Yes, it’s been a while. I either have no excuse, or I have a million of ’em, like Joliet Jake Blues: “Honest… I ran out of gas. I… I had a flat tire. I didn’t have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn’t come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake. A terrible flood. Locusts! IT WASN’T MY FAULT, I SWEAR TO GOD!“

Well, it really has been my fault. I kinda ran out of things to say, or rather, I kinda got sick of listening to myself say things. You may be wondering what could drag me out of my cave on this hot July day and cause me to to utter a few words before I slink back into the darkness. It’s gotta be big, right? I mean, it’s been TWO YEARS.

Climate change? The filibuster? Covid vaccines?

Bigger than those.

You guessed it: the Phoenix Suns are in the NBA Finals.

Now, this may not sound momentous, but it is. The Suns haven’t been in the Finals since 1993, have never won the blessed thing, and are tied for fourth on the all-time number of years without ever winning a championship. And I’m sitting here watching game 5, with the Suns down by a few at halftime and I’m just setting my watch for the disappointment.

Bandwagon fan? No, that’s not me. Quite the opposite, in fact. Seriously: read the link and then get back to me. I’ll wait.

***

So I gave up the Suns. I have studiously avoided the NBA, and my entire family can recite the Garnett rant like it was some sort of Biblical verse, suitable for engraving on my tombstone. Frankly, they were all a little relieved when I pitched my basketball fandom out the window. When my brother and I would get together to watch the games we would get a little loud, and a little full of language.

My dad kept the faith, though, even as his vision failed and he had to pull his wheelchair up to the TV so he could sit sideways and dimly view the game with the shreds of his peripheral vision. And he would call my sister and sit on the phone and talk with her and watch the game, even when he had trouble following the action.

George has been gone for three years, but he would have liked to see them in the Finals one more time. *I* would have liked to see him see the Suns in the Finals and maybe, improbably, impossibly win the freaking thing.

So I’m watching this series, and no matter what happens, when the final buzzer blows, I’m out. If they win it, then Dad is avenged for all his patient patronage that was never rewarded. If they lose, well, then what’s more broken heart for me?

Where Dad is, broken hearts don’t exist.

Devin Booker may exist there, though. That dude is *everywhere.*

© E. Stocking Evans 2021