The Plug

Sometimes you win some. Sometimes you lose some.

Sometimes you score court side center tickets to the only NBA game played in the city in 6 years. Featuring Steve Nash and the Phoenix Suns.

What?

How does this happen?

Absentmindedness and old acquaintances.

Let's begin. As the Suns are in town playing a pre-season match versus the Sonics, I went down to GM Place tonight to promo the hip hop show I'm putting on on Sunday.

Only to discover that I'd lost my wallet, or so I thought. Not finding it in my pocket, there was a slim chance (I hoped) that I'd left it at home. After targeting potential hip hop fans amongst the masses filing into the stadium and handing them my propaganda, I jetted home to indeed find my wallet sitting by the key bowl.

Whew.

So over joyed I was that I immediately raced back to GM Place in hopes of scoring very cheap tickets to the game. Box Office or otherwise. Didn't matter. This time as I approached , I ran into an old buddy, Rio (who will be referred to as "The Catalyst" from here on in these pages), and we sat down, smoked a cigarette and caught up.

Turns out it was good for basketball.

After parting ways, I sauntered over to the box office only to be told that the last two tickets for the night had been sold. Of course they had. This was par for my ridiculous week, so keeping with routine, I cursed my tardiness and started looking for an escape line. All the scalpers had left the premises already so it looked like I would be watching the highlights on Sportsnet.

All scalpers save for one. One who might as well have been a supernatural apparition, like something out of "A Christmas Carol." This Ghost Of NBA Past had one ticket left that he desperately wanted to hawk and asked how much I'd pay for what read a $300 face value. I said 45 bucks. After some haggling, we settled on $60 and away I went.

I walked in and tried to navigate to my seat. I descended down many flights of stairs but still couldn't find the elusive row "A" that was printed on the ticket. That's because it was on the floor. Front row. On the floor. Nash and the lads were running drills and dropping 3's preparing for the second half as I hunted for my seats.

Trying to decipher seat numbers by asking random people in the row, I finally made it to my spot where this animated dude motioned to the empty seat next to him and his homie and said I could sit there. He inquired as to how much I paid and congratulated me on my deal as it was him that had sold the original ticket to the scalper. This dude was Ash and his compadre was Nolan. Good cats.

So I took my seat and proceeded to watch Nash put on an absolute showcase. Everything they say about this guy is for real, and you can see why he was a double MVP. He does it all. He nails that pass. He does it behind the back. No look. He drives. He fades away.

He makes that shot.

I have seen many sporting events live, countless Jays games, a few hockey games, pro soccer, one football game and one Grizzlies game, and never have I seen anything like this. The guy is a fucking X-Man. And not some second tier schlep like Sunspot or Cannonball. Nash is fucking Wolverine. Tonight it looked like he was slicing and dicing his way through the Sonics like they were The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. Just stunning.

The rest of the squad didn't look too shabby. Both of them actually, the Sonics looked as well. The Ash/Nolan tandem, who were quite well versed in the doings of the NBA, got me up to speed on some shit like:

1. The Seattle GM sharing the same alien DNA as Theo Epstein, helming a pro sports franchise at 31.

2. Sonics Guard and Allen Iverson disciple, Delonte West, who looks absolutely thugged-the-fuck-out (I'm talking neck tattoos. That you read), came up in Boston College and then from the Celtics in the blockbuster trade for Ray Allen. This West cat also ran the show this evening setting up plays that were executed to perfection by his team mates probably out of fear of getting capped if they fucked up.

3. Suns Guard DJ Strawberry is in fact the son Darryl Strawberry, the undisputed ringleader of the coke fueled, rockstar trainwreck that was the '86 Mets.

I realize that if you're a die hard NBA fan this is as rudimentary as knowing which team MJ played for, but I'm not. My basketball experience is limited to watching Reggie Miller sink 3's like they were going out of style vs the Knicks in the '95 playoffs, a season opener Grizz/Trailblazers tilt viewed live and a grand total of four points scored, back when I was a guard for the Canora Cougars in '87.

One thing that was cool to see, that translates from Junior High all the way to the bigs, was watching Nash put up one finger to call "Play #1." Man, I just about ran on the court and tried to execute "Play #1" from when I came off the bench for the Cougars and scored those four points in Kamsack. From the high school prairies to the pro courts in the desert, you can't stop "Play #1."

Or maybe you can. "Play #1" all went to Hell, sending Amare Stoudemire somersaulting unto the floor over some random Sonic. Probably West. I just about jumped out of my chair and started screaming at the ref for a foul ala Mark Cuban, or Jack when he's had to much Jack and has to be restrained.

And now I can see how these cats like Jack have a hard time keeping it together, and how they just about storm the court nightly. I was writhing in my seat, looking for a straight jacket and a tongue depressor to chew on just to stop myself from getting ejected. All after just one hard foul that resulted in a missed bucket.

For the last five minutes of the match Nash was benched, which drew chants of "We Want Nash! We Want Nash!" from the jam packed GM Place. But to be quite honest, it was still amazingly entertaining ball. You didn't know if West was going to pop someone or if Stoudemire was going to step on someone, or if a genetically modified Dennis Rodman cyborg, complete with plasma cannon would march on the court and vapourize someone. You just didn't know.

What you did know was that Vancouver DEFINITELY needs another squad. We have the support, we have the facility, and at the rate the Canucks are going, we are going to be needing some serious sporting options soon. Overall, this was WAAAYYY too much fun to have once every six years. Court side or none, this game is just too good not watch live regularly.

To the Commish:

Quit debating if Iverson should be able to wear his bling and get us a team back! ASAP. I'll buy a 20 game pack faster than you can say Shareef Abdu Rahee--.

To Steve Nash:

Let's see you in our new squad's front office. Or even better, coaching the team. Or even better, winding down your career here.