We started our relationship in the mid 90s, back when good rap beefs ended in shootouts and you could still converse with the pilot during a flight. The times where you could only ask for a girls number in person, and Topanaga from Boy Meets World frequented my imagination on many a right-hand session. The days of Kobe, Eddie Jones, and Nick Van Axel… then Shaq came over from Orlando. Bliss.
I was originally drawn to you through my love for West Coast music. At age seven, I mistakenly picked up my brother’s Walkman and pressed play, only to be greeted by the sounds of the Dogg Pound. Ballads of circulating narcotics, and poetic prose about discharging your firearm on anybody who had a problem with you were my childhood lullabies. And so my obsession for Southern California began. While I wasn’t practicing my Crip walk in the mirror, I was playing ball… therefore I needed an NBA team to cling to.
The Bulls were the obvious choice, as God himself had ordained Michael Jordan to play ball. The Jazz were on point, but boring to me. My heart was in the west, and Tupac’s To Live And Die In LA was replayed many a time. My only choices were you, or the Clippers. You were the easy choice, though, as my big brother’s favorite player was Magic “I laid the pipe down one too many times” Johnson. Besides, the Clippers sucked monkey balls.
I stuck with you through thick and thin. There was glory and there were flames. Phil Jackson came over and Shaq was acquired. I was there for the three-peat, endured the Karl Malone-Gary Payton experiment that ended in tatters, and stood firmly by your side during the drought years. Even when Kobe touched the snow bunny in Denver and he told the judge “not guilty, your honor,” then proceeded to drop bucket after bucket, I was loyal. But it has become too much to bear; I’ve endured too much turmoil from your hands. A terrible losing record and we’re on the fast track to being out of playoff contention.
Is this a precursor for times to come? Will Kobe end his career without another ring? Because I don’t understand how much more talent we require around him and Dwight. Pau Gasol is softer than newborn baby thighs. His heart is made of marshmallows and tempur-pedic pillows. He has to go. Mike D’Antoni’s offensive system isn’t tailored to this current team. We should have gone with Phil Jackson for a third time round.
Wait, you passed up on Phil Jackson? The Zen Master? Who made this authoritative decision?! I hope their kids have chicken pox for double the normal time. If we don’t win a playoff series this season then I’m afraid I will be making my official transition over to the Heat in Miami. At least they attempt to play D.
It has been an amazing ride, but all good things must come to an end. I pray you get your act together because all I see for my future is Latina women and South Beach. Real-life tears shall stream down my face if the Clippers become the staple in Los Angeles. We must put these shenanigans to an abrupt end. From the bottom of my pained heart, I really hope this works out. If not… farewell.