Thank God Almighty!

The Wolves won. Their victory made me realize that I have my own dream.

Two years less a score Marv Wolfenson and Harvey Ratner, in whose symbolic shadows we stand today, signed the expansionation proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light to thousands of Minnesotans who had been frostbitten by the winds of withering injustice. It came as a joyous ray of sunshine to end the long winter of discontent.

But eighteen years later, the Minnesotan is still not free. The life of a Minnesotan is still sadly crippled by the manacles of ineptitude and the chains of it's ownership. The Minnesotan lives on an island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity (Portland?). And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

We have come to this hallowed spot to remind the NBA of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promise of victory. Now is the time to lift our team from the quicksands of injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to making winning a reality for all of the shivering children.

It would be fatal for the ownership to overlook the urgency of the moment. This freezing winter of the team's legitimate discontent until there is an invigorating spring of defense and teamwork. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in Minnesota until the Timberwolves are granted the right to victory.

But there is something I must say to my team, who stand on the warm threshold which leads to the palace of parquet and iron: in the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for victory by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative defense to degenerate into violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of physical force with contact on the ball and the ball alone.

We cannot walk alone. (Travel)
And as we walk, we must pledge that we shall always push the ball forward.
We cannot turn our back. (on the ball handler)

There are those that will ask the fans, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the team is victim of the unspeakable horrors of road losses. We can never be satisfied when our bodies, heavy with fatigue and travel, cannot gain the upper hand in the Arenas along the highways and the Gardens of the cities.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. it is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that this team will rise up and live out the true meaning of it's creed, " We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all teams are created equal."
I have a dream that Al Jefferson will make us all forget about Kevin Garnett.
I have a dream that Randy Foye can make up for his not being Brandon Roy.
I have a dream that Sebastion Telfair is the truth and not just a throw in to make the money work.
I have a dream that the Wolves will actually get the number one pick when they deserve it.
I have a dream that one day I will open the front page and it will contain these four words- McHale, Whitman, Murder, Suicide

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that Theo Ratliff's contract along with the other expiring contracts will be enough to coax a worthy free agent into the snow an blistering cold.
I have a dream that we will make the right decision when deciding which SG/SFs to keep and get good value out of those who no longer remain on the roster.
I have a dream that this team will free itself from the dungeon that is the bottom of the NBA standings. And we will let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every lake and every hill, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Protestants and Catholics, we will be able to join hands and sing in the words of that old Spiritual

free at last, free at last
Thank god almighty, we are free at last!

This is meant in no way to be disrespectful to Dr. King or any of his beliefs. He has done more for this nation than a good number of presidents and did it all in a way that would seem impossible if I hadn't seen the footage with my own eyes. If you have taken offense to this I sincerely apologise. Unless you are Kevin Mchale- seriously, its time to leave dude.

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day.

Unleashing My Inner Yogi Berra

So I’m outside on my smoke break watching the monster clouds storm the castle cloud and taking a drag off of my cigarette, hating every wonderful moment of it when I have an epiphany. I rub my recently fattened belly, which got that way after pilfering a raspberry loaf cake from the homeless via the Starbuck’s donation box, and it comes to me, ” Maybe if I stop smoking and start running I’ll stop smoking and start running.”

Genius! Why had I never thought of this before? If I stop smoking and start running, I’ll stop smoking and start running. I’d be dead sexy if I could pull this off. I’d finally have those abs that I’ve been photoshopping onto my pictures, I’d have a different kind of funny smell (maybe even a good one, I don’t know) and I could finally afford that drink I’ve been thinking about buying a lovely young lady for years. Best of all I could shout, “You’ll never catch me, coppers” and mean it!

I’m gonna try like hell to make this work, but its gonna be real hard. I’m one lazy bastard. I’ll probably have to pick up some running shoes and I just bought a pair so my thrifty side is going to tell me that this is an unnecessary purchase. I also hate being seen, I don’t want to hear, “ Hey tubby, I saw you running last Tuesday.” Stop stalking me A-hole; I don’t go around telling you what I saw last Tuesday… P.S. don’t call me tubby, its offensive. I also hate sweating; it’s unbecoming. Then there is the whole issue of smoking.

I think the last time I ran it was because I was out of cigarettes. Sometimes I don’t even know why I’ve left the house until I’m standing in line at the gas station blurting out “pack of Camel lights.” That is the epitome of an addiction. I don’t consider myself to be a heavy smoker, usually I can keep it between 3-5 when alcohol is not present, but I’m experienced. If smoking were a job I’d get it based on experience alone, no college degree necessary. I hate smoking, I’ve hated it for a good two years now, and I’ve been able to quit for a week here and there and even a month once. The problem is that after you’ve got a month in your pocket you regain your sense of smell, and when someone lights up that shit smells good.

I know that I’m going to need one to help with the other and vise versa. If I quit smoking and don’t run I’ll be a fatty fat fat and playgirl will never come knocking on my door looking for Mr. September. If I start running and don’t quit smoking I’ll never get anywhere and I’ll be a Chubby McTubster. I think I’ve made my decision. I’d like to have my taste and smell back, lose that nagging cough and most of all I’d like to bring out my inner sexy beast. I’m far too shy to approach most of the women I’m interested in and it would be fantastic if I were so fetching that they had no choice but to approach me. I’m glad I had a mind meld with the ghost of Yogi Berra today. I'll probably join the Lewis and Clark College track team.