All right, by a show of wings, who had 16 games for the Big Lug, Brook Lopez, before he went down for an extended period? Yup, just like I figured, the majority.
Lower back, though. I didn’t see that coming. His achy-breaky feet were the clear favorite. That’ll show the Vegas odds-makers.
Our grand prize winner, and the proud recipient of a mostly eaten plate of TGI Friday’s mozzarella sticks, is my buddy Joey from Bay Ridge. Joey correctly predicted the injury location and was within one game of when the big man would go down. Congratulations, Joey. Enjoy the appetizer. And if you see a mistletoe-toting helicopter drone buzzing through the restaurant, duck!
Next item on the agenda, Bill and Kate. Didn’t we oust the English centuries ago? What is the media doing ogling the duke and duchess like a pack of crumb-encrusted children taking in a performance of “Frozen” on ice? We can’t just give these freeloaders a pass to pester our greats, sweaty Lebron James, aging Dikembe Mutombo — who looks great in a suit, by the way — and King Hov and Queen Bey, as if the cradle of democracy was actually a feudal palace. And to eat Mutombo’s popcorn! You know how hard I work to score a couple of kernels after a game? They’re lining the space beneath the seats, sure, but I have to fly all the way down from the rafters, and all that bending over does a number on my back.
Anyhow, speaking of royalty, King James really held court on Monday, to the continued chagrin of Nets observers. Our Brooklyn boys were holding his majesty in check until the Brits took their seats midway through the third quarter, proving in my book that they are a bad luck charm on top of everything else. From that point on, Lebron started showing off and the Cavs started pulling away. It was a royal flush, if you will.
Kevin Garnett remarked to ESPN that the game “felt like the Finals.” I wouldn’t go that far, as the Nets would be lucky to get run out of the gym by the Cavs in the first round of the playoffs the way things are going now.
In other injury news, our own foreign-born guy Mirza Teletovic didn’t finish Monday’s game thanks to a hip pointer and a smack to the mouth.
If I hadn’t seen the game with my own beady eyes, I would’ve suspected one of my loyal readers had committed the crime after watching him go 1-for-6 from three-point range. Though he did have that nifty up and under. Let’s hope he recovers quickly, because the Nets could really use him to spread the floor.
That concludes this week’s meeting. Next week, let’s meet at the dumpster behind Fette Sau. Tenatively on the agenda: small ball, concessions at Barclays with the best garbage, Deron Williams’ hair-to-beard ratio, and Mason Plumlee. Now who’s got the first round?
Oh, and on a serious note, I haven’t been able to breathe since last Wednesday. For once it’s not because I’m smoking too much.
