So I went to watch my Cavs struggle through their 4th and final game of the NBA finals last night. I saddled up on a bar stool and observed as everyone around me, unaware of my team loyalty, ridiculed and harassed my Cavaliers right up until the final buzzer. I find that, similar to my birthday, watching my hometown team play in the biggest series of their lives can be a somewhat personal experience, particularly when they are losing... badly.
As the evening wore on, my frequent visits to the latrine seemed to be timed up with another patron's bladder breaks. 1st time, 2nd time and then a 3rd. By our final 'fluke' run-in, we were exchanging head knods that suggested "Hey... you and I keep peeing at the same time. Cool."
I wriggled into my corner as he washed his hands when he says, daring to break the ritualistic silence of the men's room, "You're a Cavs fan, aren't ya?"
"Yes"
"Sorry"
Oh no you didn't. However, rather than spit out all the reasons why I am NOT sorry, I simply replied "Don't be" while the toilet bowl in front of me magically turned into his face.
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Mr. Feeble
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