"I Can See Clearly Now The Rain Is Gone...."
After a two week span of absolutely stellar weather, Winter finally decided to slap all of us Northern California people in the face with rain and clouds. Reality has set in and now I have to figure out where I'm going to play basketball. I've recently become so comfortable hoopin' with the combination of middle school, high school, and college kids at the court by my house that I'm hesitant to find somewhere else to go. Ah, well. We'll see what happens.
This coming Tuesday will mark the very first Golden State Warriors game I've ever attended live. I've been to a Kings game when I lived just 10 minutes outside of Sacramento, but I really wasn't there to cheer anybody on, but to just be there. The Warriors will be taking on the Pacers and I hope to maybe incite an inner riot inside of Ron Artest's brain so bad that he runs to me at my seat and punches me in the face. I have bills to pay, you know.
I spent yesterday watching my nephew at his soccer game and I came to the conclusion that he sucks at soccer. Just as I walked up to the field, I came just in time to see him kick at a ball and miss by about a foot. What got me even more what that he wasn't even the worst kid on the field. On the way home, I was giving what I think was constructive criticism about him not wanting to "make a play" and not "anticipating the ball". He defended himself by saying that he "was doing his job" and it wasn't his fault that they lost. In a sense he was true, but damn, he still sucks. I was out there and I felt like those "Little League" dad's wanting to scream at him worse than any coach would, but I was too embarassed to let everybody else know that I was even remotely related to him.
Is that wrong? Ah, who cares?
It's been a good month since I hit the slopes and I'm getting anxious. I will admit that I am one of the worst snowboarders I know, but I have seen some improvement in myself. Our last trip to South Tahoe led us to Heavenly, where all the blue and green trails were closed due to racing, and I found myself faced with a double diamond to get back down the hill. In a demonstration of utter wussy-osity, I took the lift back down the hill. Should the lift taking you down the hill be called a "lift"?