Farewell, David

With a New Jersey-stifling run, San Antonio took the game by its neck and secured the 2002-2003 NBA Championship.

The storybook season ended on a night when the moon was at its brightest and the stars were aligned in favor of the boys who scraped their way to a beautiful end. I let the Spurs down throughout the first three quarters. My energy level was extremely low and, thus, I was unable to sufficiently support them tonight.

But I got a call from a friend who in a few short minutes managed to inject my mood with a little light just as the Spurs' 19-0 run locked the title in a protective vault. Thanks, John. Up to this point, I had been unable to feel the made shots and lacked adequate disappointment at their chronic deficit.

But with a Stephen Jackson three-pointer to put the Spurs ahead by one for the first time on the night, I felt begin their charge to the end. Unfortunately, it was also the end of David Robinson's NBA career. And let's just keep this between you and me....there were tears. Don't tell anyone. I got caught by Cornelia wiping one away. It's hard to convince an academic of one's emotional attachment to a sports team, but I tried. I'm going to miss watching #50 run up and down the court; block a shot; take a charge; slam a rebound.I'm going to miss his left-handed finesse; his magnanimous smile; his intensity on the court. And I'm going to miss his respect for the game. I have faith, though, that Tim Duncan will step in and fill the space that David has just vacated. What a team this is. I hope other players will take David's example and understand what really is important.

Sure the numbers were down during the finals. I was up last night reading article after article lamenting at the boring play between these two teams. I won't go into my opinion about that but I will say that I watched the last 10 minutes of the Liberty/Sparks game. And I watched Lisa Leslie elbow her defender, slap balls, and eratically flail her elbows after rebounding a ball.

I can't handle watching that kind of play. She's done it over and over again and it pisses me off. It kind of makes me wish I played in the WNBA. Not that that would help. (Not that I'd even have a chance.) It's up to the coaches of today, those who have 10-year olds under their guidance, to instill a respect for the game and for themselves. It takes two teams to compete and the constant search for stardom too often overshadows the real beauty of competition.

To David Robinson (I'm just going to pretend he's a daily reader): Thank you for the opportunity to watch you perform 14 seasons of great basketball. I enjoyed watching you through your ups and downs and could not have asked to witness a better ending to a perfect career. ...Now if I can only stay away from NBA.com's championship gear page...

I just came from my roof. There is a cool breeze blowing in Brooklyn tonight, and the night is so peaceful. The moon and I got into a couple of staring contests. (I could have sworn at one point I saw the Spurs logo imprinted in its face.) I'm now sitting in my room inhaling the nag champa aroma that is filling the air. There's not much else to say. Tears for Fears is flowing through my headphones and I feel like writing for days. The thoughts in my head are finding there way around and it's times like this when I feel like I can make people cry (though probably not all of you) with my words. Not really, but it sounded good, huh?

I do feel like writing and I can't let this feeling pass. So I may turn to a notebook a little later on. I'm looking at a full week of reading and writing. I'm still trying to get through Freud. I intended to have that finished by last week. I have to think of a paper topic, too, which is one of my weak points. I decided to go to a new hangout this week. There's a place by my school and I don't even know the name of it. The News cafe or something like that.

I was there on Friday with Tomek and it had good energy. We'll see. I don't think Freud and Housing Works mix, so I'll probably return there when I begin Foucault. I may hit Central Park this week (still haven't been there -- just the tip that one day). O.K. Ciao.