The NBA Draft Lottery Extravaganza is one of the more ridiculous televised events in the world. It's always ridiculously quiet with an heir of supreme seriousness broken only by Adam Silver's Adam Silverness. Everything seems too clean. The team reps have no idea how to interact with each other or when to smile or how to act. Each year feels like the first year they've televised it. I imagine this year won't be better.
I hate that the Sixers don't have better odds. It's been a while since I've thrown some hatred at Damien Wilkins so here it goes:
HEY DAMIEN WILKINS, I HOPE THAT APPLE YOU'RE EATING IS ROTTEN.
That feels better.
I will not be watching the Lottery live with you guys. Apologies, but I'm a student of karma and, despite the odds against us, am indebted to follow it to my grave. When the Sixers won the 2nd overall pick in 2010, I was with my pops at a Phillies game. Tonight, I'll be playing basketball with him. It's DVR'd. I promise I'll watch it. But I've got a scheduled post already written that the Sixers are standing pat at 11 and I really hope you guys never see it. Hopefully some father-son fast breaks will do the trick.
Lucy was conceived as the God of Tanking. She still dabbles in other areas, but the surefire Lottery God is Shelly. Pray to Shelly. Do not forsake us.
OH MY GOD THE DRAFT OH MY GOD NUMBERS OH MY GOD HINKIE. Let's knock it out of the Pank. Sixers Be Helen.