There’s a lot more I could breakdown, but most of those observations are not particularly deep nor proprietary. Mr. Howard needs to cultivate a little bit of an offensive game outside of the two-handed jam and jump hook. The Magic need to re-sign Hedo. Rashard Lewis needs to be more assertive. Pau Gasol is still a whiny beeotch, etc., etc.
So, the much bigger question is what now? With the Mets meandering along in perpetual mediocrity, and me personally enjoying a two-week detox, what is a sports fan to do? The answer: impatiently wait for the undisputed king of all professional sports (no offense to the pings of the aluminum bats from Omaha). Football weekends seem far, far away, and I’m in no mood to simply whisk away summer, particularly given those of us on the east coast really haven’t felt much of it yet on account of daily rainfall.
For now, I’ll enjoy a brief, quieter time in my sports fanaticism. Soon enough the air will take on a slightly crisper edge, the leaves will begin to turn a new tint and the Jets will begin to abuse me once again. Ahhh, I can’t wait. It’s true. The gravitational pull of the pigskin does seem to grow stronger with age, yes?
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About the Author: Cecilio's Scribe is the founder of The Legend of Cecilio Guante and a generally pessimistic fan of the Mets, Jets, Knicks and Rangers. A fine NYC-based gentlemen who hones his marketing skills as his primary trade by day. Husband, chef, father of a newborn and after-hours blogger by night. Proud alum of the mighty Big Red of Cornell. University. Hot sauce devotee. Staunch protester of the continued wussifcation of American sports. Sometimes I rhyme slow, sometimes I rhyme quick.