Losing Game 7 hurt me a lot.
I attempted every lucky charm in the book for two weeks to impose my considerable will on the series outcome.
I even shook off a case of food poisening from a Denny's Super Bird sandwich but still tipped the waitress $3.33 for her service.
I hit three golfballs at once off the practice tee (won't say where they ended up.
In my attempt to rush down I-5 for the final two games Officer Joey Crawford of the Oregon State Police stopped me for going 86 mph. I had to back off my last ditch campaign to rush Staples Center and break Kobe's knees, when officer Joey forewarned the California Highway Patrol that I would be invading their state. I would be easy to spot in my Green Pickup Truck with KS license plate Q1959.
I punish myself by going to Seattle Storm's WNBA games. I feel better by drawing pictures of the Space Needle with Stern hanging by his underwear at the tip and the NBA refs all hanging on by the perimeter of the observatory deck.
I fell out of the rafters of Boston Garden head first through the hoop and hit the parquet floor so hard, I lost my talent.
Hopefully, when my time is past, they bury my upside down so the NBA refs, the Lakers, and Laker Fans can kiss my azz!! And I can smoke my Victory Cigar with Red Auerbach.
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