Back To Work

The best thing about being back: the chair in my office. It's so soft and deep, cups my lumps perfectly... that thing is a treasure. Settle in there with a four-pack of wine coolers and an easy Sudoku puzzle and you are GOLDEN. I whipped off a quick four-hour nap in that bad boy earlier today.

On the down side, Keith Smart is really starting to get on my nerves. He came into my office -- during my twenty-minute nap cooldown -- and told me about all these alignments and plays and whozits and whatsits. Shoved a bunch of papers in my face. I pulled my eyelids wide and feigned buckteeth and said "ohhhh, teechaaa, I wanta mo homewuuuuk." In retrospect, I shouldn't have gone racial on him; a Laotian intern walked by my door just as I really kicked in the accent, and I think she started crying. But Keith got the message. He crumpled the papers up and slunk out, real slow, shoulders heaving. He may have been crying too, come to think of it.

We're playing Houston tonight. Tough team to match up against: they've got a really short frontcourt, so I'm going to have to get creative if I want us to be smaller (AND I DO). C.J. at the four is what I'm thinking. We'll see who mismatches who, Adelman, you fuck.

Smell ya later, diary... Bonnie Hunt and Dr. Oz are calling.