Suldog is a true lover of sport. He is a lifelong fan of all teams from Boston. That's fine. I wish him well. You already know my relationship to sports is one of somewhat grudging acceptance which occasionally tips over into actual enjoyment if my son is involved. (Oh and to further demonstrate my cred as a late in life baseball fan...Armando Galarraga was COMPLETELY robbed of making history last night by pitching the third perfect game in a single season [in a month no less] when the first base ump called the runner safe. Seriously, even this athletically declined, middle-aged, near-sighted, formerly baseball hating woman could see he was UNDENIABLY safe! But I digress...)
Anyway, Suldog explains how when the Celtics were being beaten by the Sixers in the semifinal one year the Boston fans began to chant, "Beat L.A.!" and actually urged on their great East Coast rivals to take down the West Coast team. My reasons have absolutely nothing to do with any great sports rivalry. It has everything to do with being scarred for life by a poster of Magic Johnson.
Mr. Lime and I met in college. We actually married when we were both still students. I was still an undergrad. Mr. Lime was a graduate student. As such, our decor was decidedly less sophisticated than you would find in Better Homes and Gardens. Heck it still is (remember the pink Disney TV in Manland?) but we have at least replaced the milk crate shelving with the finest warped and knotty pine off the reject pile at the local lumber yard. Thankfully, we've also replaced posters on the walls with family pictures.
The poster in question was a nearly life sized shot of Magic Johnson going for a layup. His feet were off the ground. His hands in position to dunk the ball with great authority. He had a deranged look in his eyes and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. It would actually be a great sort of poster for a sports themed den or Manland or some dark cave you'd never see. The problem was...
...it hung in our bedroom...
...on the wall at the foot of our bed.
Ladies and gentlemen of the blogosphere, imagine yourselves a young married couple retiring to the boudoir early for an evening of conjugal delights. Imagine the wife of said couple looking up at her husband during a moment of either tender affection or passionate rapture to find leering back at her...a nearly life sized Magic Johnson as described on the poster. Can you imagine the psycho-sexual trauma this could inflict upon her? Sure she could take the superior position or face away from the poster but she'd still be aware of the crazed player looking like he is ready to land on top of her and her husband.
Excuse me a moment...the tics are starting...I need to regain composure. Breathing deeply...envisioning Hugh Jackman drizzled with chocolate sauce...sighing....Ok, I think I can continue now.
My friends, may I just say if there is going to be ANYTHING in the bedroom that could be referred to as a "magic johnson" it had better not be wearing a Lakers jersey.
With that I will add my voice to the chorus of, "Beat L.A.!"