Honea Express

My intention, earlier, was to sit down and write a diatribe on my hate for the Lakers and all things Kobe, but the Blogger system was suffering difficulties and the appeal of that particular soapbox slowly faded into bottles of Red Hook and shots of Nyquil. I had nothing to adduce in support of the accusations I planned to offer, other than those things that speak for themselves such as criminal charges, dirty plays and smugness. Especially the smugness.
In the meantime I watched the Spanish film Talk to Her. It is a movie that moves, making you think the type of thoughts that you wouldn’t normally entertain; to identify with the hope that lies entwined with the loneliness it portrays. It is not a “feel good” film, it is a good film that feels.
I found myself lost in the contrast offered by overlapping shades of red and the subtle way that the positioning of one dance step can influence the message that hides in the hips. Dialogue is potent and matters. Love is built up and dragged down. It is both salvation and damnation. It is a coveted theriac and a living illness.
The plot was original and potentially offensive, but the cathexis between the characters subdued all but the faintest trace of disgust.
What this movie did was provide me with something that I have always secretly suspected- that basketball is petty. There is life going forward whether Kobe Bryant is a jackass or not. The Lakers are not the solution or (surprisingly) the problem. They are the players, which Stuart Scott has convinced me I should not hate, but rather my ire should be directed at the game. Talk to Her supported that theory. We all play, and the game is as unforgiving as it is kind.
Forget the score and play ball.