I lucked into some great seats from a buddy last night, ended up a few rows off the court at Staples for the Lakers-Cavaliers game. Working on SbB so much and traveling all over the place the last year, I’ve been a little disconnected from my beloved Lipstick City, so it was nice to re-familiarize with the town and once again come to appreciate what L.A. is really all about.
So long as they keep winning, the Lakers will continue to rule this city. The Dodgers could win 50 World Series in a row and it wouldn’t matter. Between the magnificence of Staples Center, the quickness of the games and Kobe’s celebrity, it really will never get any better for a team in this town.
Last night I spent about half the evening watching the game, which was somewhat a moot point because of the Cavaliers’ injuries. The other half was thoroughly enjoying the presence of Stephon Marbury and Sly Stallone just in front of me, recognizing the unemployed Pat O’Brien and the off-the-radar Al Bernstein right next to me, and most importantly, celebrating the Sweet 16 of 72-year-old Dyan Cannon’s lips.
I’m pleased to report that Stallone’s appearance continues to get more and more bizarre. Possibly thanks to his serial-HGH use, his head and upper body appendages have grown to O.J.-proportions. And his spindly legs, wrapped in suffocating, skin-tight denim no doubt culled by an assistant on her last trip to Wasteland on Melrose Ave., are about a third of the size they should be. At least as compared to his distorted upper body.
It looks to be a sad sight. But perhaps walking around as a human chemistry set will all be worth it once he lands a coveted spot on Adult Swim’s Squidbillies as a recurring character.
(Starbury shows us just how badly we need a new celly)
Marbury meanwhile was locked in a posedown with Sly from just behind courtside. The crappy sneaker magnate was accompanied by a collection of
post-op thick-ankled females that would’ve made the Univ. of Wisconsin’s Outside Linebackers coach envious.
Also in attendance: The tanned and rested (and unemployed) Pat O’Brien. The Frank Reich of TV celebrity pap appears now poised to get back in the game once Mark McGrath gets flattened by a Boyle Heights-bound Big Blue Bus.
Al Bernstein was also there, fresh off an internet venture none of us is aware of.
Also fun: Wandering ’round the concourse admiring displays of astonishing innovation from our army of friendly, neighborhood cosmetic surgeons. (Dyan!)
And speaking of medical breakthroughs, after watching LeBron attempt to bull through the Lakers’ impenetrable defense for 48 minutes last night, here’s hoping those same surgeons will be so kind to attach a left hand-handle to James’ game.