adrienne
01-12-2005, 01:18 PM
How to be a Hornets Fan
By Eric Neel
Page 2
Imagine for a moment that there really are actual New Orleans Hornets fans.
I know. It sounds crazy, but what if?
What if there are 12, maybe even 15, genuine faithful followers of the Hornets out there somewhere, clad in their special gold, huddled together in dark rooms, poking pins in George Shinn dolls, whispering Baron Davis stat lines to each other like litanies, and giggling with delight at the prospect, dare they say it, of a three-game win streak?
Creepy, right? But if such a sorry lot exists, shouldn't we throw them a bone? Isn't that the only right and proper thing to do?
I'm not saying we join them, or even get close. (Like a magazine-insert cologne, there'd be no shaking their stank.) I'm just saying, if they're out there, and if they're hell-bent on loving these losers, we ought to tell them how to do it right.
It's either that, or do for them what Chief did for McMurtry once upon a time.
Here now, a guide to rooting for a truly terrible team:
Keep things in perspective, Part One.
Yes, these guys are on pace to lose 72. And yes, any reasonable human being would be better off watching a Special Edition DVD of "The Tall Guy," complete with grainy footage of Jeff Goldblum rehearsing the dance numbers in tights, than suffering through the average Hornet half-court set. But still, there are only about 400 players in the NBA, and these guys are, you know, some of them. Can they beat the Hawks? No, not yet, but they'd probably clean up in winner-stays on your local park court. Keep that in mind. And if it helps, try saying, "NBA action, it's faaaaaaaantastic!" after every Jamaal Magloire fumble or Matt Freije brick.
Indulge your fantasies.
Not the ones you have about Kate Beckinsale, the ones you have about Ray Allen, Dirk Nowitzki, Amare Stoudemire, Kevin Garnett, Kobe Bryant, and Tim Duncan. The ones you have about Brian Cardinal, Mikki Moore, and Ruben Patterson, too. Stock your fantasy roster with Western Conference talent, and not even consecutive losses to the Warriors are unbearable.
Adopt somebody.
Don't make it a front-line guy who makes plays every night. Don't make it Baron or Super Hugo; everybody wants a piece of those guys. Make it someone who stands out among the rubble, like Ginsberg's sunflower. Not because he's all the way good, but because he's got promise, the sort of promise that will probably never pan out, sure, but the sort of promise that will linger and tease you a bit, make you wish, maybe even hope, for more -- the sort that will blossom into a goofy little obsession, during which you will almost certainly overbid for a bobblehead and will seriously contemplate an ill-advised tattoo. Make it Dan Dickau, Alex Garcia, or even Byron Scott.
Think historically.
Don't run from the all-time won-loss record. Embrace it; covet it. Tell anyone who asks that Fred Carter couldn't hold Baron Davis' jock and Manny Leaks ain't no Chris Andersen. Sign your checks like autographs, with little "8-73" bits next to your name. Get an 8ISGR8T personalized license plate for the Kia. Go all out. Winning is common. Even championships are forgettable. (Quick, what was Detroit's record last year?) But taking down the '73 76ers? That's the stuff of legend. Of course, if your boys win 10, or 11, or 12, then they just suck, and you'd be best off casting your mind back to happier, more notable times and places, when New Orleans meant the Jazz of Pete Maravich, and of Louis Armstrong for that matter.
Get nasty.
Make fun of people worse off than you are, like fans of the Expos and Ashlee Simpson.
Get Smalley.
While others are calling Lee Nailon a waste of space, you get up every morning and say, "Lee is good enough, he's smart enough, and doggone it, people like him." You're not a licensed therapist, but you're a caring nurturer and a member of several 12-step programs, and you're maintaining a good and positive attitude while helping Lee Nailon with his problems.
Buy in.
Plenty of good seats still available ... to see LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, Kevin Garnett, Kobe Bryant and every other out-of-town marquee player in the league.
Remember the Alamo.
In 1989, the Spurs won only 21 games, then drafted David Robinson and won 56 the next year. In 1997, they won just 20 games, then drafted Tim Duncan and won 56 the next year. See? It's easy. No doubt it'll be pretty much the same with the Hornets and Martynas Andriuskevicius in '06 ...
Identify mitigating factors.
