Sign me up for the Jerry Springer show because I am a fool in love.
Like a prototypical Springer guest I seem to be attracted to the ones that hurt me.
And the two that have hurt me the most have been the New Orleans Saints and New Orleans Hornets.
I love the Saints and the Hornets. And not like a cute little puppy dog love, but more like a marriage type love.
But now it is time to get a divorce.
Love is supposed to be fun. Love is supposed to be exciting. And love is supposed to be a two-way street to another’s heart.
But recently I realized the two-way street I envisioned was not there. As I poured my heart out to them, I would only get heartbreak and losses in return.
And despite all the losing, I would still find something good about the Saints’ late-season blunders or the Hornets’ recent postseason debacle.
“So what if Aaron Brooks lost five fumbles,” I would say. “Deuce ran for 79 yards on 15 carries and had two touchdowns. Plus we only lost by 10 to the third worst team in the NFL.”
Well all that love and positive thinking about the sports scene in New Orleans has ended.
It happened at about 8:35 p.m. Tuesday. The Hornets were down by six points with 47 seconds to play in Game 7 of their first-round series with the Miami Heat.
Star guard Baron Davis had already gone down with a back injury and the Hornets were playing awful. But even with all of that, they were down by only six points.
“They could come back from six,” my positive thinking said. “Please let the Hornets come back from this deficit and send me into a place I have only seen once — the second round of the playoffs.”
The Saints have won only one playoff game in their existence. I saw the second round in 2000 at least.
And last year the Hornets gave me a little sniff of the second round. Well not really, but they did win two games in the Sixers series.
But at 8:35, my world turned upside down — I lost it.
Steve Smith, who was 5-for-6 on 3-point attempts in the game, caught the ball on the wing without a Heat in sight. Smith locked and loaded on a 3-pointer that would turn this awful game into the Hornets’ favor. They would only be down by three if the sharp-shooter connected on the three.
But the shot, like so many other things in this relationship, did not go the way I thought it would. The ball rimmed out and the Hornets eventually went on to lose, 85-77.
“No more,” I told myself. “I am not going to sit idly by while the teams I love continue to harm me.”
Love is supposed to be a two-way street. You gotta meet me half way Saints and Hornets.
If I stick out my neck for you, then you have to do the same for me. So I have decided to leave you until you provide me with some kind of emotion or love in return.
So please for both of our sakes, stop hurting me. Just win something. Anything.