Sorry for the late start this morning. I must have gotten my hands on some bad whiskey or something. It's running through me like Chinese over the Yalu in 1950.
Anyway, how 'bout those Suns? I watched about half of their 109-90 win over the Cavs last night, and I'm inclined to believe it wasn't nearly that close. Probably because five good players working together are better than one Christlike figure playing by himself.
And everybody's making a big deal about Steve Nash dishing out 21 assists, his second 20-assist game of the year. But who's callling him out for only scoring four points on disastrous 2-0f-7 shooting? Me, that's who. He's obviously afraid of taking the ball to rim. He just passes every time he gets the ball. I did that in my seventh grade rec league, and nobody made me the MVP. Bullshit.
On the other hand, his hair is looking a lot better this season. If there's a better measure of a person's worth than their hair, I don't want to know about it. People often cite my carefully mussed hair when talking about how great a friend I am. It's true. My hair healed a blind man once.