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A Predictable Victory and Too Much Information About My Mother

Game 67 Vs. Indiana: Spurs 90, Pacers 72

Titillations and salutations, my peeps. I greet you once again from San Mateo, CA. I would apologize for the tardiness of this recap but then I remembered that Matthew doesn't pay me and I don't owe any of you squat. Oh, except for those of you who said nice things in my defense against He Who Shall Not Be Named. Mighty nice of ya, and I appreciate it sincerely.

Oh, before I forget, it was brought to my attention that one of our loyal readers (I forget his name because we have so many) uses our game recaps to cure his AIDS. Since HWSNBN has already stated that he dislikes the recaps we can only conclude, via the transitive property, that he is against a cure for AIDS. DUDE IS FREAKIN' PRO-AIDS! You know who else loved the AIDS? Ronald Reagan. And now he's dead. Think about it.

Normally about now I'd be awkwardly transitioning into the recap du jour, but since the Pacers game wasn't all that interesting (this should have surprised no one who pays any attention) so I've decided to share a personal anecdote in lieu of the traditional hardcore analysis you've come to expect - no, demand - from

Your humble narrator decided to make the eight hour drive home after the game. Unfortunately, do too several panic attacks involving his i-Pod, (I thought somebody stole it at first, and once I did find it, I thought it was broken) he wasn't able to leave his tiny apartment until 10:30 pm. The drive was mostly uneventful, thankfully, although I spent at least an hour swearing to myself when faced with the grim reality of a $48 fill-up.

Pulled into the drive way at 6:30 AM on the nose, exchanged pleasantries with my mum before we both dragged ourselves to our respective beds, all so with the plan to regain consciousness in the early afternoon so that I may work on a timely recap, because honestly you people are my everything. The last thing I clearly remember telling mother was that for the next ten days she should just go ahead and pretend that her lab top is broken, because I will be confiscating it for my personal needs.

And just imagine the look on my face when I stumbled back down the stairs at the crack of 12:30 all groggy like and saw that the computer was gone. I'm a bit ashamed to admit I thought some cuss words about my own mother. Then again she told me she smoked three cigs during her pregnancy, so she's no saint herself. Quite frankly, I can't imagine her going nine months without a drink either. Or nine hours for that matter.

Right, so anyway I rang her up, all full of piss and vinegar. Get a load of this - the woman had the chutzpah to claim that she woke me up around 9 AM before leaving for work and that in my delirious state I somehow told her it was okay to take the computer today because I didn't have any plans for it.

Knee deep in horse manure the banshee surely was. I would sooner agree to spend an evening with HWSNBN ("Just drinks, no pressure, we'll just see what happens," he'd whisper, innocently) than ever claim to not have plans to go on-line. You people don't understand. I can't function without a computer. All I do when I'm not writing is think about what I'll write next. Where once I was the life of the party, now I've become this dreadful bore to my friends, just so I can squirrel away all my best lines and juiciest stories to faceless strangers instead of actual human beings who care about me. I wouldn't care if moms didn't provide me with a friggin' bed when I visit home, but taking the computer is an unforgivable trespass.

Equally disturbing to actually not having a computer was the unscrupulous manipulation she used to snatch it from my grubby fingers. How could my own mother, who supposedly loves me more than anyone on Earth, stoop to such a new low? What did she do, ask me "If it's okay for me to take the computer, mumble something unintelligible and go back to bed?"

Really, mom? It's like that, huh?

Mom told me to stop being such a drama queen and to just go to grandma's to use her computer. Said she'd be home by two after picking up her sister (My aunt? My great aunt?) from the airport. Great, super whatever.

Ordinarily I'd have spent the next two hours stewing in my own juices but I decided to use my new found free time to get a hair cut. Now that the long win streak was over I didn't have to worry about jinxing anything and my mangy mane was getting quite shaggy. Picture Conan O'Brien's pompadour in the front with the beginnings of a lesbian mullet on the back and you're almost there. Supercuts did their usual bang-up job and my neck will only be itchy until my next shower.

Late lunch at a cheesesteak place and off to grandmother's house I went. The timing couldn't be better as she pulled in within thirty seconds of me. Hugs and hellos were exchanged. Maybe this wouldn't be such a big deal after all.

Except granny can't find her house keys. She keeps digging deeper and deeper into her bag and comes up empty. I haven't gone on line in over 16 hours. This can't be happening.

So I call up mom on my cell and appraise her of the situation. The GEICO caveman would not have been 100% in love with my tone, believe me. Mom asks to speak to grandma, plans are quickly made with hushed voices and off they go back down the elevator promising to return in ten minutes with spare keys. I am left to make small talk with my uncle/great uncle in broken Turkish. We both make a noble effort of it but become mutually tired of each other within minutes and nod off in front of grandma's door.

Ten minutes becomes twenty. Then thirty. Then forty. It dawns on me that grandma stole my cellphone. Eventually I tell my uncle I'm tired of waiting and that I'm going to go back home so I can call mom from my house to ask what happened. Just when I'm driving off I see grandma's car pulling in. She tells me all the backup key plans failed and their last chance to enter her condo is the spare key in my mom's house. I could have picked them up this whole time but they had no way of telling me since she took my phone. It took her two minutes to find my cell in her purse and I snapped, screaming at poor grandma, "Did you lose that too?" in Turkish. I'm a horrible person.

