An Omelette on My Face

Well...okay. So the Suns laid another egg. And since I went out on a limb and built a nice little nest there with my prediction of championship glory, it's now all over my face.

When life as a sports fan gives you an egg, you might as well make it into an omelette.

I REALLY wanted a piece of those drunken, bean-eating, gas-passing bums in Boston. Especially after last night, when the Celtics beat Orlando for the Eastern Conference title and they were at it -- already -- with the "Beat L.A.!" crap. None of those idiots is the least bit clairvoyant -- they can't stay sober long enough to think their way out of a paper bag -- so it was not only premature, it was unsportsmanlike.

It's Boston. I've learned not to expect any better.

I still remember thirty-four years ago -- as if it were yesterday -- how they dissed the Suns in the '76 finals. How they threw beer at our players, assaulted a ref, threatened players (while their useless cops stood by and did nothing), and even -- in one instance -- passed out, drunk, on a Phoenix TV announcer's lap.

All class, that crowd. The Lakers fans may be blase and spoiled, may show up at games in Phoenix sporting purple and bling and acting obnoxious, but at least they usually manage to do a tolerable impression of being human.

I'll NEVER root for an Eastern team over anybody from the West. Beat Boston!

Who knows how many more years Suns fans will have to wait for a title? My Mercury have done it twice in the last three years, and if they get the starch out of their undies, maybe they'll do it again this season.

However, there'll be no more early predictions from me...