From his lost classic, “A Portrait of the Blogger as a Young Fan”:

Remember, an extended NBA lockout is an eternity of pain. Even if the pains of a lockout were not so terrible as they are, they would become infinite, as the lockout is destined to last for ever. But while it is everlasting the pains are at the same time, as you know, intolerably intense, unbearably extensive. To bear even the sting of an insect for all eternity would be a dreadful torment. What must it be, then, to bear the manifold tortures of a lockout for ever? For ever! For all eternity! Not for a year or for an age but for ever.

Try to imagine the awful meaning of such a work stoppage. You have often seen the sand on the seashore. How fine are its tiny grains! And how many of those tiny little grains go to make up the small handful which a child grasps in its play. Now imagine a mountain of that sand, a million miles high, reaching from the earth to the farthest heavens, and a million miles broad, extending to remotest space, and a million miles in thickness; and imagine such an enormous mass of countless particles of sand multiplied as often as there are leaves in the forest, drops of water in the mighty ocean, feathers on birds, scales on fish, hairs on animals, atoms in the vast expanse of the air, tattoos on Chris Andersen: and imagine that at the end of every million years a little bird came to that mountain and carried away in its beak a tiny grain of that sand. How many millions upon millions of centuries would pass before that bird had carried away even a square foot of that mountain, how many eons upon eons of ages before it had carried away all? Yet at the end of that immense stretch of time not even one instant of eternity could be said to have ended. At the end of all those billions and trillions of years the lockout would have scarcely begun.

And if that mountain rose again after it had been all carried away, and if the bird came again and carried it all away again grain by grain, and if it so rose and sank as many times as there are stars in the sky, atoms in the air, shots taken by Monta Ellis, drops of water in the sea, leaves on the trees, feathers upon birds, scales upon fish, hairs upon Hamed Haddadi, at the end of all those innumerable risings and sinkings of that immeasurably vast mountain not one single instant of eternity could be said to have ended; even then, at the end of such a period, after that eon of time the mere thought of which makes our very brain reel dizzily, the lockout would scarcely have begun.

Well that certainly sounds hellish. Let’s get this thing solved already.

Comments (6)

  1. [...] exactly sound encouraging, but at least it’s something. If we’re going to avoid James Joyce’s doomsday prophesy, that’s better than nothing. No Comments Previous post James Joyce on the NBA lockout [...]

  2. Never commented on the blog, though I regularly read it. And this entry is exactly why. Nice moves.

  3. Wow a James Joyce parody. THAT is ballsy, sir. All possibly puns intended….

  4. it should be rather “James Jones on the NBA lockout”–

  5. Next up: Samuel Beckett’s “Waiting for B-ball”

    Vladirkmir: Nothing happens.
    Estlebron: Nothing to be done.

  6. I hope the NBA lockout lasts forever and that there is never another NBA game played in our lifetimes. Good riddance to the National Basketball Association!

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