So, anyway, back to my story: so then, my hefty adversary bones out. I'm thinking, why are you all in my way? Go shoot your pictures from whatever spot they gave you. And I'm already peepin' game, like Cartman can't possibly be from a big paper because cats from Sports Illustrated and the AP already have the prime spots, so they're too busy flirting with the Clippers' dancers to be beefing cause some young black cat is doing his thing. I'm not tripping him, I've got work to do (c) Isley Brothers. But the hateration doesn't stop.
Midway through the second quarter, this brotha (and I use the term loosely) -- who I later learned was from a rival publication -- came and took Getty Images' seat (Getty Images didn't show up) to my right, closer to the basket. The fact that he did it, didn't bother me, because it's kind of an unspoken rule that if cats don't show up, you can take their spot. What got me was that this dude inched up on me, then sat all the way out dang near touching the Clippers' logo. I turned to get a shot under the basket and all I saw was the back of this negro's head. I'm abnormally laidback, but when cats try to take advantage, I go to some other place. So West Toledo Jason inched out with him and we was dang near out on the court. I imagined Cassell or somebody diving for the ball and tripping over us and breaking his leg and being out for the playoffs. We'd be on the cover of the Times' sports section, angrily blaming each other and be ostracized from the biz like some ghetto Jayson Blairs.
(Quick aside: when Cuttino Mobley hit his half-court three at the buzzer, my wife said she saw me on TV. She was hype. I thought my phone would be blown up. But I remembered that cats don't really watch Clippers games. Or maybe I don't have any friends. Or maybe I do have friends but they have better things to do than call me cause they saw me on TV for three seconds. Maybe I'm thinking about this too much.)
Then in the third quarter, some Coach K looking dude with a Brazilian accent is sitting in my seat. But I'm like water, nigga (c) Bruce Lee [except for the "nigga" part] so I just sat down in the Getty Images spot, because I knew they wasn't coming. Your boy from the rival paper came back late and ended up dang near sitting in Shaun Livingston's lap because there were hardly any spots left on the floor.
WITH A KEY, SISSSSSSSIIIIIIIEEEEEESSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
If these cats get to the Western Finals or whatever, pray for your boy. Might see me and Chris Farley on some fisticuffs by the scorers' table.
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