Happy 26th Birthday Chris Bosh. Your team lost by 26 points. Same amount as your previous home game – an early present? The most your team was able to score in any of the four quarters was 26. The least you were able to hold the opposing team to in any quarter was 26. There was a fat lady eating nachos (26 bucks with a beer) in the lower endzone section, row 26, seat 26. She booed your ass 26 times by my count. She might have been screaming “happy BOOOOOOOirthday” but I don’t think so.
Your teammate, Hedo Turkoglu, number 26, fell ill halfway through. He chose the number for the date on which his daughter was born. I imagine him speaking to his baby daughter over the phone before the game. She has not said her first words yet. He keeps trying to get her to say “ball”. He repeats it into the phone. Over and over again. “Ball.Ball.Ball.” All she does is bawl. Hedo is stricken with an existential angst that eats away at his insides. That means he gives up on his team halfway through the game. Perhaps for the 26th time? That means that Antoine Wright gets to play 26 minutes. He takes advantage by missing six of seven shots beyond the arc. The one he makes is from 26 feet out. It was just his way of saying happy birthday.
There was 13 games remaining – which equals one half of 26. It’s also the number of Patrick O’Bryant. He didn’t get to play, but he probably got to go to the party. He probably brought a 26 ounce bottle of here-for-a-good-time-not-a-long-time. I could have used some of that.
There are 26 red cards and 26 black cards in a deck. Shuffle the red and the black any way you want. The joker is staring you in the face. Sleep off that sad-ass game. Sleep off the party. I’ll be able to forget if it doesn’t happen again. But never ever again. Otherwise I’ll do more than sleep it off. I’ll just go to sleep. Because the 26th letter of the alphabet is Z. zzzzzzzzzzzzz…