I'm in south Florida and, naturally, there's a moderate to severe monsoon in full effect right now. My teeth are throbbing because I was finally granted my wisdom tooth cleansing syringe, so though I can sort of gum down solid food, it gets lodged in my wisdom tooth cavities and causes extreme pain. Need more ice cream (and cowbell). The topic of this evening's blog is the Miami Heat/Orlando Magic game we just attended. It was quite the evening.
We were able to go because my new friend Megan (my parents' trainer) got 4 tickets from one of her clients. The seats were pretty awesome, but so was the company. To my right, old college pal and long-time n'er do well, Jona. To my left, my sister Ashley and Megan.
I can't tell you the last time I attended a Heat game-maybe never?? I know next to nothing about basketball because I, myself, cannot play. I harbor disdain for the things I cannot do, so I refuse to acknowledge their existence. Kidding. Still, I really know nothing. I know different points are awarded for various shots on the court. I know there's a center and a forward and a point guard, and the point guard is usually the little guy/quarterback. I know most basketball players are not regulation height; they are descents of Jack and/or Jack's Beanstalk. And, that's about it. Someone asked me to name the Miami Heat players and my response? "Yao Ming, not Tony Parker, Jamal Walker, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, and Scotty Pippen." I threw in "Darryl Strawberry" to be cute, but really...I didn't even know Dwayne Wade. For shame, Jaimie. For shame.
(Note to readers: I know now.)
When we found our seats, I immediately began snapping photos (because it's what I do best). We decided on pretzels and beer, so I tasked the group with this while I sat and people watched. Here's what I observed: Miami Heat basketball fans love Affliction t-shirts (shocker), bedazzled designer jeans, bump-its (http://www.bighappiehair.com/), and everything is freezer packed to them. What I mean by this is: it appears as if someone dressed themselves, made an air-tight seal with their fabric, and commissioned a friend to suck any excess particles that existed between themselves and the clothing. Their sartorial splendor is what us Texas folk call "Tyeeeee-t". No bueno. They are all ages, colors, and sizes, and (as I also learned this evening), all levels of class.
Exhibit A) The lady in front of us had a pretty cute toddler, but he became less cute when his bum was bared for all fans to peruse as his mother CHANGED HIS DIAPER in the row in front of us. I don't want to know what she did with the dirty diaper. All I know is that my group emitted a few dry heaves.
Exhibit B) We found an orphaned, dismantled cell phone in the row above us, so I took it upon myself to Humpty Dumpty it and make a plan. I decided I would conduct some research on their call history, see who was most often called and texted, and then text that person informing them that I have a cell phone for ransom. The problem was this: Most of the texts were in Spanish. They don't call Miami "Little Cuba" for nothing. I did my best and opted on "Pilon". I began a new text to Pilon identifying myself and indicating that the owner was MIA. I sent it and waited. Wonder of wonders-Pilon texted back! "Where r u?" Just as I was about to respond, this well-dressed organized crime boss saunters in behind us, settled in his seat, picks up his beer, extends his pinky ring, and takes a sip. We determined this fine Razor had to belong to him. Lo and behold! I probably should have held out for the ransom, but I suppose (in some ways), I got it. Freedom. La liberdad.
By far, my favorite part of the game was the between-play entertainment. There was a martial arts school of children performing their sequences (awww) and a group of adults kickboxing to ACDC's "T.N.T." (awkward). They had a Benihana's flip the shrimp competition where one contestant, dressed in an apron, had to flick stuffed crustaceans into a giant chef's hat (awkward). There were the critically acclaimed Miami Heat dancers (ranked the #1 dance team for 4 consecutive years, mind you-
http://www.nba.com/heat/dance/dancers_aud_010403.html)! They were fun!
Finally, they promotion team selected 3 little boys (age 4, approx) and they were dressed in Miami Heat basketball shorts, but the size would fit a 6'7 man. They looped the drawstring over their heads, fitted them in their GIANT sneakers, and lined them up. Poor kids could barely stand as it was. To boot, the kids had to run about 10 feet, toss on the final touch on the uniform (a regulation sized jersey). Then, they had to race 5 more feet, grab a mini basketball, and dunk on a hoop about as tall as the toddlers. Man, that was awesome. I cheered louder for them than I did for Yao Ming. Or whomever.
After a quick game of Telephone, we decided to leave a quarter early. Jona's never played Telephone (probably because he's never attended a 5th grade girls' sleepover party), so he kept inappropriately using the "Operator" tool.
All in all, our early departure turned out to be a phenomenal decision because we beat the rain by seconds. On our way back to the car, a bum lunged at Ashley and Jona. We were gifted car flags on the way in to the game, but Ashley was unarmed because she bequeathed it to a homeless man. With the leftover flags, we wanted to decorate Jona's car for the ride home. We think our mom is going to have an excellent surprise when she returns from her cruise--she's a Heat fan! We screamed Counting Crows songs in Hurricane Florida on the way home and I used my various pill bottles for maracas. The Ibprofen was most useful; the Synthroid was the least.
Goooo Heat!
