What should the Rockets do???

[fisterkev]

OK, then. I'll chalk it up to the equivalent of a drunkpost...

[Guy986]

What should the Rockets do?

If you will allow me just a moment, I'll answer your question accurately, concisely, and in a manner you will appreciate on both an emotional and intellectual level. Sadly, I am forced to preface my answer with a brief story, but it will prove useful in the long run - (rather like a Frank Zappa LP or your 1st heartbreak, in that way).

Preface: When I was 18, I spent the summer working in a faraway place for people who turned out to be something less than honest. In fact, they were con artists. Being young and omniscient, I would not accept this at the time. Other people suspected as much, but I was omniscient, remember? I knew better, so I spent all summer in a very hot, shockingly awful town, trying to win an un-winnable battle and feed myself at the same time. (See? I told you this is a lot like a Zappa album.)

By August 1st of that long summer, I found myself in a public park at midnight. It was a Wednesday. I was alone, I was hungry, I was shocked at my own naiveté, and I was well beyond broke. I had lost 20 pounds I never had to lose in the first place, I was 500 miles from the warm embrace of my mother's hearth, and only the absence of courage was standing between me and suicide.

It was a bad day.

It was so bad I leaned against a tree and started crying. It was, as the ladies say, "a good cry". It was such a a good cry, in fact, that I unzipped my pants and began to abuse myself...while crying and leaning against said tree. I was not doing this for pleasure. Nay. It was intended (pretty damn effectively) as tough self love. I needed to remember the awful hubris that had landed me in this place. Somehow, I knew weeping and masturbating against a tree in Kansas would help me remember. I hoped the horror of the moment - the sheer, unrelenting pathetic-ness of it all, would sear itself into my being, forever available as a quick harbinger of the dangers of pride.

It freaking worked. Really good.

The point/points?

1. Your/My Houston Rockets are living a lie, far from home.
2. They didn't mean to get conned. Honestly, they didn't. Two health-challenged players snuck up and tricked them...like Oglala Sioux or quasi-Texan presidents.
3. You and I are sorely tempted to pretend (for our own sanity) that our beloved team stands a chance of competing in a real way, in the near future.
4. We need it because we're accustomed to it.
5. That temptation is a lie, and can only lead to our personal, spiritual, doom.


Finally, to answer your question: The Rockets have to be realists at this point. They have to acknowledge their bad luck and their hubris. They must embrace the tree and have a good cry.

They can keep their hands in their pockets if they want.

But it's time to run home to momma. ("momma", in this case, is Daryl Morey's ability.)

It'll be ok in a year or so.

I promise.

Excellent story. 9/10

Would be a perfect 10 if there were hot incest sex at the end.