RUNNING WITH THE BULLS: For two decades (at least) my sports allegiances have been divided thusly:
This division is the result of a life spent in different places. I was born and spent my first eight years in Chicago, where I became a Cubs and Bears fan. (I'll admit, I did have a dalliance with the Big Red Machine when we relocated to Cincy in the height of the glory. But when we took our act on the road again, this time to the American League city of Detroit, I found it easier to renew my Cubs' passion on WGN than to try and manufacture energy for the Other League or to follow newspaper box scores of the Reds.) And then we moved to the Detroit area in high school, where I had the good fortune to see my first live NHL games at Joe Louis Arena, and to witness the birth of the Bad Boys era in the NBA, when one of the most colorful teams of all time was able to win back-to-back championships.
When I later moved to Chicago during the height of the Bulls' dynasty, I tried to like them as best I could. Alas, it was a losing proposition, and I was never able to bask in their greatness with any true joy. Over the years I've been seeking an entry point to the Bulls and the Blackhawks, because as anyone knows it's no fun to root against your home teams (despite the fact my father has made a hobby out of this his entire life). With the Blackhawks, well, it's been tough. As they've continued to suck the Red Wings have continued to dominate. Okay. And what of the Bulls?
As the Bulls began rebuilding from scratch, drafting rookies and finally shuttling the loathsome Jerry Krause out of town, I sensed an opportunity. But with the hiring of the spunky Scott Skiles a week or so ago, I've finally found my way in.
As this Sun-Times article indicates (and thanks to my brother Eric for forwarding it), Skiles is the kind of guy that doesn't see the glass half-full OR half-empty, so much as he just grabs ahold of the glass and throws it against the wall. In an age where NBA players seem more like overfed babies suckling at the engorged teats of a culture gone awry...ahem....gasp...what'd I say?...ummm, in an age where the NBA and its players seem like HGH-drunk teenagers more interested in hookers than hook shots...
What I mean to say is, I like the subplot of a Skiles, where he rides into town and kicks some butt and maybe just maybe this team learns how to overachieve rather than simply coast. That's what I mean. Count me a fan, starting today.
No comments:
Post a Comment