It figures. On my day off, a day I don’t edit sports, comes the story that probably would have made for a fairly interesting morning.
Nothing like a near-riot at an NBA game to bring out the thumb-suckers, the long-view-takers, the publicity hounds. (Not to mention, God help us all, a few tut-tuts from none other.) I confess: I did not take the Pacers-Pistons fight as a “teachable moment” in my child’s life, as advised by this earnest therapist. Instead, I called my husband into the room while ESPN did the umpty-umpth replay, and we both laughed and hooted while our child looked on, irked that we’d told her SpongeBob would have to be joined in progress later. The flying popcorn! The coldcocked guy in the Pistons jersey! The little boy, a dead ringer for Little Bill, weeping into his mama’s belly! It was just too, too!
Later that night, a fight broke out in one of the raggedy-ass houses behind us. Coincidence? I think not!
It reminded me of Argentina, when we went to a late-season futbol game one night. The stadium was two-thirds empty, which allowed us close observation of the security setup. You want to know why, in movies about coups in banana republics, they always take the political prisoners to the soccer stadium? Maybe because their default fan-protection setup — that is, protection from fans — is so ingenious. The field is surrounded by a moat. Yes, a moat. The cheering sections are caged in chain-link enclosures with barbed wire atop them. The players take the field by traveling through inflatable tunnels that look like giant condoms, the better to protect them from flying projectiles.
Let the deluxe arenas of the NBA institute a little soccer-style security. That’ll drive ticket sales through the roof.
Oh, well — at least now I won’t have to hear any more about Nicollette Sheridan’s damn towel.
Well, it was a fine weekend. As promised, we took Kate and a few of her friends bowling, for the world’s most low-profile birthday party. After the fifth, I’ve been trying to slow down the birthday bullet train, and I think I’ve succeeded, although there’s no way around it — even six well-brought-up children at an no-theme, no-gifts, casual-as-all-get-out gathering are a handful. We had a good time, even though the the ball return broke once and two in our party managed to send their balls into the next lane. Yes, even with the bumpers up. Thank God no one was playing there; I can only imagine the havoc it would have set off in a tournament or league to have a lemon-yellow Tweety Bird bowling ball suddenly land crash! in the middle of your lane and wobble unsteadily down toward your pins. Does the PBA have a rule to cover scoring in such an eventuality? I wonder.
So anyway, in the huge four-base run that is Halloween-Birthdayfest-Thanksgiving-Christmas, we’re now on second base. Halfway home.
Sunday’s breathing space gave me a little time to relax, so I did. We did, that is, heading off to “The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie,” which…does not disappoint, shall we say. I haven’t had as much fun in a movie with Kate since “School of Rock,” and Kate liked this one a lot better. By the time Plankton cried, in despair, “His chops are too righteous!” I was simply giggled out. At the end, all the kids in the theater applauded. I joined in.