A Big Rah-Rah

Last night, the Los Angeles Lakers tied their first-round NBA playoff series with MY Phoenix Suns at one game even. Tomorrow is game three.

The Suns finished the regular season on top of their division, but that guarantees nothing in the playoffs. Particularly not against Kobe Bryant and his three personal bodyguards who pose as referees.

The Suns are a team of heart, courage and spirit. I've been rooting them on ever since I was in the first grade, and since I am OLD now, I have obviously been a fan for a very long time.

The Lakers are millionaire mercenaries: the best team money can buy. Their fans are so spoiled that one season in a blue moon without a playoff berth was enough to make many of 'em go root for the Clippers. Now that their darlings are back in contention again, the gangstas and gangsta-ettes are back: clad in gaudy purple-and-gold and loaded down with bling. After they've gotten drunk on overpriced arena beer and coked-up in the washrooms, they stand up in front of the Phoenix fans with their obnoxious banners and their in-yo'-face 'tudes.

Somewhere up in the rafters of the Staples Center (or whatever the hell they're calling it now), I know my dad will be perched in airy splendor, watching our team jump ahead of the Lakers again. If Heaven is, indeed, whatever makes you happiest, then he will be following the Suns the whole way. They weren't quite able to go the distance last year -- the last chance he had to watch the game in this world. Now he has an eternity to hope for that first Suns title.

I only hope it doesn't take an eternity for the Suns to get one.