I am a human and I am a male and I was once a child so that means I used to collect sports cards. Specific sport made no difference, really. If a picture of a man was placed on cardstock, I wanted it. I even had those “Yo! MTV Raps” cards, obvs. Minus a brief period in college when I thought I’d figured out a supreme hustle*, collecting them was a hobby that I only maintained through maybe age 13, and one that I’d forgotten about completely these last few years of adulthood.
However, this past weekend, my dad, patron saint that he is, showed up with a fresh box of 2012-13 NBA Hoops trading cards. (When I asked him why he bought them, his response was a perfectly blunt, “I just did.”) He was in town to experience the birth of his new grandchild, but that all seems incidental. When I came home from the hospital and saw the cards on the kitchen table, I shrieked, tossed New Baby into the nearest receptacle, then tore through the box.
There were 11 packs in the box, each containing five cards. After I’d opened them and arranged them into order according to each individual player’s ability to give me a basketball boner (that’s how Beckett prices their worth, I believe), I constructed a super team from the group.
Getting a coach in a pack of trading cards is no less disappointing than getting an apple while trick or treating, or the 12 minutes in between pretend blowjobs on late night cable movies, but I received five coach cards in my 11 packs : Gregg Popovich, Tom Thibodeau, Scott Brooks, Alvin Gentry and Avery Johnson.
Brooks and Gentry get the axe first because Brooks looks like a guy that aggressively tried to sell me a vacuum cleaner at Best Buy once and because Gentry’s name is too close to gentrification and if you support gentrification you are a racist and one thing I don’t want to be is racist. So I’ll go Popovich for the head coach — what with him being one of the greatest coaches to ever live, and all — Thibs as an assistant to craft a hellacious defense and Avery Johnson to GTFOH. If I need my team to flame out against the Warriors in a playoff series, I’ll call Johnson.
Head Coach: Popovich
Assistant Coach: Thibodeau
GTFOH: Avery Johnson
(Note: I’d like to point out that I think Avery Johnson is capable of being a very fine coach, and I’ll always have an especially warm spot in my loins for his underdoggedness because of that 18-footer in the 1999 NBA Finals that eventually led to the Spurs celebrating their first franchise championship. But I’ll also always HATE HIM DEEPLY for leading the Mavericks past the Spurs in the 2006 playoffs. I never rooted for a team to lose so hard as I did those Mavericks against the Heat in the Finals that year. I’m almost certain my vitriol is responsible for Josh Howard calling that timeout at the end of Game 5. Anyway, point being: Fuck Avery, because I love Avery.)