So I'm enjoying a lazy Knicks-Warriors game with the folks who sit near where I sit from time to time at the nation's least exceptional NBA arena experience, the Fabulous Oracle Arena.
It's the end of halftime. No halftime activities. The arena staff botched a bunch of PA and security assignments and the Hype Krew was generally lame. No dunk team- they're all hurt. Some pizza and some towels were chucked to the fans (including someone with a METS HAT?! Idiot Hype Krew) and everyone left with 6 minutes left in the game.
In other words: corners were cut.
Bored out of my mind, I refuse to spend my hard-earned cash on any of the league's most obscenely overpriced concession stands (the food should be GOOD if you're going to rip people off for it... the Giants know this, a-holes). My neighbors have more to offer than the team most nights and tonight was no exception, by seeming default. They could have been absent and we would have spent more time wondering where they were than watching the D-League matador exhibition those two shitty teams puked on the floor.
I'm watching the Warriors bench as Anthony Morrow drills 3-pointers in halftime warm-ups when Stephen Jackson steps onto the floor for his "warm-ups." Marco Belinelli's ugly mug and apparent desire to get my attention are still in the dark depths of the Oracle, yet to emerge for another 24 minutes of useless unshaven bad suit modeling.
There, standing and looking around like nervous junkies getting their hit on a street corner, are team strength and conditioning coach John Murray (no douchey goatee these days, but still plenty of douche to go around) and the useless but always cool Rico Hines. http://www.nba.com/media/warriors/0809GSWMG_Staff.pdf
Suddenly, as though from out his ass, Murray produces a strange-looking little cup of magic and Jackson comes over to the bench. Jackson ceremoniously takes this communal chalice from Murray's hands as though it holds Christ's own blood, pauses, raises the goblet to his lips, and imbibes the golden elixir contained therein with a grand and righteous flourish. Some gesticulation, some macho physical contact of the usual sort, End of Service, second half begins shortly thereafter.
Suffice to say, this all seemed like a strange ritual for water drinking. Adding further intrigue, John Murray furtively concealed the cup Jackson drank from and kept it, who knows for how long, allowing NO ONE to handle this magic cup of ______ .
I can't say what might have been in this cup- ground sheep testicles, tiger sperm, Courvoisier?- but let's just say Jack was "up" for all of his 47 minutes.
It's true: East Bay M.U.D. pipes the best water in the country.