For instance, the Hornets' schedule since the move to the Western Conference has been brutal, already featuring three games against Phoenix, three against the Lakers, and three against the Kings. That just ain't fair. (Do not, by the way, be troubled by the fact that other Western Conference teams, who are not 4-29, also have had to play a bunch of teams from the Western Conference so far.)
Go deep.
Followers of perennial winners like San Antonio and Sacramento are dilettantes. Winning breeds a kind of casual fandom in which folks needn't be bothered with too many facts and figures, too much hard knowledge. Losing, on the other hand ...
Go too deep.
Say things to your friends like, "Byron is just laying low," "Byron has a plan," "Byron will show us the way," and "Byron is the truth and the light." Then just sit back and watch while they freak out, feed you big tureens of homemade soup and warm loaves of bread, plan interventions on your behalf, pray for you at their churches, consult mediums about your fate and your future, and write letters to Dr. Phil pleading for his help. None of this will help the Hornets, really; but it will make you feel loved, and that's always a good thing.
Dress the part.
Retro jerseys are a cliché by now, but throwback Hornets jerseys? Now that's an undiscovered country, my friends. Wear the pinstriped teal of Earl Cureton. Sport a Kelly Tripucka, a Bobby Phills, or a J.R. Reid. Do they say, "Loser"? Yes, they do; but they also say, "I'm no sheep, no slave to fashion; I'm my own fan and my own man." Win or lose, you can wear them with pride ... provided you can find anyone willing to make or sell them.
Give Baron Davis your support.
He deserves it.
Vilify Jimmy Jackson.
He deserves it. I don't care how bad they are -- this sitting out thing is punk. He's Jimmy Freakin' Jackson, for crying out loud, not Oscar Freakin' Robertson, or even Alvin Freakin' Robertson for that matter.
Keep things in perspective, Part Two.
Dickau (Gonzaga), Corsley Edwards (Central Connecticut State), Junior Harrington (Wingate), and Bostjan Nachbar (Slovenj Gradec). These are the guys who remind you that the game isn't only a game for pedigreed superstars from big-time programs; it's also for nobodies from nowhere. And that's cool.
And last of all, just like you were playing ...
Stay aggressive.
Keep sticking pins in the Shinn doll. At the end of the day, voodoo and the prospect of your next game with the Hawks might be all that gets you by.
By Eric Neel
Page 2
Imagine for a moment that there really are actual New Orleans Hornets fans.
I know. It sounds crazy, but what if?
What if there are 12, maybe even 15, genuine faithful followers of the Hornets out there somewhere, clad in their special gold, huddled together in dark rooms, poking pins in George Shinn dolls, whispering Baron Davis stat lines to each other like litanies, and giggling with delight at the prospect, dare they say it, of a three-game win streak?
Creepy, right? But if such a sorry lot exists, shouldn't we throw them a bone? Isn't that the only right and proper thing to do?
I'm not saying we join them, or even get close. (Like a magazine-insert cologne, there'd be no shaking their stank.) I'm just saying, if they're out there, and if they're hell-bent on loving these losers, we ought to tell them how to do it right.
It's either that, or do for them what Chief did for McMurtry once upon a time.
Here now, a guide to rooting for a truly terrible team:
Keep things in perspective, Part One.
Yes, these guys are on pace to lose 72. And yes, any reasonable human being would be better off watching a Special Edition DVD of "The Tall Guy," complete with grainy footage of Jeff Goldblum rehearsing the dance numbers in tights, than suffering through the average Hornet half-court set. But still, there are only about 400 players in the NBA, and these guys are, you know, some of them. Can they beat the Hawks? No, not yet, but they'd probably clean up in winner-stays on your local park court. Keep that in mind. And if it helps, try saying, "NBA action, it's faaaaaaaantastic!" after every Jamaal Magloire fumble or Matt Freije brick.
Indulge your fantasies.
Not the ones you have about Kate Beckinsale, the ones you have about Ray Allen, Dirk Nowitzki, Amare Stoudemire, Kevin Garnett, Kobe Bryant, and Tim Duncan. The ones you have about Brian Cardinal, Mikki Moore, and Ruben Patterson, too. Stock your fantasy roster with Western Conference talent, and not even consecutive losses to the Warriors are unbearable.
Adopt somebody.
