When enough isn’t enough

I’m legit hurting in my soul right now.

I though I was done with caring for the Knicks, but last night proved I was only kidding myself.

In case you haven’t heard (or don’t care, it’s ok) the 2015 NBA Draft Lottery Order was determined last night.  Each year, the leagues worst teams get to find out in what order they will be selecting players from June’s upcoming draft.  This is significant because NY’s last great player (sorry Carmelo) was selected 30 years ago.  Patrick Ewing was the #1 overall pick in the 1985 NBA Draft.  Knick fans were hoping to strike gold again in this year’s lottery, and they deserved to.  The New York Knicks had the worst record in the NBA for almost the entire season.  They were “tanking” or deliberately loosing games to improve their draft position.  The worst record in the NBA guarantees that a team will have the greatest number of ping pong balls, which equates to the greatest probability of earning the right to choose first in the draft.  All projections had the Knicks earning the #1 pick for their efforts, with even the most extreme models showing them no lower than #2.

But the Knicks had to go ahead an Knick.  For no reason whatsoever, they went on an uncalled for streak to end the season, winning 3 out of their final 6.  Because of this Minnesota (who wasn’t tanking as obviously as the Knicks were) ended the season with the worst record by a single game, and thus the greatest chance for that coveted #1.

So what did the Knicks earn for their untimely righting of the ship at the end of the season?

The 2nd pick?  Nope.

The 3rd pick? Wrong again.

The 4th pick?  Bingo.

4th.  This may not seem like a big deal but it is.  This year’s draft features 3 virtual can’t miss rookie NBA draft prospects.  New York went from having their pick of the best, to potentially missing out on all of them.  That’s why Knicks General Manager Steve Mills has his MJ cry head on.  He knows his organization just blew a golden opportunity to start over fresh.

But these are the Knicks we’re talking about here.

That moment when you over think it, and everything falls apart

It’s been over 36 hours, but I’m still in disbelief.

By now you’ve probably heard that the New England Patriots won Super Bowl XLIX by defeating the Seattle Seahawks, 28 to 24.  Much of the game was pretty ho-hum, until the final 3 minutes.  The Patriots took the lead on a go ahead touchdown, leaving the Seahawks a little over two minutes to orchestrate their own comeback.

Seattle by luck, skill, serendipity, or whatever you want to call it managed to get to the Patriots 1-yard line, with a little over a minute to go, and a time out.  All the Seahawks had to do was travel 3 feet, breaking the plane of the end zone, and the likelihood of them winning a second Superbowl in as many years was all but secured.

But that’s not what happened.

There’s a debate raging about who is to blame for what occurred next.  What is certain is that the worst play call in Super Bowl history (and probably NFL history, given the gravity of the situation)  ensued.  Instead of handing the ball off to their All-Pro “Beast Mode” Running Back (Marshawn Lynch) who was having his way with the Patriots defense, the Seahawks decided to attempt a pass play.

From the 1-yard line.

With less than a minute to go.

In the Super Bowl.

Patriots Corner Back Malcolm Butler jumped the route and intercepted the pass.

Game over.

I was speechless.  Why?  Why would the Seahawks decide to do such a foolish thing?  Anyone familiar with pro football knows as the field get shorter, the difficulty of completing passes increases exponentially.  There was no reason to take such a risk.

Over the past day and half, I’ve tossed this dilemma back and forth in my head.  I’m not a fan of either team (go Giants!) but I was mortified by the events that took place on Sunday.  All the hard work, training, preparation, and luck it takes to make it to the biggest game on the biggest stage, and it evaporated just like that.

I’ve been where the Seahawks were on Sunday Night before.  The obvious solution is staring you in the face, but you think you’re too cleaver.  You’re trying to cover all the angles, attempting to solve “a riddle wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma“.  But often times in life, things are as straightforward as they seem.  There are no angles, no catches, no provisions, just action.

It takes a lot of courage and self-awareness to make the obvious choice.  There’s a sense of humility and surrender in doing the logical thing in the moment.  Our hearts may tempt us to do the grandiose, over the top; kind of like an in your face to everyone who ever doubted you.  I know, I’ve been there.  It feels good initially, but then better judgement washes over you.

Wisdom has taught me, keep it simple son.

Yo, where my Roshes at b?

ugh…

One of the most hopeless feelings is dealing with the United States Post Office.  This is one of the few bastions of absolute power left in modern American Society.  Need to mail something quickly during your lunch break?  Too bad; there’s only one counter open, and the clerk is in know hurry.  Mail need to be help while you’re on holiday?  Fill out this form.  And don’t let your passport expire (which reminds me).  They have all the power.  You know it, they know it, and they remind you of this fact at every waking moment.  But the worst is finding a lost package.

So I spent a while mulling what kicks I would be copping next (i’m kinda obsessive-compulsive when it comes to most purchases that are not food).  I finally decided on these:

(pic from freshnessmag.com)
(pic from freshnessmag.com)

I found my size for a fair price, and made the purchase.  I was giddy once I received the tracking info, but that expectation turned to anxiety once the shoes traveled from Boston, MA to Nashua, NH.

WTF? 

What’s that for? I exclaimed (get your mind out of the gutter).  Why would the package travel North, further away from me, than towards the Commonwealth?  Then, when they do arrive in town, the latest update shows they departed early this morning.

Yo, where my Roshes at b?

Anxiety lead to borderline anger as I realized that there was little I could do, being the receiver.  The Post Office won’t even entertain my inquiries once they find out I’m not the sender, so why bother.

My feet wait.