All Frank wanted to do was go to the bathroom and grab some Dippin’ Dots — his granddaughter always told him that they were the ice cream of the future — but then Craig Sager had to go and throw a wrench in to things. Did he have to do this useless piece on a fan sign right here? Right now?

“That sign isn’t even that clever,” thought Frank. “I knew Roy Rogers. That sign is no Roy Rogers.”

So he waited, just for a few minutes, until Sager stopped talking and he could return to his seat, bladder empty and a pocket full of ice cream orbs. Maybe he missed a big play and maybe he didn’t. For now, all he cared about was sitting down, confident in knowing he wasn’t the one dressed like an upholstery store.

No, Frank went with a t-shirt over a dress shirt, and that meant Frank was ready to party. No matter who stood in front of him.