Last night was the first and only time in my entire life that I had ever been proud to say I’m from Dallas. I never used to be a Mavs fan or any Dallas sports fan for that matter because they’ve never been good, nor have they ever won anything except for the Cowboys like a decade ago. And I’ve never been one to root for the underdog because I just don’t believe that the underdog should ever win. I mean, the top dog is top dog for a reason — because they’re BETTER. If an underdog wins, it’s almost always because the top dog fucks up and allows the underdog to win. For example, back in my Asian piano playing days in high school, if anyone ever beat me and I ended up silver, it was because I fucked up and they lucked out — not because the one who ended up getting gold was better than me. This mentality probably stems from disapproving Asian father:
Disapproving Asian Father
Anyway, yesterday the underdog won, and I have to admit it was pretty exciting even though it went against everything I usually believe in. Over the past few weeks I started to legitimately enjoy watching the Mavs, not so much because they were actually good, but more because I identified my new fav athlete: Tyson Chandler. Those who know me know this is very uncharacteristic of me considering I’m racist towards everyone when it comes to juicing, but I don’t know… it’s something about the fact that Tyson Chandler reminds me of Khal Drogo from Game of Thrones… and probably because they both just look like they have 16 inch dicks.
Tyson Chandler
Khal Drogo
Anyway, besides watching Tyson Chandler on the big screen, I probably enjoyed myself the past 3 games because when we were on a winning streak, I was on a drinking streak. Completely for free. These Dallas fans sure do get excited when their team wins for the first time ever. For the last 3 games we established Bleecker Heights above Five Guys as the “Mavs Bar,” and last Thursday night, S’s friend M was on such a winning high that he bought rounds of shots for everyone crowding around the bar every time Jason Terry was on the runway. Needless to say I was blackout by the time I left the bar, and I’m pretty sure that bartender made more in tips that night than I make in a month.
LET’S GO MAVS!!!
Poverexic in NYC 