Well, this is it.  We had a good run at it, he and I.  It was a quick, passionate, and wholly uninformed fling (the truest sort of love affair), but we're over.  My fetish for basketball has come to an end since the Mavs lost the Finals this week.

I'm doing pretty well after our break up.  Holding it together in public, taking espn down as my homepage, planning for the future.  I'd turn to the hooch, but the luster wore off after my tri-weekly attendance at various sports bars around town to watch the games.  Going to a bar would only remind me of our special times together, so I'm staying put at home.  I haven't started cruising by Cubans house just to see if he's home.  Yet. 

It helps that my deeply abiding love for the game only began this season.

Basketball, you see, became my fetish hobby of Spring/Summer 2006.  I've explained the fetish hobby to most of you. Some of you are even charitable enough to join me in whatever project is at hand, knowing full well I'll probably abandon it like a broken toy after a month or two. 

The archives of past fetish hobbies have included, but are not limited to the following:  playstation golf, pastry baking, rock climbing, raquetball, salsa dancing, learning the proper application of a french manicure, writing fairly vulgar haiku, barefoot waterskiing, three card poker, baton, ballet, swim team, text twist, saving the princess, myspace, and Jesus.  I have executed these hobbies with widely varying levels of success, to say the least.  Only the best became part of a regular lifestyle.

I don't know what is going to fill the void the NBA is leaving in my soul, but I'll take suggestions.  And, no.  Baseball is not an option.