UGH. Coaching, Am I Right?

I'm supposed to face the Spurs with these jokers? The Spurs are really good! I've read about them.

Ol' Mr. 1300 had a killer plan, too. It started off all normal-like, with Curry and Monta in the backcourt. Then CJ at the three, for a nice, tiny, stubby mismatch. Vlad'd still be my power forward, except I'd make him play while kneeling. He'd look like Dorf (love Dorf), plus it'd make for a great mismatch.

Center was the problem -- I could not think of a center to use. I like how good Mikki is at keeping his arms pinned to his sides when opponents are shooting near him. On the other hand, he's just so damned tall. Creeps me out. And a post-pneumonia fatty should not go around getting creeped out... my doctor was very forceful on that point. Speaking of giant freaks, Randolph asked me if he could play center and I projectile-spat a barely-chewed walnut in his face.

So I opened the box. Asked Keith Smart if he'd come out of retirement to be my five, but that question seemed to bother him; the other Keith I know, the Jennings variety, wasn't home when I called. My next thought was Pete Maravich -- could be a nice, thin, wispy mismatch -- but it turns out he's been dead for twenty years.

Coaching is just the shits. I drunk-dialed Lenny Wilkens at three AM last night (he's some kind of weirdo non-sleeper so I knew he'd be up) and offered him a deal: we meet in St. Louis, each draw one from the deck, high card takes the all-time wins record. I even told him we could use my favorite tits-&-bush deck, the one where they're all dressed up like military figures. Wilkens softly chuckled and asked after my family; click, was my response. Am I the only sane person left in this world?

Crap, just remembered: I left a couple hundred Now & Laters in the microwave. Take it sleazy, diary.