The Race to Tipoff

My Volvo doesn't smell right. This is the second consecutive night that I have gotten into my car and thought that.  I was driving a colleague who I ostensibly work for into Manhattan and hoped that it was my over-sensitive sense of smell and not a larger problem. As soon as he got settled in the passenger seat he seemed uncomfortable. By the time I had the key in the ignition he had already not so subtlety twisted his shoes to see if it was him. Satisfied that it wasn't he turned to me and said,  "it smells like someone left a diaper in the backseat."  I should have felt embarrassed by the pungent odor, embarrassed to the point where I would seek out the offensive odor and destroy it. Remarkably, I cared not.   It was 6:20pm when we got in the car and I was already a bit late.  With a 7:00 tip there was no way I would get from White Plains to Tribeca in time to plant myself in front of a television to watch the Knicks game in its entirety.  With that in mind, I certainly wasn't going to waste any time trying to make my car smell okay for a 50 minute ride home, regardless of the company. 

I turned up the heat, cracked the windows and said something about the catalytic converter.  I learned that trick as an 11 year old boy in the back seat of a real estate agent's car that smelled like Brian Wilson's beard after a night out in the Mission.

Halfway through the ride I commented that as soon as he gets home my shotgun mate should ask his wife if the odor made its way into his clothes. Immediately when it came out of my mouth I knew that my attempt at humor was not going to be appreciated. He responded by lowering his window a little more and peering into the dark backseat for the source. 

I turned the Knicks pre-game up on the radio only to find Hubie's son Brandon Brown confusing me with both his diction and cadence. He makes the marbled mouth Kelly Tripucka sound like James Earl Jones after a warm cup of "Middle Name" Grey.

With the Knicks' games blacked out by my soon to be former cable provider and my daughter's bedtime looming I rushed down the west-side highway contemplating where to watch the game and whether putting my daughter down earlier to catch as much of the game as possible was wrong. Its not as if I was forgoing her bedtime and heading from my car directly into a local haunt to watch the game; seeing her was my first priority. Ever cautious of the quick yellow lights, and the quicker yellow cabs slicing their way between traffic, my car-mate made small talk regarding the numerous properties that jaggedly make their skyline along the Hudson river.  "You know, the IAC building doesn't really look like a sailboat" he noted, presupposing I knew Gehry's intent. "I think it does if you're out on the water, our perspective is not optimal for architectural discourse", I thought to myself, hoping that the conversation would end there as I stayed quiet, trying to listen to the pre-game.  "The Standard rooftop is supposed to be super elite, but I haven't found it to be that way at all," he continued, taking the conversation further south as my stinkbox drove in the same direction. "Yeah, I have only been there to piss after stumbling out of Tortilla Flats," I joked, further separating our "classes" with each passing comment.

I turned left on Vestry and pulled onto Greenwich as the ref tossed the ball up for the opening tip.  I was so close, and thoroughly impressed with the time it took to get home.  Sometimes "feels like forever" is really only 47 minutes. I drove past three possible game destinations leering into each hoping to confirm that the game was on and then checking if the bar was as empty as I had hoped.  With Tribeca Tap-House being my top choice I was pleasantly surprised to see that the game was on the television at the front of the bar, with the crowd pushed towards the back.  By the time I pulled into my garage I had completely forgotten that I promised to take my passenger south to the Path train at the WTC site. He seemed eager to get out of the car, and responded to my apology and offer to drive him the extra mile with a, "no problem," and "it's okay, I'll enjoy the fresh air."  I smirked, as the stench of the evening's first victory filled the air. 

Under Construction: The Lost Games

It seems as if I grossly underestimated what it takes to be a blogger. When I woke up with the wriggling worm of words dancing about in my head I plopped myself down in front of my MacBook Pro and began to type. By fumbling through my google account I stumbled on an interesting find. Apparently in 2009 I had a similar Jones for the written word as I found an old blog that I started called: "Donnie & Darko: The Lost Years." A very thinly veiled reference to former Knicks president Donnie Walsh, first round bust Darko Milicic and of course Jake Gyllenhall's best movie east of Brokeback Mountain; Donnie Darko. The blog started and ended there, with a name. Nary a post, draft or idea. I guess that had a lot to do with the fact that I thought I couldn't get more sardonic than the title so what's the point. There is no doubt that before naming the now defunct Donnie blog I had recently learned the word Sardonic and tried desperately to be so. Still not sure if I nailed it.

I immediately thought to myself, this time it will be different and I will just give it a name, not care about the title and start to write, which I have done. The feedback I have received has been at its high tearfully inspiring, and at its low laugh out loud funny. The most constructive feedback that I have received came from my Cunado, who told me what I already knew. You have to separate the sport analysis pieces from the human interest pieces for the sake of your audience. I couldn't agree more...but how?

Do I start another blog, do I rename this one, can I have two running blogs under one blog, what is a blog anyway, do I have an audience who even cares: my mind ran wild with questions for which there were no answers. I have spent the past five days working through a plan of how best to proceed and am inching closer to reaching a conclusion that I think best suits my goals, and what I am trying to accomplish. In the interim, I have been remiss in my duties to those audience members (Dad) who are interested in reading my pre/post Knicks game analysis and reports and for this I apologize. We can call the past two losses the lost games, and since I am a Time Warner Cable subscriber I couldn't think of a more apropos title.

I will continue to post here, at Mydaughtersknicks.blogspot.com for the remainder of the weekend but expect big changes come Monday. As for tonight's game analysis stay tuned; I am already working on a title so sardonic that the irony would make Alanis Morisette go down on you in a theater.