Game 9, Dallas Mavericks host Orlando Magic

Theme: Beck, "Loser" (God I hate that song)
Game Info: Over here

First words coming out of the arena? "I must have a drink this instant!"

- Same shit, different day. It was like watching a babysitter try and get a kid to take their medicine; try whatever you might, make whatever noises you want, it's not going to go down. And the Mavs were minus that spoonful of sugar. (Ack! Enough with the musicals, Beej.)

- Superman? Not impressed.

- I don't understand. Or maybe I just don't want to understand. The game tends to go better when one ditches the jump shot for the last ten minutes or so and battles in for points in the paint. So why aren't we doing that? Why is it I could chill a can of Dew when the game hits about the eight-minute mark?

- This was a down-to-the-wire rip-your-heart-in-quarters type of loss. We were up by one with less than a minute to go, they'd dusted off our friend Gary Glitter and cracked out the flags for the first time this season. Then, at the last possible moment . . . Jet Terry lost the ball. Jason Kidd fouled. Got booted out of the game. Gave the Magic free-throws. Posession back to Dallas. J-Ho inbounded it . . . right back at the Magic. They were fouled again. Made another free-throw. Last possession of the game. Jet got the shot, little short-range jumper. And. It. Rimmed. Out.

In The Wash: We beat the shit out of the Magic, except in the one place it counts. This game was ours, baby, and we pissed it away with another outscored-by-ten fourth quarter.

I got no analysis here, nothing that hasn't been talked about already. Do what you have to do to snap out of this, guys. Just don't do it with your shooting hands, 'kay?

For the record, I didn't get that drink. Ice cream is cheaper.

Final: 102-100, Magic
-BJ