It’s the end of August. The NBA continues to hibernate because apparently it’s an animal that lives in one of the coldest regions in the southern hemisphere. The WNBA playoffs are off to a strong start, but I don’t feel qualified to talk about it in detail because I am. However, I would like to make a few statements in particular:
I hope to write in-depth about the WNBA in the coming weeks, but those weeks aren’t here yet. I’m still in the NBA world right now.
Unfortunately, the world of the NBA is boring right now. It’s been a while. I was hoping the Brave Little Toaster article would be enough to plead with the universe for something cool to happen, but the universe can be an a**, and look where we are now.
I’ve reached a new level of desperation in search of something I’m passionate about. Did you know that Jerry Stackhouse is the only person in NBA history to finish a year with 666 free throws made? Do you feel better knowing this? These are questions that only arise when you have absolutely nothing else to say.
Fortunately, there is an editor and excellent human being named Ian Levy in my life. He asked me if I had thought about theme nights. I hadn’t done it. I didn’t really intend to. Next, I looked at what the Detroit Pistons had to offer for the upcoming season:
Now look at what a pixel of white space can do.
While I wouldn’t recommend this particular party, it made me think that we need more ridiculous theme parties in our lives. As a ridiculous person, I decided it would be extremely helpful for me to think about it.
Apropos of nothing, here’s a photo of an Alolan Raichu playing basketball.
Good job, little buddy. Anyway:
You know that sometimes the world as it is is not the way you want it to be and you think: “If only this little thing had happened differently, would everything have changed?” Maybe not, because you don’t live in the past, but you could! Wouldn’t that be fun?
The purpose of this evening would be to celebrate the fictional possibilities of your team. What if the Pistons had drafted Carmelo instead of Darko Milicic? What if Brooklyn hadn’t traded 20% of the entire world’s future for KG and Paul Pierce? What if all basketball players were bears coached by Blink 182 bassist Mark Hoppus?
During Multiverse Night, each of these possibilities will be treated as legitimate. Get out there, tell your story, and live out your basketball fantasies with other equally crazy people. What if Joe Dumars had three phones? Let’s find out.
All concessions will be replaced with breakfast cereals. Do you want nachos? Damage. Have some cornflakes, idiot.
Maybe it could be related to the appearance of Tony the Tiger, or other interesting cereal mascots like this bird or this rabbit, but mostly I think it would be really funny to see everyone eating cereal during ‘a basketball match.
For example, the camera pans across the crowd, and there are people with spoons and bran with raisins in 2% milk with the bowl on their faces, but then they see that they are in front of the camera , so they try to celebrate, but they don’t. I don’t want to spill milk all over their Devin Booker shirt, so all they can do is wave a spoon around like they’re blessing a dairy-loving congregation with an asparagus.
Plus, I like crunchy ones.
Eventually, we all come to a point where we begin to question ourselves, life, and the universe. Maybe it will be after a near-death experience, or when a longtime loved one breaks up with us, or when Big Bang Theory is renewed for another season. This is going to happen, and it’s going to suck.
So why not coordinate this inevitable emotional black hole with other people and showcase it at a basketball game? It’s a nice distraction between sobs, and maybe you can find a shoulder to cry on. Plus, if everyone is freaking out, you’ll have a lot less attention span, so you can really let yourself go.
I imagine this would be an extremely healthy experience for some and very bad for most others. As such, it’s a good idea.
This must be celebrated and reproduced:
Look at this little guy. He’s probably having the time of his life. Or maybe he’s terrified. Sometimes it’s the same thing.
People wouldn’t necessarily be required to bring hedgehogs, but the name of the party should honor the original. I think anything up to the size of a ferret should be allowed in the arena. No birds though. Birds are mean.
No detailed explanation is necessary. Just cheese. This night is probably already happening in Milwaukee, but most things that happen in Milwaukee don’t really matter to the outside world. Apparently aviation was invented there somewhere in the 1870s, but you’d have to go to Milwaukee to check it out, and no one wanted to bother.
I debated whether this should include cheese-centric things (like cheese pizza, charcuterie plates, or grilled cheeses), but decided it was an unnecessary complication. What I think would be more fun would be like carving stations with huge wheels of cheese. No need for plates or utensils. You get a piece of cheese when you enter the arena and you just eat it out of your hand like an apple.
If all goes well, we can start getting into fondue or raclette grills, but for now let’s stay basic. Cheese is never bad, but cheese presentation can be.
Once “Island in the Sun” happened, it wasn’t the same. “Beverly Hills” may be the worst song ever written outside of “If I Had a Million Dollars” by the Barenaked Ladies.
The NBA loves social media and Tinder Night was probably a huge success, so we know the league does well with a little collaboration with other brands. Everyone wins.
On the other hand (but in this case, hands are touching, even shaking), people love to use social media to complain. I once posted on Arby’s Twitter that my cat kept scratching my bike tires. They didn’t respond, so I haven’t eaten there since.
What we need is a collective spirit of small rage. We don’t have enough of it these days. Let’s get a few thousand people in some seats to ignore basketball and blame a PR intern for all their own ills. Did you take a flight that was a little too turbulent a few years ago? Let them know. You get permission to be the worst version of yourself in a public place. These opportunities don’t come around often.
Players love it when the crowd is loud, and I can’t think of a better way to make a place scream than to have a group of couples fighting.
The fact is that the volume will be self-contained. Once you start shouting, someone else will have to shout louder to be heard. And then someone else will have to do even better. And so on. This will continue to develop until the lungs fail or the game is over.
The couples will, however, have to reconcile by the end of the night. This isn’t meant to harm the relationship, but it should be a little dramatic.
I think I might be the only person in the world who enjoys building IKEA furniture. Everyone considers it a strange and irritating chore. So it’s postponed. “We don’t need that side table today, do we, darling?” Of course the answer is “no,” but once that “no” happens for the 25th time, it becomes a bit of a stretch.
Well, no more excuses, Trent. You come to basketball and you finish what you started. Your house has an empty place, and I’m sick of you sitting on your ass eating pork rinds. This is not why I thought I would get married. You’re lazy, you’re selfish and my mother was right about you.