The coldest winter I ever spent was the last five minutes of a basketball game. What does this mean, exactly? I’m not sure. My brain can be very weird. You should see it sometime. Seriously. It’s here on the desk beside me, next to my cup of chicory. It’s wearing a pair of Captain Morgan souvenir sunglasses – the brain, I mean, not the chicory – and one of the lenses is missing. This gives it a kind of “crazed” look, but I would say it’s really more “demented” than crazed, or that the sun is in one of its eyes.
But let me tell you, basketball games last forever, if by “games” you mean those last five minutes and if by “forever” you mean, like, forever. Why, just the other night, I watched the last five minutes of an NBA playoff game and in the meantime began to enjoy the musical stylings of Lawrence Welk. I also found Angela Lansbury to be a handsome woman. In addition, I began to fart without intending to do so.*
*If you still haven’t caught on to what I’m saying, please consider: I also began reading AARP publications, not for the articles but for the pictures.
Anyhoo, nobody seems concerned about the length of basketball games. Why? Because those last five minutes come with commercials through whose content we might learn that beer is best enjoyed “cold.” But baseball games? Jiminy Cricket, people have been moaning about their length for-EH-verrrrrrrr, as if baseball games were Ming Dynasties or Phish jams, or Phish Jams whose themes, coincidentally, are Ming Dynasties.
To that end – ha! – I hereby offer these proposals for accelerating the game:
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