Don't make it a front-line guy who makes plays every night. Don't make it Baron or Super Hugo; everybody wants a piece of those guys. Make it someone who stands out among the rubble, like Ginsberg's sunflower. Not because he's all the way good, but because he's got promise, the sort of promise that will probably never pan out, sure, but the sort of promise that will linger and tease you a bit, make you wish, maybe even hope, for more -- the sort that will blossom into a goofy little obsession, during which you will almost certainly overbid for a bobblehead and will seriously contemplate an ill-advised tattoo. Make it Dan Dickau, Alex Garcia, or even Byron Scott.
Think historically.
Don't run from the all-time won-loss record. Embrace it; covet it. Tell anyone who asks that Fred Carter couldn't hold Baron Davis' jock and Manny Leaks ain't no Chris Andersen. Sign your checks like autographs, with little "8-73" bits next to your name. Get an 8ISGR8T personalized license plate for the Kia. Go all out. Winning is common. Even championships are forgettable. (Quick, what was Detroit's record last year?) But taking down the '73 76ers? That's the stuff of legend. Of course, if your boys win 10, or 11, or 12, then they just suck, and you'd be best off casting your mind back to happier, more notable times and places, when New Orleans meant the Jazz of Pete Maravich, and of Louis Armstrong for that matter.
Get nasty.
Make fun of people worse off than you are, like fans of the Expos and Ashlee Simpson.
Get Smalley.
While others are calling Lee Nailon a waste of space, you get up every morning and say, "Lee is good enough, he's smart enough, and doggone it, people like him." You're not a licensed therapist, but you're a caring nurturer and a member of several 12-step programs, and you're maintaining a good and positive attitude while helping Lee Nailon with his problems.
Buy in.
Plenty of good seats still available ... to see LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, Kevin Garnett, Kobe Bryant and every other out-of-town marquee player in the league.
Remember the Alamo.
In 1989, the Spurs won only 21 games, then drafted David Robinson and won 56 the next year. In 1997, they won just 20 games, then drafted Tim Duncan and won 56 the next year. See? It's easy. No doubt it'll be pretty much the same with the Hornets and Martynas Andriuskevicius in '06 ...
Identify mitigating factors.
For instance, the Hornets' schedule since the move to the Western Conference has been brutal, already featuring three games against Phoenix, three against the Lakers, and three against the Kings. That just ain't fair. (Do not, by the way, be troubled by the fact that other Western Conference teams, who are not 4-29, also have had to play a bunch of teams from the Western Conference so far.)
Go deep.
Followers of perennial winners like San Antonio and Sacramento are dilettantes. Winning breeds a kind of casual fandom in which folks needn't be bothered with too many facts and figures, too much hard knowledge. Losing, on the other hand ...
Go too deep.
Say things to your friends like, "Byron is just laying low," "Byron has a plan," "Byron will show us the way," and "Byron is the truth and the light." Then just sit back and watch while they freak out, feed you big tureens of homemade soup and warm loaves of bread, plan interventions on your behalf, pray for you at their churches, consult mediums about your fate and your future, and write letters to Dr. Phil pleading for his help. None of this will help the Hornets, really; but it will make you feel loved, and that's always a good thing.
Dress the part.
Retro jerseys are a cliché by now, but throwback Hornets jerseys? Now that's an undiscovered country, my friends. Wear the pinstriped teal of Earl Cureton. Sport a Kelly Tripucka, a Bobby Phills, or a J.R. Reid. Do they say, "Loser"? Yes, they do; but they also say, "I'm no sheep, no slave to fashion; I'm my own fan and my own man." Win or lose, you can wear them with pride ... provided you can find anyone willing to make or sell them.
Give Baron Davis your support.
He deserves it.
Vilify Jimmy Jackson.
He deserves it. I don't care how bad they are -- this sitting out thing is punk. He's Jimmy Freakin' Jackson, for crying out loud, not Oscar Freakin' Robertson, or even Alvin Freakin' Robertson for that matter.
Keep things in perspective, Part Two.
Dickau (Gonzaga), Corsley Edwards (Central Connecticut State), Junior Harrington (Wingate), and Bostjan Nachbar (Slovenj Gradec). These are the guys who remind you that the game isn't only a game for pedigreed superstars from big-time programs; it's also for nobodies from nowhere. And that's cool.
And last of all, just like you were playing ...
Stay aggressive.
Keep sticking pins in the Shinn doll. At the end of the day, voodoo and the prospect of your next game with the Hawks might be all that gets you by.