I wake up each day and take a deep breath. Then I exhale. Then I do it again, maybe not as deep. Exhale again. And so on... you get the idea. I breathe. I take oxygen in, push out the CO2. Plants love me.
For about 25 days that air has been sweeter, cleaner and has invigorated my soul. Whether I was enjoying an outside shower on the Big Island of Hawaii or slinking through the bowels of San Francisco's trash and crack-strewn Tenderloin District, the air has gotten better. My mind has been cleared. That pasty film coating my NBA fandom for nearly a decade has been rinsed away with such powerful precision that I can barely remember the pain and confusion that ruled over me just weeks before.
Is this real, or is it only an illusion? Let's look at what experimental rock band Ween had to say on fate delivering your dreams and the danger therein by examining the lyrics to their cryptic track, "Don't Get too Close to My Fantasy":
Don't get 2 close to my fantasy
Don't be afraid to clutch the hand of your creator
Stare into the lion's eyes
And if you taste the candy...
You'll get to the surprise
Wait... maybe not that one. When I was listening to it earlier, it seemed like it was speaking to me about the risks of actualizing a wild vision, only to have it implode in your face and shatter everything you ever dared to believe in. Upon closer inspection, this song may be about a father molesting his child. Moving along.
So... where were we. Oh, yes.
I know I am not alone in feeling invincible. I felt it (mixed in with bitter hatred and enrtail-twisting anxiety) throughout the whole relocation saga - I could see something in KJ's eyes and I thought, "all good." It was in the bag. The national media couldn't see it but I could.
I feel this way again. This time, it's about our chances to rock. Something in Vivek's eyes and calm, thoughtful demeanor is sending me pulses of goodwill that are leading me, perhaps blindly, to put some real hope into this thing. As I read various articles about the offseason by national writers across the digital landscape I note that only very fleetingly will Sacramento be mentioned... and even then it's to talk shit. CAN'T THEY SEE WE ARE ON THE CUSP OF GREATNESS?!
In the end, who cares? We shouldn't. Watch any basketball game and note the shifting narrative at any commercial break. As they cut away, whoever is up, be it 20 points or 2, the highlights and comments suggest total domination. It's like a machine that just keeps eating and spewing whatever is in front of it. Sacramento will only matter when something of note - get this - actually happens here.
For now I will enjoy the new, crisp, delicious air and soak in that golden Vivekian, Malony D'Alessandroness and search another Ween track, "The Mollusk," for answers to the riddle: What happens to me if it all goes to hell?
You see there are three things that spur the mollusk from the sand
The waking of all creatures that live on the land
And with just one faint glance, back into the sea
The mollusk lingers, with it's wandering eye...
Ok, not that one.