Still, the momentary guilt doesn't prevent me at all from reading mom the riot act on my phone as I'm driving home, telling her I would have never agreed to let her take the computer consciously, that she was full of crap and that her idea to have me use grandma's computer was faulty from the outset because she knew I'd have to make small talk with my aunt and that it'd be rude for me to just hide in the computer room. I blamed her for it being 4 pm and my whole day being wasted.

She told me where to find the keys and hung up. I'm positive we both swore at each other, but only after turning our phones off. I got the keys and went back to grandmas and finally everyone managed to get inside the condo. I didn't care about being rude, I headed straight for the computer.

Maybe I had made a mountain out of a mole hill. Maybe I could still salvage a timely blog if I typed fast and didn't get distracted by solicitations for a bigger weewee. Maybe Minka Kelly from Friday Night Lights will visit me later too.

Asshole computer wasn't working. I rebooted. I rebooted again. Network cable disconnected. I called mom. No help. I unplugged and re-plugged the modem. No help. I gave it the finger and swore at it. No help. What. The. Fuck?

Lord help me I came this close to breaking the damn keyboard. Eventually I gave up and, completely out of options, decide to watch the college basketball Sweet 16 game. I passed out before the first commercial.

Like I had a prayer. The room smelled like old people, it was as hot as hell in there and college basketball was on. I slept for two hours and woke up around 7 pm, mom knocking on the door and telling me it was dinner time. She spent five minutes trying to fix the computer and couldn't. I ate in silence and shot her dirty looks the whole time.

By now it was almost 8 pm and finally she handed me the computer bag and I drove back home, my precious internet restored at last. As I was checking my e-mail I heard the TV make a noise and it told me it was about to change the channel to some crap show on her Tivo schedule. Heh. I don't think so. You took my whole day ma, you're not taking my Thursday Night Comedy Lineup on NBC too.

Of course I couldn't wait until she got home around 11 so I could gleefully tell her I didn't record her insipid SLUT M.D. Her eyes got wide and her jaw hit the floor.

"You did WHAT?" she screamed. "I told you, quite clearly, that under no circumstances were you to change the channel. I was looking forward to this episode all week."

Sometimes in life it's the simple things that give you the most pleasure. I looked mom right in the eyes and gave her my best confused face, the one I ordinarily make involuntarily between 3 and 3:50 Monday through Thursday during Spanish class, and said, "Mom, don't you remember? I woke you up at 7:30 and asked you if it'd be okay to not record it and you said yes..."

Your 3 Stars!

3. Francisco Elson - A season high 14 points for The Flying Dutchman, but for me what was more noteworthy his alertness and activity on the defensive end. He had three blocks and altered a few others. Indy didn't get many easy buckets while he was in and yet somehow Frankie picked up only one foul in 26 minutes. Death to tinyball!

They couldn't be making weirder faces if they were caught mid-coitus. It's not possible.(Edward A. Ornelas/San Antonio Express-News)

2. Matt Bonner - Mr. Energy gave the club a much needed spark upon entering in the 2nd quarter and produced 10 points and 9 rebounds in 23 bouncy minutes. I swear, for a guy who doesn't know dick about basketball, I sure am glad he got an opportunity to play some meaningful minutes.

1. Tim Duncan -- Six straight bankers! Great googly moogly. Nice to see the big fella can still take control when nothing else is going right. When he scores effortlessly two buckets, three buckets, four buckets in a row you can see the team's confidence shoot up and the other team's shoulders start to sag. He's a bad dude that Tim Duncan.

Fiery leadership, thy name is Duncan. (Edward A. Ornelas/San Antonio Express-News)

P.S. Not to toot my own horn but Le Troi Noir only took seven shots and the team dominated the game. Combine that with the defensive dominance of Frankie, Bonner's extra PT and another pathetic six minute cameo from Robert Van Pelt, and I've gotta say I'm feeling a bit smug about the whole thing. The only negative is that Manu is still slumping and it'd be nice to see him attack the rim more when the threes aren't falling. At least he's not forcing shots and hitting the open guy. Tony's best contribution, aside from getting the ball to Timmy was frustrating yet another opposing point guard to the point of lunacy. I know I'm tough on the Frenchman sometimes, but this is starting to get weird. I swear if he can get Steve Nash to snap during the playoffs, I'll never make another Eva Longoria joke again.

The Hustlemaker gets the motorboat face ready in advance as he drives toward some boobies (Edward A. Ornelas/San Antonio Express-News)

P.P.S. Speaking of Tony, there's a fun little secret message in this here recap. Fun for the whole family.

Record: 47-20 Streak: W-1
Up Next: Vs. Detroit Pistons
A Friday Night slobberknocker against our doppelgangbangers from Motown. Not only did we outslug them in the '05 Finals but we robbed the Pistons of their cold blooded revenge last season by not making it past the Mavs. Once the Spurs got eliminated Detroit didn't have the motivation to fight past Miami to make it out of the East. I'll go to my grave believing this. Ooh we also humiliated them on their home floor right before the all-star break. Deeetwah will be looking for payback but honestly I just think we're an awful matchup for them. Big Ben posed much more of a problem for Tim than that Gimpy McGee they got manning the center spot these days. Maybe the sight of familiar whipping boy Tay-Tay will wake Manu's game up.