, so Craig Smith from BC, says his favorite movie is Scarface. “Wes, find me a black male who’s favorite movie isn’t Scarface!”… Oh, shit “Smack him McDyess! Twap Him!!!” Look at KG running like a bitch, gonna throw the ball and back away. This mini fight didn’t escalate but got the crowd into the game, even though it was close and there was 6 minutes left. Too bad too, that black people fight in order to satisfy the crowd. The NBA isn’t too far off from Roman-gladiator-slavery times. I admit it too, it was finally fun. Korean and her pops finally had a word. I guess that broke the ice. Dude in front of me, flat out drunk now, toyed with the teenage girl in front of her. Such togetherness. Boos rang when KG was ejected. C’mon, KG is an asshole! The arena showed no replays. And the elevator/lobotomy music was funny (you'll hear it in the background in the clip), as it tried to calm everyone down... Mark Blount, after his three point shot, is officially on steroids… “Go, go, go, ugh!” Chauncey Billups knocks down that tre. OT baby… Randy, stop hurting em… 2nd OT… Damn Rip Ham, rounding those picks and straight bucking shots… Pistons 104, Wolves 98



Why mention all this randomness during a basketball game? These disrespectful fans distracted me. Honestly, though, they were more entertaining then those black millionaires. These “white” people who attend costly sporting events only have to be respectful for a minute and a half when the National Anthem is playing. But otherwise, they have the Freedoms to run amok.