If you’re like me, you’re sick of hearing about losers whining about their stupid teams - especially in close losses. No, I’m not talking about the controversial ending of last weekend’s Mavs/Nuggets game- or even the NBA’s need to indulge it with a statement. A simple, “hey, we’re the NBA, we fuck different teams over each year… Sorry, it was just your turn, again” would have sufficed.

No, I’m talking about the 1972 Olympic Gold Medal Game between the United States and the hated Soviets. If you don’t follow Doug Collins the way I follow Doug Collins, you may not know the details of a final chaotic three seconds that ultimately left Team USA with a screwdriver rammed through their collective scrotums. (I’m speaking metaphorically, but some folks still wonder about the state of Ed Ratleff’s testicles. Don’t worry, they are fine. )

Rather than rehash the finish of the game and the outrage, I’m going to deliver a message to these Olympians in the same fashion that the national media has done for those stupid, miffed Mavs fans:

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An open letter to the 1972 USA Olympic Men’s Basketball Team, from a 2008-09 Dallas Mavericks fan who has recently learned valuable life lessons from the sports media:

Man up, you trick ass pussies.

You’re soft and it is your fault that that game even game down to that possession. You had looks all throughout the game that you missed. Maybe if you had taken advantage early instead of only scoring 21 points in the first half, you wouldn’t have gotten in this mess.

And then you let some Red foreigner bench scrub get in your best player’s head and get him ejected? America’s supposed “finest” should never, EVER lose mind games to some pasty Ukranian vodka farmer.

Don’t get me wrong… It was impressive that you came back to take a late lead after that kind of early trouble. But real champions can overcome anything. So, even after you thought you had made the final defensive stand that sealed the game, you have to know that deep down, there is a small chance that unjust forces could make you do it over and over again.

Do you think Michael Jordan couldn’t push off Bryon Russell and hit that jumper 400 times in a row if he had to!? Of course he could. That’s why he’s Michael Jordan and not some whiny old guy with a silver medal. The only silver you see in Jordan’s life is the metallic flasks he carries on the golf course.

A cliche in this game is to play to the whistle. But the thing you’ve got to realize is that there can be any number of whistles. Whistle is a secret plural word without an s, like teeth, moose, or HIV. You don’t wait for a buzzer or watch the game clock tick to 0.00; you get back out there and you work your ass off until your coach is punching you in the dick with the sweet joy of victory.

Second, if you do lose because something seems unfair, you cannot blame the officials. Only losers blame the officials and make up conspiracies. Losers like Ralph Nader, Jeff Van Gundy, the guys from Project MKULTRA and Mark Cuban who were never vindicated whatsoever for their endless bitching.

Do you think the great former NBA MVP Whitey “Bird Man” Tattooerson blamed the officials when he was snorting lines in a trailer and hunting for food, or whatever his backstory is? Did Chris Webber blame the officials when he was winning big in college and in the pros with clutch play after clutch play? Did Charles Barkley complain while he was running dynasties in Philly and Phoenix? No sir, son, and that is why you seem them on your TVs each night, telling you how hoops should be played. They are the collective definition of winners. Watch them, study them… BE them.

Besides, if you’re gonna lose, lose because you put a guy on his ass and showed him how street you are. Hell, jam a bottle through his eye to make your fucking point. If you’re down on the ground under some goofy Russian who wants to catch a pass and tip in a layup, scissor kick him in the cock and let him try to win the game while coughing up his seminal vesicles.

In fact, quit complaining and go claim those silver medals. Let them serve as a reminder that basketball is not about who scores the most points in a set amount of time under a specified rule book. Basketball is a living, breathing organism that ebbs and flows with the tides and needs a real man to satisfy her - just like Oprah. In 1972, you couldn’t be that man, but maybe, just maybe, you can find away to win basketball’s fickle heart 27 years later. (Hint: based on her TV commercials, she seems to like shitty summer movies, half-ass community volunteering, overlooking Chinese human rights violations, and Sprite.)

So, in conclusion… Accept your own inferiority, you pathetic bastards. If you really deserved to win, you would have won. But you didn’t, and the complete incompetence or obvious ideological prejudice of the refs was ultimately all your fault. Because you didn’t win anyway.

It’s your own fault, you elderly crybabies. Choke on your silver, and shut the hell up.

Love-
Ty Keaton

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When you play an NFL game in Philly, you know you are going to deal with obnoxious mouth-breathers. When you play an NHL game in San Jose, you know you are going to deal with drunk, angry computer programmers of Asian descent, and when you play a baseball game in the South Side of Chicago, you know you are going to get stabbed. Those little intracies are part of the fun.

So, when you play an NBA game anywhere, just remember that you have a 6% of feeling fucked over when it ends and treat it as one of those lucky geographical perks. Except now you are lucky enough to experience it anywhere - even in your own backyard! So man up, because the NBA is where AMAZING happens.