A blast from the past: It's time to represent.
While I work on the mother of all posts (to be posted later today), I thought it would be appropriate to share this pre-SpursDynasty missive, written during last year’s Finals, after the Spurs had their asses handed to them twice in a row. It’s been altered to reflect the current target of an imminent Spurs bitchslap:
It is time to represent as you have never represented before, people. Wear black underwear. Eschew gold jewelry for silver. Participate in black masses. Drink only from that old Sean Elliott Taco Cabana cup you have hidden in the back of your cabinet. Refuse to patronize any Dallas-based corporations. Break out that Mark Cuban dartboard that you thought had become passe. Play your 2005 championship DVD repeatedly – at work. Refuse to engage in conversations about anything not directly relevant to kicking the Mavericks’ asses. Wear only cowboy boots, or some other kind of footwear to which spurs can be attached. Eat Rice Krispies, but ignore the “snap” and “crackle.” Actually, base your entire diet around foods whose names contain Spurs-related words. If you’re a bishop, excommunicate any non-Spurs fans in your diocese. If you’re a smoker, roll cigarettes using pictures of the Mavericks starters. If you’re a teacher, go to absurd lengths to make analogies to the Spurs in your lectures.
In other words, eat, drink, breathe, wear, bleed, dream, speak, write, teach, buy, shit, and puke Spurs. Our boys’ backs are against the wall, and they need our help.
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