Out the Damn Loop

As is an unfortunate consequence of being a sociable human being, it is impossible to watch basketball every single night of basketball season. That's not even counting the holidays.

So, as someone who watches an ungodly amount of basketball, loves the game with all of its flaws, and would probably neglect a child in pursuit of basketball (just kidding), I tend to dwell on it a bit when I miss a game. It's not that I never want to go out at night and just hang out with my friends, as the young people do (I'll try not to sound 50 years older than I am, here), but ultimately, I don't mind being left to my own devices for a night, taking in a solid 4-5 hours of basketball. I've never really had a switch in my brain that says, "This is too much of a good thing," so League Pass has made sure that there is always something to do on any given night.

Of course, when I miss my course of 2 to 13 games a night, I try not to obsessively look at the score on ESPN Scorecenter. I don't manically check my twitter feed (@bluesforaredsun , if you're feeling so inclined). I just relax and try to enjoy whatever it is I'm doing, because basketball, and sports in general, does not constitute the whole of my life. Living and dying on every single fast break, three pointer, rebound, swat, dunk, turnover, PER score, and salary cap adjustment is not how I want to spend my time away from basketball.

That said, I wasn't too upset about missing two games last night, especially not from looking at the final scores. Neither one was very close (decided by double digits) and in both cases, the better team/higher seed (Orlando and Denver) won in the end.

When I'm watching it, I'm very locked in to all of these things, and when I'm reading about it, I'm hyperconscious of all of these things. For better or for worse, from 7-12, I become a savant. I am not aware of the names of the planets, or the historical significance of Utopia, or what my birthday is. I can tell you who set the assist record (Scott Skiles, 30, 1990, winner of Most Improved Player, 1990-91, current coach of Milaukee Bucks, former coach of Phoenix and Chicago...), who led the Association in scoring during the 80's (Alex English), who had the most points in a single season in ABA history (Dan Issel), etc. I'm a fountain of knowledge.

Aside from the occasional basketball metaphor or geeking out with my girlfriend, I don't talk about basketball outside of that. It's one of those quiet things that I didn't tell people I was into until about a year ago, and it's not something I discuss. I own a single jersey, a knockoff Ginobili with stiff letters. I care about it deeply and passionately, but it's not something I choose to express outwardly. It's one of the most important things in my life at least 5 nights a week, and yet I casually walk away from it to go do 'normal' things. I'm not sure where that places me. It may be more a personal thing than a basketball thing.

That said, when I look at the scores now, I feel desperately and hopelessly confused. I'm not sure what happened, and the box score can only reflect so much. I feel a minor amount of panic. "Did I miss an epic struggle that turned into a blowout? Was Orlando wire-to-wire?" It's all a purely academic exercise, though. I've been locked out by my own decision, and I'm two games behind the rest of the basketball world. If this were my job, I could justifiably shut off the rest of the world, but it's not. There seems to be two worlds: my basketball world, that series of interconnected statistics that unite me with people I've never met, and the regular world, in which I'm a regular guy of an average height who is unimpressed by what the world has to offer. The worlds rarely intermingle. I have friends who enjoy basketball and will discuss it with me, but only on a fairly superficial level. Basketball and everything associated with it is a passion, but ultimately, it's a private one. It could be that I fear no one will understand, or that I simply want a part of myself to myself, but I will never be the guy that rouses his friends on to see a basketball game.

So I look at the box scores and try to figure it out, because I can't really ask anyone else. In some respects, people like Matt Moore, John Hollinger, Zach Harper, and Tom Ziller get to know more about me than my own friends and family do. I'm a mystery for five hours, and it'll probably stay that way.