1999 was a fine year for the Ford Taurus. Mine was no exception. She had the finest stereo speakers in the land, miracles of American engineering that announced her presence to all. Her hunter green paint job glinted brightly in the sun. She had driven reliably for years, even after some young hoodlum took off the sideview mirror, scarring her otherwise proud face.
But lately, something was amiss. She was aging. Last evening, I knew something was wrong when I turned onto Main Street. The excitement of getting halfcourt tickets to the UofL-FIU game suddenly gave way to more grave concerns. Her lights had dimmed, the panel lights began to go out.
"No Old Girl!" I exclaimed, "Don't do this to me!"
She responded to my pleas, and juiced seemed to flow through the Old Lady once more. But as we were stopped for the long light on 2nd and Main, directly in front of the Arena, as traffic mounted and thousands of fans were pouring by on the streets, things took a turn for the worst.
She was in pain. The radio went silent. The engine stalled, the life was draining from of her. She grunted a strange sound that seemed to ask, "Here?". I momentarily lost my normally unflappable demeanor, I was seconds away from being "that guy" who's car died in front of the Arena and prevented half the fans from making tipoff.
I pleaded with her to dig deep, "Not here, not now!"
Once more she responded. And when the light turned green she leapt forth once more with a burst of imaginable power. I steered her gently into a parking lot past 6th Street. She put-putted into one of the last remaining spots as many people stared at us.
And that was it. I said a quick goodbye, in case it was our last time together, and turned off the ignition.
I tried her life support once more, just to check, but got nothing more than rapid clicks.
Soon, I'll be bombarded with elitist mechanic talk and mumbo-jumbo terms like "dead battery" and "shot alternator". But I know what I saw. It was the most dignified death of an automobile I've ever witnessed.
I couldn't linger over my grief for long. I had tickets. Halfcourt tickets! The Arena looked awesome all decked out in Christmas decor, and my lil' sis bought an almost-worth-it, delicious but expensive prime rib sandwich that we split. But we couldn't dally in the concourse long because we had to find our seats. Did I mention they were close?
Say it together class..."How close were you, Mr. Red?"
I was so close I can confirm that Ralph Willard
moves.
I was so close I could see that rumors about Preston Knowles' receding hairline have been greatly exaggerated.
I was so I close was blinded by the shininess of Charlie Strong's head (who received the loudest ovation of the night).
I was close. Annnnnd, I was precisely 24 steps from the beer tap at the Evan Williams Bourbon Bar, annnnnnd I was sitting right next to Patti Swope (who's aging like fine wine). I was in heaven.
As for the action, I agree with
Rick Bozich's column today. When you play a team that bad there's very little you can learn about your team.
But here's a few quick thoughts anyways...
* It's not a UofL game without leaving with something to worry about. I'm worried about Peyton Siva, who is being legitimately outplayed by Elisha Justice. He hasn't found his range from the field, always hitting back iron on his jumpers, and isn't slashing to the basket like last season. Considering Pitino's love affair with his "Bullet", I'm starting to fear a sophomore slump for Siva.
* Mike Marra is quickly becoming the cog the rest of the Louisville offense revolves around. And that's a good thing. I never thought I'd type those words.
* There hasn't been a funnier "What do you think they're talking about?" moment than watching Pitino and Isiah Thomas yukking it up pregame.
* Russ Smith was very impressive in his limited action. He handles the ball effortlessly and with flair, and passes well. He also has enormous feet. Seriously, look at him next game, his feet are completely disproportional to the rest of his body. He's like a clown.
* As
noted on Card Game, those that stayed to the end were treated to a stellar performance from Gorgui Dieng. His 7 blocks and 3 dunks were the highlight of the game if you ask me, and it's hilarious seeing him momentarily think about popping a 3 when he gets the ball outside.
* This team's strength, obviously, is it's depth. And it's not "token depth" as it has been in years past. You can go 10-11 deep off the bench and still not be certain if the current lineup isn't perhaps better than the starting five. Of course, the flip side of this is that there are no real "go to" guys on the team, which could be detrimental when the Big East white-knucklers invariably roll around. But there's not a coach I'd want trying to press the right buttons for 11 overachieving scrappers than Rick Pitino.