Ok. They’re great. Not as great as wine…but close.
My wife would say I’m a fair-weather fan. When the A’s are driving for a division title like they did in ’12 and ’13 I get excited for a little while. When the Raiders aren’t bumbling and stumbling, my ears prick up just a bit (and for the last 10 years, I’ve only had to be mildly interested for the first quarter of the season). But basketball season starts tomorrow, and for the first time since the early ’90’s, I have the optimist’s hope that this could be a magical year. I’m expecting great things; I expect Stephen Curry to continue his rise up the player rankings, and I expect them to be vying for the Western Conference Championship this year. But if they don’t, it doesn’t matter.
Ultimately, I will be watching games on TV and reading blogs and pulling out my hair even if these things don’t happen because I have an unhealthy relationship with this team. Over the last 30 years, my hopes have been abused; my confidence has been built-up then shattered; my general good nature has been dicked-around with. But still I remain ever hopeful. There is just something about this sport and this team; it is the only reality TV worth anything.
So, there may be more posts in the coming months extolling the otherworldly beauty of a Steph Curry off-the-dribble 3-pointer or an Andre Iguodala slash to the hoop. I could be hopelessly obsessed with a late-season push for the division championship and making plans for the Championship parade in Jack London Square. Or it could all come raining down in some horrible shit show. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be there. Golden State Warriors…I can’t quit you.