Folks, I’ve got a special treat for you this week. If you didn’t know it, the NBA finals are happening right now, and I happen to be married to an NBA fan. Remember what “fan” is short for? Fanatic. My husband, Jim, is fanatical about the NBA. And for certain teams, he’s right on the edge of insanity. Jim is a social studies teacher, and he wrote about his love for the NBA on the blog he keeps for students. I decided – okay, Jim helped me decide – that this would be a good time for him to guest write in this column. Here he is folks: Jim Russell.

The NBA Finals started Thursday night. Confession time: not many people can watch basketball with me. I tend to get a little, er, involved in the game. Loosely translated, that means I yell at the tv… a lot. I yell at the coaches, I yell at the players, I yell at the announcers, I yell at the cheerleaders, and you better believe I yell at the referees.

I maintain a running dialogue with the game. Honestly, I don’t really need company to enjoy an NBA game; I am a self-contained unit when it comes to sports, but basketball in particular. One of my favorite times of the year runs from March ‘til June, when I can watch basketball playoffs for nearly three straight months. I just can’t watch it at sports bars or at friends’ houses or public places of any kind, really. I think I scare people.

The last time I saw an NBA game in person was a matchup between the Dallas Mavericks and Memphis Grizzlies. We were rooting for Dallas but got stuck in the wrong section, surrounded by a sea of Grizzlies fans. (Seriously, though? Is there really such a thing as a Grizzlies fan? Really? The word “fan” is a truncated form of the root word “fanatic.” I just can’t imagine a person being fanatical about a perennially-losing sports club. It’s like being nutty about the Cleveland Browns or, heaven help us, being a Chicago Cubs fan. They’ve been waiting for 101 years and this year won’t be it either. Sorry, Cubbie lovers. To be fair, the Dallas Mavs did choke away the 2006 championship, so what do I know? Besides, I have loved the Red Sox since I was a kid. I know what it means to have your heart broken. But I digress…) Although the seats weren’t exactly courtside, we had a great view and were having a ton of fun. As usual, the hokey game announcer tried to whip up the crowd with chants of “DEE-fense! DEE-fense!”

Don’t ask me why, but it was at that moment my 11-year-old son almost started a riot in the stands by trying to start his own, pro-Dallas chant: “OFF-ense! OFF-ense!” At first I feared we would be pelted with buttered popcorn and empty beer cups, but then I remembered that Memphis fans don’t have any experience with rooting for a team that has a chance at actually winning a game. They don’t know how to get intense and amp up the emotional quotient of the game by showing their unwavering support. If you go to a Celtics or Lakers game, the home crowd simply won’t tolerate anything less than full-throated devotion. Memphis, not so much. However, it was awesome when my son and another boy around the same age started good-naturedly jawing at each other about who was going to win. (Not that I actually need to write it but, of course, the Grizzlies blew it in overtime and Dallas won.)

My love affair with basketball started the way it did for a lot of people my age: with Michael Jordan. You might say we grew up together. When he started out in the NBA in 1984, he, like me, was just this scrawny kid with a big dream and a lot of ambition. When he left the game in 1998–I pretend that the whole 2001-2003 debacle never happened–he, like me, was at the absolute pinnacle of worldly success and…wait. Okay, scratch that last part. Mike was awesome. I was still kinda scrawny and my jump shot hadn’t significantly improved in 14 years, but, to my credit, I was making about the same amount of money as Mike. (Clearly that is a blatant lie. I am lying, prevaricating, telling untruths. Liar, liar, pants on fire. I did have a job but that’s about as far as it goes.)

On the other hand, I am a school teacher. What has Michael Jordan done besides win a college championship and 6 NBA titles, earn nearly a half billion dollars, be adored by people everywhere? How does that stack up to enriching the lives and minds of the young for relatively little pay, even less respect, and a rapidly expanding ulcer? I will leave the answer to that question with you, dear reader. But I do love my job. I can handle the low pay, long hours, and stress. I just wish I had a better jumpshot.

This column, guest written by Jim Russell,
appeared in the Benton Courier
on June 14, 2009 in an edited version.
See more of Shelli Russell's columns.