Don't Blame the Tiger

October 3, 2003 - A Day That Will Live in Infamy. Flamboyant tiger boy Roy Horn was mauled by Montecore, a seven year old white tiger. Roy and his "business" partner Siegfried Fischbacher had worked with many tigers throughout the years without incident. It is not known what made Montecore "deviate". Well, as Chris Rock said about it "That tiger didn't go crazy. That tiger went TIGER!"

April 30, 2007 - A Night That Will Live in Infamy. Anti-flamboyant tractor boy Jerry Sloan was attacked by fans and media after he removed Andrei Kirilenko, who had a big assist and an offensive rebound in the previous minute of play, and inserted Derek "Montecore" Fisher into a playoff game with his team trailing by two points and 20 seconds left in regulation. Fisher was called for an offensive foul eight seconds later as he predictably drove the lane and crashed into the first defender who got in his way. Many fans, including myself, wanted Fisher's head on a platter. Upon further reflection, I can't fault Fisher. Fisher went FISHER!

There was no doubt in any rational Jazz fan's mind that the second that Montecore Fisher was inserted was the second that all hope was lost for the Jazz to steal a road game and have a chance to win at home. We have seen Fisher make bad decision after bad decision, often during crunchtime. Fisher does what Fisher does. Which is to make a career out of one lucky desperation made shot. Chris Mullin fell for it. Every national TV broadcaster doing Jazz games has fallen for it. Kevin O'Connor fell for it. Jerry Sloan still falls for it. I even fell for it until I remembered that Fisher was a guy who lost his job to Gary Payton when Payton clearly had nothing left in the tank. Hell, the entire NBA Players' Association fell for it. Montecore Fisher has them all fooled regarding his leadership skills. Montecore Fisher is Chance the Gardner from "Being There".

Fisher has always been about bravado. His face has always exuded competitive fire.

In other words, he doesn't know any better. Jerry "Roy" Sloan played with the tiger and the tiger went tiger and bit him. Don't blame the tiger. Blame the handler. Hopefully, "Roy" learned his lesson and will keep Montecore Fisher caged for the 4th quarter. It will save him from going Fisher. It will protect us from seeing Montecore take the franchise in his grasp and drag it away like a ragdoll. Most of all, it will keep us sane. It is the humane thing to do.

Fisher, er, Harpring Sucks.

17 < 8

In defense of the now-infamous Fisher-for-AK IJSPD, one fan suggested that the move was "obvious", and that those who disagree are basketball ignoramuses. The reasoning? Fisher had scored 17 points in the game, while Andrei had only scored 8.

This was quite eye-opening for me. Never before had I understood that having more of something implies -- nay, defines -- a direct positive correlation with the ability to acquire or proficiency in achieving said something. My life was about to change.

I walked upstairs past my wife, who was talking on the phone. After a couple of seconds, I perceived that she was chatting with her sister, who is due to have her second baby in about a month. I simultaneously felt sorry for my brother-in-law, who has only been able to produce two babies, and felt a sense of accomplishment for myself, father of three. I stood a little taller, my self-esteem buoyed by my blatantly superior manliness.

I moved to the kitchen and threw a Hot Pocket in the microwave. Inspired by Fisher's numerical greatness, I opted to cook it for five minutes instead of the recommended two.


As I was driving to the store, on my way to pick up more paper towels to clean up the microwave, I was passed by a guy going 65 on State Street in his Geo. Instantly I felt like a fool. Sure, my car was capable of achieving such speeds, perhaps even with greater efficiency, but the fact of the matter was that the Geo was going faster. Horrified by my purchasing decision-making, I made a mental note to look into trade-in values for my current vehicle. Putting a Geo in the family line-up was the obvious move.

After blasting recklessly through traffic in my new Metro, and charging into work this morning, I overheard the secretaries bragging about how many words per minute they can type. Somewhat dismayed at my own deficiencies in that area, I set out to improve. I found an online typing test which clocked me right around 65 WPM. However, I discovered that errors are not accounted for in this particular test, and if I simply slammed keys as quickly as I could, that I could attain a much more impressive score. Eager to show off my new 328 WPM skillz, I built up the courage (not all that hard to do with my 3-kid-producing manhood) to e-mail my boss for a raise.

Dear boss,

I have been wiht ht r tarh oaiu hrguisa dhfuilgsdf guisl dhfg sludhf guisd fug shuldif ghsuildf hgsulidfgsldf guhsdfl 3 years now ahsndfjo ghdufio sodf gios; dfigo;s difo;g uaior ewrhaug ehruilggheruger raise gsdfjg shduf ghsudf hul hul$$$?

- bordelais7

I'll let you know how it goes.

Frickin' Fisher.