Butthole Surfers

Tell me if this doesn't just tongue the biggest balloon-knot in the world.

The misses and I took a three-day weekend for this upcoming weekend. Basically, my new venture is going to take me away from home for long stretches of time this summer and fall, and this is our last chance to do something substantial together.

We originally planned to either go to Las Vegas for a three-day weekend, or go to a bed and breakfast on Lake Michigan. One problem: we couldn't plan anything until we knew what was going on with the Pistons. You see, under certain circumstances (the Pistons winning the NBA title in either 6 or 7 games) the city of Detroit would likely be holding its celebratory parade sometime during our three days off. And if the parade happened, one or both of us will have to come in and work to televise it.

That wasn't ideal, but when we agreed, it seemed like it shouldn't screw us up too badly. The Pistons went down 3-2 to the Heat in the Eastern Conference finals... and came back to win. They went down 2-0 to the Spurs in the NBA finals... and came back to tie. They lost an absolute back-breaker in game 5... and came back to force a game 7.

Now, our weekend looks like this...
Thursday, 9:30 am - 6:00 pm: Work
Thursday, 9:00 pm: Pistons vs. Spurs, Game 7
Friday, 12:00 am (approx.): End of game.

If the Pistons lose, we'll get online, and book a hotel for the next night, take our dog to the kennel first thing in the morning, and go on vacation.

If the Pistons win, we're stuck at home, because the parade is tentatively set for Saturday.

But we won't know anything or be able to make any plans at all until 8 hours before we leave. Should be nice and low-stress.

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A couple other notes on a series that I have virtually zero interest in, and have watched about 15 minutes of.

- First, I can't believe how lucky Rasheed Wallace got at the end of Game 5. He pulled a Chris Webber, calling a timeout his team didn't have. Luckily for Rasheed, the clock had already expired (by about 0.5 seconds, according to the replay). Otherwise, he would have been whistled for a technical, and the Spurs would have had a chance for a free throw with no time left on the clock to win the game in regulation. That would rank somewhere between Marty McSorley's illegal stick and Bill Buckner's little whoopsie at Shea in the "greatest sports fuckups of all time". Instead, thanks to his other brain fart (leaving the guy nicknamed "Big Shot" wide open for a game-winner), it became a forgotten issue. He's the Bob Stanley (wild pitch that scored the tying run right before Buckner's play) of the situation-- an imbecile who's escaped wide-spread scorn because of another, later fuckup. Only in this case, he was Buckner, too.

- Is there a worse public address guy in sports than the dude at San Antonio? All you need... and I mean ALL you need to be a good PA guy is a decent voice (lower-toned always helps) and a third-grader's mastery of the English language. Do yourself a favor and watch (or at least Tivo) the introductions before game 7. The guy has one of the most nasal voices around, and it cracks every time he gets excited. It sounds like a 13-year old with bad allergies. There's not anyone better in the whole town? Does the guy own the team or something? Again... how has this not been mentioned anywhere else?

- Bill Simmons addressed Stuart Scott in his column today, so I won't go into great detail. But Stu, I get it... you're black. Can you imagine if Michelle Tafoya was constantly reminding you that she's a woman every time she did a sideline report?

"Tony Parker bruised his ribs. That's at least as painful as menstrual cramps, but not nearly as bad as child birth."

Of course, they would never let anyone on TV if they talked like that...