Just about 30,000 points and starring in a movie like Airplane! before she’ll tie Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. (I already knew he was the NBA all-time leading scorer, thankyouverymuch.)

This may have been right before I stood up and said, “Hey, Taurasi, wanna go out for a drink after the game? You can drive me home.” I know she heard me. And that makes me happy.

Fan #1: Male. Somewhere in his late 30s, or early 50s if you look at the wrinkles he had around his eyes. Dirty orange, halfway-dreadlocked hair down to the middle of his back. Wearing a tie-dyed dashiki and short black swim trunks. Dirty white socks and dirty sneakers. Enough junk underneath his fingernails to probably fashion a small shelter. Very loudly yelled TWO POINTS anytime the Lynx held the ball above their heads; sometimes yelled THREE POINTS even when it wasn’t a 3-pointer. My favorite part of this guy? His testicles. Every time he put his feet up on the chair in front of him, I got to see a little peak where his tighty whiteys didn’t quite fit.

Fan #2: Male. Probably in his 60s. Walked in carrying a bible and a black plastic megaphone. Pretty sure he didn’t blink the entire time he was there. Anytime one of the Lynx got up to the free throw line, he would yell through his megaphone “Nothing but the bottom of the net. Net only. Swish”. Every time. Since the Lynx were playing like a one armed blind man riding a donkey, it was incredibly quiet in Target Center meaning everybody, likely including the players, could hear him, too.

Fan #3: Female. Angry lesbian who was there with her partner, but they kept a seat between them. Her partner kept nodding off. Meanwhile, the angry lesbian fan would yell things like “PUT IN THE BASKET” and “TAKE A SHOT” repeatedly, even at times when it didn’t make sense. The ball just getting over the center court line? Probably not the most opportune time to take a shot. In the game’s final few minutes, she would yell encouraging things like “C’MON, REALLY?” and “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” And the thing that made me want to roundhouse kick her right in her stupid neck was when the game was over and she got up to head to her rusted out Subaru. She yelled “BOO” and waved her hand in a dismissive fashion at the court. I love that she paid money to make herself that angry.

I come from a place (Missouri) where all we know is outdoors baseball. And while I loved always knowing that I didn’t have to take a coat to a game at the Metrodome and I knew a game would never be canceled or postponed, there was just something missing when I’d go see a baseball game and have a giant white roof over my head.

I’m supposed to go to another game this week for work, but there’s a chance of rain on Thursday, which may throw off our plans a bit. The General and I have tickets again either later this month or next month with Desi and Becky, where we’ll be sitting in the general seats as opposed to our posh suite, but I can’t really wait to try that out either!

I was wearing my big girl PR shoes, so I didn’t get a chance to take as many pictures as I would have liked, but here are my favorites and the rest are here.

We went to the Lynx/Mercury game tonight. I wanted to see Taurasi play… even though I can’t stand her. She’s the whiniest player in the WNBA. I’ve never seen her play a game where she hasn’t thrown herself onto the floor in some fashion to try to get the foul call or throw her hands up in disgust when she misses a shot and wants to blame someone else for it.

Last year, when the Phoenix Mercury were in town, I wound up with tickets from work, where I was supposed to be schmoozing a client. As luck would have it, she was a fan of the WNBA (if you know what I mean), so we spent the time heckling Taurasi from five rows from the court.

I don’t know if her ponytail is too tight or her socks pulled up to her knees might somehow be cutting off circulation to the rest of her body, but holy cow, is she cranky! The thing that frustrates me most? She’s SO. DAMN. GOOD. And yet all of her belly-achin’, tantrum-throwin’, stomping around because she’s pissed off at the world tends to distract from that. If a team can manage to make her mad enough to take her out of her zone, they’ll win. And that’s how the sorry team that the Lynx have right now was able to pull out a victory tonight.

I’d like to propose a little plan to keep this crybaby in check. It’s pretty simple. It’s called time out. She’s 27, so according to SuperNanny, she should get a 27 minute timeout. When she’s all said and done, she’s supposed to say she’s sorry for what she’s done. And then gets hugs and kisses, but ain’t nobody in the league dumb enough to do that to this crazybox.

So until I become commissioner of the WNBA or at least head coach of the Phoenix Mercury (I don’t even know who you are, Corey Gaines!), I’ll just continue to do my part in helping Diana reign in her sudden outbursts if jackass behavior. And I’ll do that by yelling her name repeatedly throughout the entire game anytime she’s close enough to hear me.

And I’ll call her a crybaby and laugh really hard when the folks at the Target Center play “Big Girls Don’t Cry” just after she gets called for a technical foul.

