I hadn’t moved from my spot on the couch since the game
ended. Almost a half hour passed
as I sat there alone, staring at the blank TV, thinking, stewing, physically
hurting.
The Lakers had a chance to close out their series with the
Denver Nuggets, but came out at home with no energy or killer instinct. The Nuggets led the whole way,
ballooning the lead up to 15 with six minutes to play. I came very close to powering off the
TV during that timeout, and later wish I had.
But I didn’t, and inevitably the Lakers went on a furious run, led as always by the
indomitable will of Kobe Bryant.
They clawed all the way back to within 2 on a barrage of three
pointers. The sudden change of
emotions was almost too much to handle.
I went from deep despair to bewildered euphoria in less than a quarter
of an hour. It wasn’t
healthy. And when the Lakers ultimately came up just short, I fell to an even lower level of despondency.
This was a horrible feeling; this was not something I wanted
to feel anymore. This wasn’t very
fun. Sports are supposed to be
fun. Being a sports fan is
supposed to be fun. This was not fun.
