If Stevie Wonder miraculously was no longer blind and could write songs about all of the beautiful things he could see in the world, would you expect him to be somber and not celebrate?
After getting ass-raped by some relocated backwoods hillbilly’s in a random Los Angeles pawn shop while a deranged “gimp” looked on, did you not expect Bruce Willis and Ving Rhames to exact slow, murderous revenge on their sex-crime perpetrators?
So why is everyone hating on the arrogance of the reigning NBA champion Warriors and their fans? Did you forget the years of torture the team and its fans went through? Did you forget Mitch Richmond for Billy Owens, Chris Cohan, Chris Webber for Googs, Chris Cohan, Todd Fuller over Kobe, Chris Cohan, Sprewell choking P.J., Chris Cohan, Adonal Foyle over Tracy McGrady, Chris Cohan, Monta’s Moped, J-Rich for Brandon Wright and all the no-name players who now make for great trivia (A high-jumping, slam dunking whiteboy from the 2000 season not named Bob Sura. “Who is Sam Jacobson?”)
So don’t tell me Steph Curry can’t dap Andre Iguodala while his 3-point shot is still halfway there. Don’t get mad when Klay Thompson clowns the Clippers for whining about the Warriors getting lucky. Don’t bemoan Andrew Bogut telling the media he had his championship ring fitted for his middle finger. And please, try to let your heart fill with joy and just a bit of empathy every time you hear Warriors fans talk mad, crazy shit about their team while pouring some Blue Bottle coffee in your fancy tech start-up kitchen. Let us talk shit while bench pressing 135-pounds at the local 24-Hour Fitness wearing an Andris Biedrins jersey. Let us post annoying sayings to Vines and gifs of Curry crossing up CP3 on social media. Place you hand upon our backs and pray with us while we kneel in the church pew and thank the Lord for Joe Lacob. Smile at us in Whole Foods when we give you a thumbs up while grabbing an “Organic Tofu and Kale Berkeley Bowl” sponsored by Harrison Barnes.
We deserve this. Just as much as a Stevie Wonder with 20/20, a Peter Dinklage who can dunk and a Butch Coolidge who ends his legendary Pulp Fiction scene by stealing the chopper and riding off with his girl.
Cohan’s dead baby, Cohan’s dead.