Of Playoffs & Layoffs

I’ve been a cook for a long time now, mostly in bars that happen to have kitchens in the back. I’m good at it, and it suits me to work in a bar: I can wear what I want, I can smoke at work (except when I’m actually cooking), and I work alone. As an added bonus, we bar employees are that rarest and happiest breed, workers with the public who aren’t under any particular obligation to be nice.

I’m finished at Mac’s for good now. The decrease in my income is not yet worrisome, since I’m still working at the library and have always been good at keeping my savings up. What really surprises me is that I kinda miss the work a little bit. Not Mac’s specifically, you understand; I was as happy to leave that place as I’ve ever been escaping from a job. (As I expressed it to Warren, "I can't wait to scrape this place off the soles of my shoes.") But the work itself I miss a little. I guess you get used to things, and as I say, I've been a cook a long time.

Part of it, I think, is just having a skill that I'm not using. I always tell people that a reasonably intelligent ten-year-old could do my job, and it's true in a sense (provided he's tall enough to use the equipment). You, dear reader, could walk into a well-stocked and -equipped kitchen and make yourself a good meal, no matter whether you have experience doing it professionally or not. But could you make six or seven different meals at once, without any kind of help, and have them all come out (and come out well-made) in ten minutes? That, my friends, is a skill, and a fairly rare one at that. There's a great deal of pride that comes from doing something well, even if it isn't an important thing, and I don't get to feel that during the dinner rush anymore.

Also, part of what I miss is the straight-up adrenaline rush. When orders start pouring in and you've got ten or twelve things backed up that you've gotta get made NOWRIGHTNOW!!! you become pure adrenaline. The human body isn't made for this kind of stress; it isn't a "fight or flight" situation, and there's nothing in our evolutionary history to prepare us for it. So after an hour or so of that pressure your body and conscious mind just sorta break down; the adrenaline creates a sort of artificial superstructure to support you, a metaphorical inflatable skeleton and musculature.

It's euphoric in the sense that your subconscious takes over your actions. You've made this food a million times before, and your body just knows what needs to be done. Your conscious mind just floats away. I used to be aware of nothing more than the music I was listening to (Rob Zombie and Jane's Addiction have saved a lot of lives by keeping me pacified at times like these). If anything distracts your attention, though, it takes time to get that zen-semi-consciousness back, so I used to ignore people that tried to talk to me. It sometimes hurt their feelings, but I'd be so zoned out that they might as well have been speaking Cantonese. If they actually managed to get through (and weren't talking about the food itself, which somehow the subconscious would register), a ten-second conversation would cost me two or three minutes in cooking time, which is an eternity under these circumstances. But barring that, everything is automatic. My conscious mind might as well have been asleep (and sometimes, the flights of fancy my mind would take while I worked were profoundly dreamlike). I would cut myself and not notice, burn myself and not feel it. I'd drop bits of food and trample them 'til the floor was a black gooey mess and have no idea.

There are good things about not working at Mac's anymore, though. The best of all is that the NBA playoffs start today, and for the first time in thirteen years I'm going to get to sit in a bar and watch the games, rather than catching a few moments here and there, between making someone a Hot Sicilian and someone else a platter of stuffed potato skins. I'm really excited about that. Basketball isn't like baseball, which moves slowly and you can time it so as not to miss anything important. The bar was packed during last year's ALCS, but I didn't miss a single important moment (and I'm not even a baseball fan). You can wander away for a few minutes, check back now and then, and know exactly what's going on.

Basketball is so fluid, though, that if you leave the set for five minutes you could come back to find a completely different game going on. And replays don't necessarily help, because one big play can be followed immediately by another, and another. Witness the end of regulation in the WVU-Louisville matchup.

Everything changes in an instant. I still don't know how Illinois came back in the Regional Final against Arizona. They were down 15, I went to make an appetizer combo, and when I got back they were tied. How did that happen?

So, yeah, I get to watch every minute of every game this year, and that's the best news I've had in a long time. And this year's playoffs look to be especially interesting, with a fairly open field and some serious contenders that are actually fun to watch. I mean, if you don't excited watching Phoenix play, check your pulse, 'cause you might be dead.

The only thing I regret is that the Knicks aren't playing. That, however, will not stop me from saying the same thing I say every year at this time:

Get ready for New York's improbable run to the Championship!!!

Even more improbable than usual, since four or five teams would have to disband for us to even get into the playoffs. Maybe the Commissioner will give us a special dispensation. After all, it isn't good for the league that neither New York nor Los Angeles is represented.

