Help! The Jazz are invading my home!

Okay, so I just got home from having a couple of drinks with some friends. My roommate is sitting in the living room with this friend of his that's been staying with us the past couple of nights. I haven't really had a chance to meet the guy, since I've gotten home from work late the past two nights and he's been asleep on the couch both times.

I get to talking to the guy, and I find out he's an architecture major and he's here with some classmates to kind of take in some of the famous (and infamous) New York architecture. Cool, I think. I can respect that. He's a bartender by night, which I think is cool since I've done some bartending and always thoroughly enjoy myself when I do, so I figure he's probably pretty cool.

Then I asked him where he was from.

"Utah", he said.

There's a kind of uncomfortable silence. I shift a little in my chair.

"Really?" I say, trying to remain calm.

"Yeah", he says. I start to notice a certain twitch about his mouth when he speaks. I decide I don't like it.

I continued with the inevitable, "So, you're a Ja...Jazz fan, then, I guess...." I couldn't help but stumble on the hated moniker. I only prayed my momentary lapse in cool wasn't too transparent.

"Oh, yeah," he said, as if that were only natural. I imagine Manson had the same sort of nonchalance when asked about 'the family'. I was really starting to lose my calm.

"So St..Stockton and Ma..lone...." I couldn't even finish the sentence. I just let it hang there, figuring the cretin would take it wherever he felt he should. He did.

"Oh, yeah. Gotta love em', ya know. The big 'One-Two'. Shame they'll never get a ring. They deserve it."

This is where my memory is getting a little fuzzy. I think I laughed outloud at that last bit, my laugh finding that certain high pitch that it will sometimes fall upon when I'm under tremendous strain. He kind of looked at me, wondering if I was making a joke, or perhaps wondering if he had missed something. I think I excused myself, saying that I was kind of tired and that I needed to get to bed. I think that's what I said, anyway. Truth be told, my breathing was kind of labored, and I'm positive I was sweating. I did my best to leave the room with some semblance of decorum, attempting in vain to seem natural. Once inside my room, I immediately started to freak.

I mean, how do you deal with a Jazz fan? I mean, honestly, what kind of person likes The Jazz . Stockton and Malosovich....I mean, Malone. How am I going to sleep knowing there's a Jazz fan not fifteen feet away from me in the next room? Should I hide the china? Well, okay, I don't actually own any china, but I should probably hide my computer, right? What about my DVD's? I mean, I don't think I can leave this kind of stuff just lying around while there's a Jazz fan living under the same roof, can I?.................

I think I can hear him breathing in the next room....I think he's on to me. I think he's waiting for me to go to sleep....I don't know what I'm going to do........ Oh, okay, now's he's pretending to laugh at the television. He's definitely on to me. This is very bad. I don't know how I'm going to deal with this guy.............

Have any of you ever met....you know....one of them ? What did you say to them? What do they like to talk about? What sort of things do they eat? Were they prone to sudden fits of violence? Do they trip down the stairs a lot, only to walk away suspiciously unscathed, muttering about a lawsuit? I mean, this guy was complaining earlier that the pizza he hate was making him feel sick to his stomach, then he went into the bathroom for what seemed an eternity, and I'm wondering, "Is he faking it? What's his game? Is this just supposed to garner sympathy now so that he can get away with some future brutality?"

I just don't know what to do about this. If there are any words of wisdom out there, please guys, send em' my way.

 

Okay, so I finally talked to the guy a little more this morning. I just came right out with the truth, as I was more than a little thankful that he didn't kill me in my sleep.

"I just want you know," I said, "since we'll be living under the same roof for a little while, that I firmly believe John Stockton to be the antichrist."

His response was, "Oh, yeah, he's dirty. He and Malone. But the league let's them get away with it, so.....whatever."



He knew! He knew and he's still a fan! I guess I can understand to an extent. I mean, Vernon Maxwell could do no wrong as far as I was concerned until the '95 playoffs. But the Jazz , man!

He was watching the Jazz - Knicks game and said, "I just saw Stockton draw two offensive fouls by flopping. He's something else."



I just don't get those crazy Jazz fans.

 

Awaiting package and further instructions............................

I'm mainly worried about how I'm going to go about disinfecting my apartment after he's "left".

Meantime, I think I'm just going to hide in my room, curl up in a ball, and cry like a little girl.