The Nets, Of The Great State Of Brooklyn, Have Lost, I Fear, For The Children! Of America. To The Detroit Pistons—Of. This. Great. Na. Tion. Tonight. Last Night.

The Detroit Pistons [twinkling, on the verge of laughter] had not won a road game [ice-cold, disinterested] since [saying goodbye to beloved family dog forever] January.

[Burbling with derision.] And yet, on Thursday night, like so many other families, my husband Wesley and I watched on TV in our living room as [barely restrained fury] Jaden Ivey and [secondhand embarrassment; poor old Uncle Chester just cannot stop farting] Cade Cunningham combined. For six. Tee. Six. [Righteous disgust; how dare you.] Points, and [weeping] led! The brave men! Of the great state of Motor City! [Ironic smirk.] To victory, over the [sigh of exhaustion] Brooklyn Nets? [Boiling with wrath.] One. Eight. Teen. To one. Twelve. [Tooth-sucking tsk of disappointment.]

[Whispering.] For so long, like so many other proud wives … and mothers … [the exact face and tone with which you say, Wow, you’ve been working out, to someone you want to have sex with] I’ve waited patiently, for some sign [theatrical confusion] that the Nets could [shrug, whaddaya gonna do] take care of business [etching the Ten Commandments on the stone of Mount Sinai in fire] ON. THEIR. HOME. [Beseeching you not to leave me.] Floor. Floor. [Creepy smirk.]

But [batting eyelashes coquettishly] sadly, today, for Dorian Finney-Smith, as for so many other Americans, [scorned, vengeful] the fourth quarter has become … [weeping again] a celebration… [leering hungrily, grin impossibly wide] of pain.

[Dishy, gossipy.] Now, when Trendon Watford made a pair of free throws, [funniest thing you ever heard] with 6:32 left to play? And tied the score at 98? [Whispering to your heart, the heart of a fellow proud wife and mother.] I believed … that my children … Berkle and Fryden … could dream a dream of victory [bored, asking if you’d like fries with your order] for the Nets [humble, self-deprecating, yet proud and proud of it] of the great Brooklyn of New York.

[Winking, sly, sharing a secret with you.] However, that … would prove to be … [pronouncing your death sentence in grim fulfillment of The Law] as close as the Nets could come, to realizing the dream of [naughty grin] so. Many. Dreamers. [Terrified of ax-murderer.] It’s truly. Breathtaking. [Cutesy lil’ nose-wrinkle that turns your blood to ice.]

[Gosh, just so thankful to be here.] We all witnessed as Cunningham [deathly blank, robotic, perfect monotone] scored the game’s next six points [whispering again, just feeling this so deeply inside] to dash … the dreams … [big Cheshire cat grin; just lifted your wallet] of so many, for a truly victorious Brooklyn victory. [Weeping again.] The Pistons? Of Detroit? [Squinting like Clint Eastwood.] Would not. Be. Denied. [Bubbly with anticipation.] Of Detroit. [Nosebleed.]

[Eyes pointed in two totally different directions.] The true, unvarnished state of the Nets … [apologetic, about to tell you your grandmother couldn’t be saved] is [rictus of bald insanity] a nightmare … [theatrical voice wobble; about to ask ghost-dad if he wants to have a catch] of hope.


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