Anyway, I thought it would be silly to have blog with the word "basketball" in its description without at least mentioning the playoffs on the day they open. And since I've brought it up, might as well talk about it.

With the Knicks out, I'm free to pull for whoever I want, and I'm pulling for Phoenix. I like the way they play basketball, and wish everyone else would play that way, too. This is ABA ball, basketball the way it was meant to be, the kind of basketball I grew up with. If Phoenix can win it all with this flashy, attractive style, maybe things'll change in the NBA.

Outside of that, I tend to root for individual players. Last year I was pulling for Big Ben Wallace and Tayshaun Prince, and that worked out pretty good. Of course, I was also pulling for KG and Spree, but I just couldn't get 'em past the goddamned Lakers.

Ray Allen is a guy I like to cheer for. I love his shot. To hell with the games, man. I could just sit in a gym all day and watch him take jumpers (problem is, sometimes his teammates feel that way, too). I love Peja for the same reason, but this offseason I'm definitely pulling for Ray Allen. I do wish he'd grow some hair, though; he isn't pretty enough or menacing enough to have a shaved head.

Allen Iverson, the great Virginian, toughest and most dedicated player in the game, carried this bunch of rejects and injured retreads into the playoffs on his back. I would've liked for Philly to have gotten a higher seed, but I'll tell you what: Detroit ain't looking past Philly. The Pistons, even as great as they are defensively, got no answer for Iverson. Look what he did to them last month. If Webber is healthy, Philly can do this. With both men on the floor, the Sixers actually have a dangerous offense. But, when one of them sits, everything pretty much falls apart. I expect nothing, but I got hope in this series. At least the Sixers will make them work for it.

I'm crazy in love with Dwayne Wade, and he's got a good shot at meeting the Suns in the Finals, which I'd love to see (although a clash-of-ideologies matchup between the Suns and Pistons would be interesting). This kid made the greatest play I've ever seen earlier this year, and I firmly believe he's only a couple of years away from being the best basketball player in the world.

As the only Knicks fan on Earth who doesn't wish Reggie Miller was dead and dismembered, I'd like to see him close his magnificent career on a high note. At least beat the Celtics, Reggie.

Although there is one outside consideration as far as that series goes. One thing I definitely do not want to see is a second-round matchup between the Pacers and Pistons. Everybody has finally shut up about Ron Artest and the brawl, and I don't want it all to start again. Especially living in Huntington, where almost no one is into the NBA, people here used Artest as an excuse to bash the game. It's funny that no one uses Terrell Owens to say that all football players are thugs, but Ron Artest somehow reflects badly on every NBA player.

Basketball players seem to get shoddy treatment from the public compared to football or baseball players. Even the worst guys in the NBA aren't any worse than John Rocker, Jeremy Shockey, or Jose Canseco, but any time someone gets talking about how bad athletes are, they always start with the NBA. I don't know what it is.

Maybe it's racism to some extent; there is a perception of pro basketball as a black game (I know a lot of people who like college ball but hate the NBA; coincidentally or not, they're all white). This is certainly true locally. Huntington is a town where there's a lot of tension between black and white. So, while people who don't like baseball simply say, "I don't like baseball," if you mention the NBA to them they go off on a tangent about it, as if not liking the pros is an article of faith and they want to make sure no one thinks their devotion is slipping. And they all say the same things; it's chillingly like hearing third-graders recite the Pledge of Allegiance.

Familiarity, too, might breed contempt with basketballers. They are so exposed to us. They aren't draped in hard plastic armor, they wield no equipment, they don't even wear hats. There is no way to compare the intimacy of a basketball arena with the expanse of a ballpark or a stadium. The players are so close to the fans that they seem real in a way other players wouldn't. You can hear Ray Lewis when he's on one of his rampages at the fifty-yard-line, but you can actually hear Allen Iverson breathing. So maybe we see basketball players as actual people (with all the attendant faults and flaws), whereas in other sports there's a sort of distance, and the players perhaps are seen more as icons than as human beings. You look up to Randy Johnson or Brian Urlacher, but you feel like you know LeBron James.

Whatever it is, I'm sick to death of people putting down the NBA, and the Artest incident provided a season-long excuse among the locals (and, I'm sure, folks across the country) to talk shit about pro basketball. Now that it's died down, I don't want it to start again. So, A.I., Paul and Antoine, you guys save us from that, okay?