Ode to the Biggest Losers…

The game of life yields both the defeater and the defeated,
while some sip Dom P., most drink Beefeater.

Woe to the Pirates, the Clippers and Andy Roddick (hey, he’s a handsome guy!)
to the Royals, the Grizzlies, the Bengals and the Lions (oh my!)

Woe to the fans, the young and the old,
those who standby these professionals of fold,

These Washington Generals of professional sport,
manage to sink their ships before ever leaving the port,

Errors and faults, yellow flags and fouls,
little ones’ heads hung low, parents with scowls,

With mouths full of chips, dips and miller lite,
we perform our superstitions of manic delight,

So why do we torture ourselves in support,
for the sake of these millionaire bums of the field and court?

Could it be the players or the City they curse?
or perhaps its inherited from the moment of birth?

Does the absence of winning make the fan grow fonder?
Woe to us who the band wagon left behind, with just our hopes to ponder.

To reach the top may be long and lonely, but to stay at bottom takes an artisan of blunder!

O Rubio, Rubio, Wherefore art thou Rubio?

Growing up outside of Pittsburgh I've never had an allegiance to an NBA team. The logical choice would be to follow the Cavaliers, but ever since MJ pissed all over Craig Ehlo all I wanted to be like was Mike rather than, let's say, "Hot Rod" Williams. The only viable option was to follow the players; Bird, MJ, Kobe etc...

It's a very disparaging existence for a sports fan not to have a team. I have never felt established or legit in my NBA fandom. A few months back when the Minnesota Timberwolves drafted the 19 year old Spanish version of Pistol Pete, I started chanting his name, "RUBIO, RUBIO...RU-BI-OOOOO". I was pumped! This was my guy. Good enough to be a star, young enough to begin a long career of AND1 moves and Geico commercials.

Minnesota, a young team on the rise, had drafted Johnny Flynn and Ricky Rubio and dumped the moronic Kevin McHale wihin a couple weeks. This was it, this was my new team. Day after day I waited for Minnesota to finalize the deal. Ready to be the first in line to order his T'Wolves jersey and "Ricky Rubes" shoes from Nike. I waited...but that day never came.

Last week it was announced that due to NBA buyout clause restrictions and a little case of cold feet by the whirling Spaniard, Rubio was staying abroad. Never the matter that GM David Kahn traveled to Spain 3 times to plead his case, even convincing Rubio at one point to commit to Minnesota and the NBA now...Ricky baby dropped his rattle and clung to his mother country of Barcelona, Spain.

His new 6 year deal with Barcelona allows a similar buyout during the next 2 summers with a zero buyout over the summer of 2011. It is expected, or better yet hoped by the T'Wolves front office that they will own the rights to Ricky and in turn receive a more polished and mature player in 2 years time. The most important storyline from this whole charade is the fallout for fans like myself. Yet again the sour taste of rejection is gargled while the dreams of becoming a steady fan of an NBA team slip away. Now I must wait 2 more years to know for sure. I will keep my loyalty to the the baller I am calling the "salty dog" with the hope that he will one day lead my T'Wolves to the Finals.

Years from now my unborn son will put down his foam finger, mute Charles Barkley during the halftime show and ask me, "Dad, how did we become T'Wolves fans?". I will confidently and quietly point to the picture over our fireplace of the boy wonder, Ricky "Rubes" Rubio.