Game 7, Please

The little engine that could. Toot. Toot.

Apparently, the Rockets were the only team that made the trip to Houston for Game Six Thursday. The baby Rockets caught the L.A. Lakers napping Thursday night when they busted out of the gate with an outstanding scoring 1st quarter and held the great and powerful Kobe Bryant to 11-of-27 shooting. All of this happened two nights after the Lakers did the same to the Rockets, winning by 40. The result, just like Game 4 of this Western Conference Semifinal series, was a 95-80 shalacking of the Lake Show and a Game 7 on Sunday.

God, I love it! It's just like 1995 again except we have absolutely no star power on the roster. Plus, I started a strange thing called puberty back then. Now, I have to shave everywhere. You can't bunch up your taint bush, fellas.

Anyways, Aaron Brooks continues to be a scoring beast. The 26th pick overall in 2007 NBA Draft dropped 26 points. Luis Scola, who should have been on the All-Star team this past February, popped L.A. for 24, including the first 10 points of the game.

And all of this is significant because I love the Rockets and hate the Lakers. This makes my lower regions all warm and cuddly inside.

Oh, yeah, Orlando forced a Game 7, as well, against the great and powerful Celtics. If it weren't for that Big Baby Davis muthaf....

Playoff Fever: More Contagious Than Herp...Er...Swine Flu

C*M ON MY FACE!

The NBA. Where last second madness erections happen.

Granted, I've kept up with most of the games in the NBA playoffs through drunken WAP browsing...or sparing TV watching...at bars...drunk. But still, who would have thought that four games in a seven game series would go into extra frames? In a 2-7 matchup, no less?

In my pre-playoffs post (yes, I used alliteration), I dismissed the Baby Bulls due to inexperience and, well, because the Celtics have star power. In fact, Paul Pierce and Jesus Shuttlesworth, er, Ray Allen have more experience in the playoffs in the tip of their penii than the whole Chicago team. But so far in the series, the Bulls have proven that they got charismatic balls. Who knew? Joakim Noah. Brad Miller. Ben Gordon. Derrick Rose. John freakin' Salmons?! They are like the naive but very willing girlfriend that doesn't know how to go down on a guy but is trying so hard that you're left with an unfulfilled but pleasurable mess. Alright, bad analogy.

But still, if you don't know what I'm talking about, six games in this series so far. Four of them have gone to at least one overtime. I think, five of them were decided by less than 4 points. And surprisingly, the Bulls have the Celtics on the ropes. I will be watching the deciding Game 7 somewhere very drunk and very debaucherous, wearing my Ben Gordon jersey. I want this underdog to start barkin'.

In other playoff contagiousness, it took dudes who aren't named Tracy McGrady to get my beloved Rockets past the first round. Actually, it took a very naive, young ball club in the Portland Trail Blazers to lay down for my Houston squad. But, by God, we made it, and now, we get the right to have Kobe, Trevor Ariza, and Pau Gasol wipe our nappy faces up and down the floor. DAMMIT!

Still, it feels good. Like first time in 12 years good, which is the length of time between now and the very next time, I believe, a woman will let me stick my penis inside of her. **Dejected "Wah Wah" Sound**