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Kings 135, Bobcats 120: Blogcat's Take


First, I’d like to apologize.  I should never have told female referee Violet Palmer that she needs to “go back to the kitchen.”  It seemed funny at the time, but—oh wait, that wasn’t me.  That was Celtics announcer Cedric Maxwell, who is somehow still employed after letting that one “slip.”  He then actually had the nerve to issue the following statement: "If I said anything that might have been insensitive or sexist in any way, then I apologize.”  Ummm, “might”?  It’d be interesting to see what Maxwell considers to be “definitely” sexist: maybe hitting women over the head with a club and dragging them into his cave would qualify.
 
Anyway, my apologies are to Shaun Livingston.  I feel bad, because I pretty much spent all of the last blog lamenting Sean May’s bum knee and totally forgot to even mention that Livingston’s own knee pretty much exploded on camera like something out of a David Cronenberg film.  I also feel bad because it occurred to me that someone might actually be reading this site for news and information and thus missed out.  It’s kind of hard to believe, but then again there are people out there who watch Bill O’Reilly for news and information, so you never know.  Thus I if my blog has been seen as informative and competent in any way, then I apologize.
 
Which takes us to last night’s game, in which Emeka Okafor’s calf was still strained and Sean May’s knee is still bum.  This meant once again having to make do with Jake Voskuhl and Primoz Brezec down low, who have worked about as well together as Roy and his tiger; the two seem biologically incapable of going more than 1.5 minutes without collecting a foul.  I’m feeling pretty ripped off about making the effort to stay up this late, only to watch the team lose by 15 to Sacramento and play less defense than a bowling alley.  It’s kind of like shelling out all this money for protein-enriched gourmet dog food for Lincoln, and then seeing him just as content to walk outside and eat other dogs’ feces. 
 
Nothing like a game in which you put John Salmons and Corliss Williamson on the free-throw line a combined 19 times.  Mike Bibby also ruined everything by scoring four points in the first half, giving me what I thought was the go-ahead to begin brainstorming a bunch of “Bibby is worthless” jokes, and then he ended up pouring in 26 in the second half, including 6-of-7 on three-pointers.  I really have no idea what about him is so infuriating, but I'm clearly not alone on this.  Towards the end of the game, after the 6th in a row by Bibby from downtown, Coach Bickerstaff and the rest of the bench began racking up technicals, and they honestly looked like they were just pissed that it was Bibby who was beating us.  Oh well, we’ll meet again, Mike, and I’ll be there for you, these five words I swear to you.  Finally, Kevin Martin scored what was quite possibly the least electrifying 36 points ever.  He basically just shoots them in, and that’s it—even his hair is no longer interesting.                  

Well, at least we had Gerald Wallace, our shining beacon of hope: 31 points, 9 assists, 6 rebounds, and 4 steals.  Plus he went 7-for-7 from the free throw line, which is definitely encouraging.  After the last few games, I was about to suggest that instead of just slapping hands in between G-Dub’s foul shots, the team should maybe consider a group hug.
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