Hey…hi, I just want to thank you for bringing our team to the Finals. They’ve had an extraordinary year. I’m sticking around until the end, which I hope will be tonight. Let the guys know, no game seven, please. I’m not really a basketball fan, or even a bandwagoneer, but with two daughters that love the game, I’ve gotten swept up in the excitement.
And the Finals have been very exciting…no, wait, sorry, I lied…they have been very excruciating. I haven’t felt this much anxiety since Joe Montana played football, and I was much younger then. My daughter banishes me from the front room to the downstairs room because of my verbal expressions of anxiety.
That first game was way too close for my comfort zone, thrilling, but too much so, there ought to be a doctor’s warning. The next two games, the Cavaliers played like warriors, and it seemed like the Warriors were a little cavalier about the Finals. But, apparently, you picked up on my telepathic advice to change up the game plan, and came back with some great wins in the last two games. And I thank you for winning by a comfortable margin that enabled me to sleep those nights.
I don’t know why basketball doesn’t just have a Super Basketball Bowl, and we can freak out all in one day. But, no, the NBA stretches the torture over the course of a couple weeks. I am just too old for this. So I appeal to you, as a fellow middle-ager, win this one for the quipper. So, let the guys know, no game seven, please. Thank you.
Your friend,
Donna Fentanes
FROM THE SHOE 