Stick a fork in 'em
The Grizzlies, that is. Allow me to explain.
Before the Spurs-Hawks game the other night, I sacrificed a hawk. Ok, it was actually a pigeon. And I didn’t exactly sacrifice it; my wife ate it for lunch at a Cantonese restaurant. I made sure to hex it and hurl a few profanities its way before she ate it, though. And the result revealed something that should have been obvious all along: What the 2009-2010 Spurs have been missing is not chemistry, or commitment to team defensive principles, or height, or PT for Ian “the D-League Dominator” Mahinmi, or a player on the roster who doesn’t look foolish trying to guard Dirk “Deutschebag” Nowitski, or a roster with fewer creaky vets and more youthful athleticism. Please. They’re right on the cusp of being a great team. All they need now is a little heartfelt voodoo.
I remain convinced that the heroic action I took against Lindsey “Lohan” Hunter in the fourth quarter of Game 7 of the 2005 Finals pushed the Spurs over the top and gave them their third championship. Don’t recall my heroism? Let me engage in a brief bit of verbal onanism. Until that point, Hunter had been eating the Spurs alive (along with Beno Udrih’s career), so in my desperation I did the only logical thing: amidst a turbulent sea of cocky Pistons fans at a San Francisco sports bar, I ate him. The rest is history. You’re welcome, Spurs fans.
By 2007 a combination of complacency, confidence that the Spurs had outgrown their need for my supernatural support, and actually having better things to do with my time conspired to retire me from the voodoo business. Their 2007 voodoo-free ’ship appeared to vindicate my belief that such self-absorption and o’erweening hubris (i.e. that the Spurs were good enough to win championships without my voodoo) were acceptable.
But now, as if raised by a voodoo ritual myself, I have returned from the Hades of my own complacency. My wife will be thrilled.
For tonight’s game, I have concocted a simple voodoo strategy: panda vandalism. If you’re a real Spurs fan and not merely a self-deceiving poseur, you will download these PDF instructions and execute them as faithfully and maliciously as possible.
(A note to my daughter, if somehow you happen to read this at some point in the future when you can read: No, of course I didn’t actually hurt your precious pandas. I’m well aware that daddies who do such things go to hell. I only took their photo and then returned them, unmolested, to your pile of stuffed animals. Then I hurt someone else's pandas instead.)
The Spurs are struggling with a number of obstacles this season: age, Tony’s injuries, new players still learning the defensive system, RJ’s difficulty fitting in on both ends of the court, one of the toughest Western Conference races ever, and Manu’s being weighed down by that enormous chip he’s obviously carrying around on his shoulder. They need your help. I may or may not be at leisure to sully this blog with an occasional demented rant as the regular season goes on, but either way, I expect you loyal SpursDynasty readers to build on the foundation I have laid today. With voodoo, the Spurs are 1-0 against good teams this year (100%, folks!) and look focused, energetic, and resilient. Without it, they flop around like a 25-18 fish out of water on its last legs.*
Statistically, it’s a no-brainer: Stick a fork in those Grizzlies, or impale ’em with whatever pointy implement is lying around. Make the enemy mascot your lunch on every game day. (Unfortunately, the Lakers present a certain logistical challenge in that regard, but I’m sure you resourceful Spurs fans can find a way.) It’s your voo-duty.
*Yes, perhaps the most brilliant sentence I have ever written.
Before the Spurs-Hawks game the other night, I sacrificed a hawk. Ok, it was actually a pigeon. And I didn’t exactly sacrifice it; my wife ate it for lunch at a Cantonese restaurant. I made sure to hex it and hurl a few profanities its way before she ate it, though. And the result revealed something that should have been obvious all along: What the 2009-2010 Spurs have been missing is not chemistry, or commitment to team defensive principles, or height, or PT for Ian “the D-League Dominator” Mahinmi, or a player on the roster who doesn’t look foolish trying to guard Dirk “Deutschebag” Nowitski, or a roster with fewer creaky vets and more youthful athleticism. Please. They’re right on the cusp of being a great team. All they need now is a little heartfelt voodoo.
I remain convinced that the heroic action I took against Lindsey “Lohan” Hunter in the fourth quarter of Game 7 of the 2005 Finals pushed the Spurs over the top and gave them their third championship. Don’t recall my heroism? Let me engage in a brief bit of verbal onanism. Until that point, Hunter had been eating the Spurs alive (along with Beno Udrih’s career), so in my desperation I did the only logical thing: amidst a turbulent sea of cocky Pistons fans at a San Francisco sports bar, I ate him. The rest is history. You’re welcome, Spurs fans.
By 2007 a combination of complacency, confidence that the Spurs had outgrown their need for my supernatural support, and actually having better things to do with my time conspired to retire me from the voodoo business. Their 2007 voodoo-free ’ship appeared to vindicate my belief that such self-absorption and o’erweening hubris (i.e. that the Spurs were good enough to win championships without my voodoo) were acceptable.
But now, as if raised by a voodoo ritual myself, I have returned from the Hades of my own complacency. My wife will be thrilled.
For tonight’s game, I have concocted a simple voodoo strategy: panda vandalism. If you’re a real Spurs fan and not merely a self-deceiving poseur, you will download these PDF instructions and execute them as faithfully and maliciously as possible.
(A note to my daughter, if somehow you happen to read this at some point in the future when you can read: No, of course I didn’t actually hurt your precious pandas. I’m well aware that daddies who do such things go to hell. I only took their photo and then returned them, unmolested, to your pile of stuffed animals. Then I hurt someone else's pandas instead.)
The Spurs are struggling with a number of obstacles this season: age, Tony’s injuries, new players still learning the defensive system, RJ’s difficulty fitting in on both ends of the court, one of the toughest Western Conference races ever, and Manu’s being weighed down by that enormous chip he’s obviously carrying around on his shoulder. They need your help. I may or may not be at leisure to sully this blog with an occasional demented rant as the regular season goes on, but either way, I expect you loyal SpursDynasty readers to build on the foundation I have laid today. With voodoo, the Spurs are 1-0 against good teams this year (100%, folks!) and look focused, energetic, and resilient. Without it, they flop around like a 25-18 fish out of water on its last legs.*
Statistically, it’s a no-brainer: Stick a fork in those Grizzlies, or impale ’em with whatever pointy implement is lying around. Make the enemy mascot your lunch on every game day. (Unfortunately, the Lakers present a certain logistical challenge in that regard, but I’m sure you resourceful Spurs fans can find a way.) It’s your voo-duty.
*Yes, perhaps the most brilliant sentence I have ever written.
posted by Bramlet Abercrombie at 11:34 AM
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