Guess what, ESPN? I’m not a dad and I’m not a grad, but I LIKE SPORTS. And, c’mon, Joe Mauer is on the front.  This is your opportunity to cater to the ladies that might be thinking about subscribing to your dumb ol’ magazine.

NEWS FLASH: YOU DON’T HAVE TO HAVE A PENIS TO LIKE THE SPORTS GAMES.

March 28, 1992

I was fresh from turning 14 years old and was babysitting for a lawyer. The kids were sleeping, I’d already gone through the dad’s Playboy collection (hidden in the kids’ toy room, mind you…), and had no idea when to expect the parents home. It was typical to never know when they’d be home, but I was 14 and liked getting paid three bucks an hour, so I didn’t really care.

I was sitting in their kitchen, watching the 13-inch TV on the counter. It was the only TV I could get to work, aside from the one in their bedroom, but the idea of lounging in the bed just seemed kind of weird. The cable was spotty at best on the TV, but I stumbled across a basketball game.

This basketball game:

That’s when I really, really fell in love with basketball.

And that’s also when I fell in love with Duke and Christian Laettner and Bobby Hurley, but that’s another story.

Her bid for a new career comes a decade after she starred at the Sydney Olympics, winning gold in the 100 meters, 200 meters and 1,600-meter relay, and bronze in the long jump and 400-meter relay. She was stripped of all five medals after admitting in 2007 that she was using performance-enhancing drugs — a designer steroid called the “clear” — at the time of the games. (via ESPN)

The Shock’s coach is Nolan Richardson, who previously coached the Arkansas Razorbacks to an NCAA title several years ago, so if anyone can reign her, it’s probably going to be him.

It’s a pretty smart business decision for the WNBA, if you think about it. The Shock just moved from Detroit and Oklahoma isn’t really what I’d call a prime location for WNBA fans, so they’re going to need some kind of a draw. Someone like Marion Jones could definitely do that.

If she ends up making the team and lasting through training camp, the Minnesota Lynx will be opening up the season in Tulsa on May 15th. Jones is 5’10, so she’s going to have to run the point and, holy balls, she’s going to be one hell of a person to catch on a fast break.

My boss mentioned this earlier today and I’d forgotten that I wanted to write about it. I didn’t read about it first on ESPN or see it on the news somewhere. I found out about this new acquisition via the few WNBA players that I follow on Twitter. And they’re excited about it, which makes me excited about it, too!

I don’t know what it is either. Maybe it’s all the doping and anti-doping accusations and rules that have come out in sports as a whole over the past few years. Maybe it’s because I have no idea how the rules in curling play out. Maybe it’s because if I have to hear or read about one more person’s snide commentary on Johnny Weir’s costume choices, I might throwdown. Maybe it’s because the two-man American bobsled team wears unitards that show off the fine details on their man parts. Or maybe it’s because I had no idea there was a sport involving cross country skiing with a gun on your back and stopping periodically to shoot grapefruit size targets. Why don’t those women have boobs, by the way?

So, anyway, while I can really appreciate all those die hard Olympic fans, I’m using your Twitters and your Facebook entries and your blog posts to fill me in on all the highlights.

I got the following email from ESPN yesterday:

I don’t think I should have to list the reasons why it makes me want to punch babies (that’s my latest thing when I get mad), but it’s your lucky day, because I’m in a sharing mood.

The subject line of this email: Valentine’s Special — Give Your Guy ESPN The Magazine. Well, guess who has two thumbs and a subscription to ESPN Magazine that just happened to conveniently run out? This girl. GIRL. (I can show proof, if you need it.)

The body of the email: Give the perfect present to all the guys on your Valentine’s Day shopping list, and they’ll thank you the whole year round. While I appreciate the suggestion, the only guys on my Valentine’s Day shopping list would be my dad (sports history = playing church softball when I was a baby), my brother (sports history = middle school soccer and basketball until he blew his knee out), and The Kid (sports history = going to WNBA games with me a few times a year). And, really, ESPN, the idea of any of them thanking me year round creeps me out the slightest little bit, because I have a dirty, dirty mind.

As much as I would like to swear off anything ESPN related, let’s be serious here.

1. I suck at boycotting anything.
2. I love sports too much.
3. I don’t know what I’d do without ESPN – Streak for the Cash… even though I’m sucking wind with it right now.

Point of the story: I’m mad at you, ESPN, and I’m not renewing my subscription to your crummy ol’ magazine now. I guess you’ll have to live with without my $14.97/month.

Posted via web from twodolla’s posterous.