So there I am, on top of Steven Adams’ shoulders, taking on Kyle Singler and Enes Kanter in an epic chicken fight, when all of a sudden everyone’s phones start blowing up like the tasteful homemade fireworks display I had planned for later in the evening.
Suddenly, it all made sense why my boy KD hadn’t shown up (totally boning me in the process by not bringing the potato salad he promised). The sound of 15 phones buzzing simultaneously, followed by 15 people collectively sighing resignedly will ring in my ears for many months to come.
He couldn’t have waited until after the sack race to announce this? He didn’t have enough respect for our egg toss competition?
Man. KD loves the egg toss. After we won the pool party egg toss last year, KD told me I was “da real MVP” of “da egg toss.” I guess I’ll have to egg toss with Cameron Payne now or something. Damn.
The hot dogs were all burnt. The “Rolling Thunder” specialty cocktail I painstakingly created suddenly tasted sour. The bouncy castle I rented stayed folded up in its box. Coach Donovan didn’t even seem to enjoy the inflatable swan he was floating on.
And to think: this whole thing could’ve been avoided if I’d just bought those more expensive ribs that Kevin likes. Free agency sucks, man.