Thibs’ Valentine

Dearest Basketball,

Today I reaffirm my love for you my sweet, my all, my everything. Wherever I go, you go with me. When I sleep, you haunt my dreams. I spend each waking hour dedicating my life to pleasing you.

Others may pursue you or claim to have you won you over, but I know they don’t feel for you the way I do. They have their hobbies – their golf and their blackjack and their summer homes. My summer home is a gym and a film room, my hobby is you, sweet basketball.

Mi amor, mi amor basquetbol. Don’t try and fool me with your questioning dimples, I know you speak Spanish. How else could you explain the sleepless nights I’ve spent scouting Pau Gasol?

I wish I could give you the world tonight, but we’ll have to settle for a date with the Sacramento Kings. It’s better than nothing; oh, imagine the horror if we had to spend this night apart? Torn from each other by the cruel fate of schedules? This summer, when others tried to separate us and I thought we might not spend this year together, I nearly died! Thinking of a cold winter without your leathery touch keeping me warm, oh, sweet basketball, the thought alone causes me to shiver.

Take my vow, lovely basketball, that I won’t rest until I perfect myself. In perfecting myself, I will perfect you, the game that occupies my thoughts as the sweet squeaks of sneakers rock me to sleep. We will always have each other, even when I’m old and gray. Because they can take away my team and break my clipboard in half, but they can never touch my heart, which is forever dimpled, laced, and signed by the commissioner David Stern.

Yours forever,

Tom Thibodeau


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