Being that the team I traditionally waste time cheering for is an abortion, I find myself watching the games as an interested but “non-affiliated” spectator. I want that to change. I’m begging for love. I’m looking for some team to sweep me off my feet and capture my fervent loyalty for the next month-plus (by the way, could they possibly drag out the playoffs any more?). The early favorites are certainly the Chris Paul-led Hornets or, perhaps, the Cleveland LeBron James.
But here’s one thing we do know. Our current favorite playoff squad is ANYONE FACING THE SAN ANTONIO SPURS. While we are not yet clear on the most likeable squad of this year’s postseason, we’re unwavering in our belief that the Spurs are clearly the most detestable.
At first, I thought perhaps it was just that little bug inside each and every sports fan that simply yearns for change, for newness, for surprise. I was just sick of the Spurs. Bored really. Right? That’s why they suddenly seemed so unappealing. That’s why I was finding myself actively rooting against them.
That’s what I kept telling myself. But, after watching this team play again and again, I’ve realized that…at the bottom of my gut…with every inch of me…I plain, straight hate the San Antonio Spurs.
It all came to a boiling point last night. After months of watching The Duncan Face
time after ridiculously annoying time…after too many flops and dramatic falls from touch fouls deserving of Academy Award nominations…after the 750th reminder that Bruce Bowen continues to be a
During last night’s game five in San Antonio, Tim Duncan and Tony Parker drew fouls that were perhaps the most ridiculous I’ve seen all season (maybe ever?). The refs should be ashamed of themselves. In both instances, neither Parker or Duncan was touched by a member of the Phoenix Suns. But yet, in typical whiny-bitch-Spurs fashion, they both went careening to the floor, arms flailing while simultaneously throwing trademark incredulous look in the direction of the referees as if they had been stabbed in broad daylight. And that’s all before we even broach the hack-a-shaq topic.
Play the game, fellas. The Spurs-lovers (hard to believe they exist) will claim that somehow this hatred is born out of jealousy. They will say that the Spurs simply “play hard” are “fundamentally sound” and “know how to win.” I say go f yourselves. Between Duncan, Ginobli, Parker and Bowen I couldn’t think of a finer team to root against. They are a bunch of whining, flopping cry babies, which is all we can really say on this here blog without veering off into an expletive-laced tirade (OK, Spurs fans insert your “who’ve won four championships blahblahblah).
So, here’s to our new favorite team, the New Orleans Hornets. Let’s hope we don’t have to find another new favorite team in a few weeks, because that would mean those bastard Spurs would still be alive.
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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.