Time To Settle Accounts
January 23, 2012: Bulls and goats.
I had an hour and a half to kill before seeing a show at Reggie’s Rock Club, so I decided to kill some time at the Goat. I was coming from a reading at the Hideout, and the walk down North Ave. to the Red Line was frigid. Wind seemed to stick in my eyes, and I was happy to reach the train.
The wind was fierce downtown as well. But I smelled cheeseburgers under Michigan and was warmed. I stepped inside. A decent showing for a Monday night, I thought. “Double cheese?” Asked the woman at the register. “They’re the best.”
“Actually,” I said hesitantly, beginning to defend myself, “all I really want is chips and a Pepsi.” She handed both to me with a glaring suspicion and I paid and took a seat. The Bulls were on TV, putting the finishing touches on a victory over the Nets. The clock was under three minutes; to my surprise, Derrick Rose was still on the court.
“Bulls are rolling tonight,” said a Goat bus man. I looked up and saw him standing next to my table.
“Sure are,” I said. “Not sure why Rose is still in.”
“Well damn, he is still in.”
“All the starters are in except Deng.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think we’re done hearing about Rose’s toe. That will be a problem.”
I agreed, but as we spoke the Bulls ripped off consecutive possessions of pass-pass-pass-dunk, and I marveled at their brilliance. “Just beautiful, eh?” I said.
“Until Miami,” he said. “Then it won’t be beautiful.”
In my mind I agreed again; but there was no time to foster hypothetical dreariness. The Bulls were dominating and I was a happy witness. I finished my chips and pop, bundled up and said goodbye.
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