Haven't been posting Britt's latest because when the Wolves went into a tailspin, I was already well on my way to becoming a fair weather fan.

it hasn't been a great winter here in Mississippifarialand. Mom had surgery Christmas Eve (successful but going into your declining years with a colostomy bag isn't what anyone hopes for). The search for gainful employment in SE Wisconsin has led me to discover that Wisconsin is #48 out of 50 states in job creation. Light rail continues to paralyze my 'hood and crapify my life. Today I decided to take University Avenue from 280 all the way to where you pick up Phalen Blvd. just east of the Capitol. I encountered 17 [SEVENfuckingTEEN] red lights, and the trains aren't even running yet, let alone on time.

So no, I am not amused by the Wolves' tailspin. When J.J. Barea is your last hope for a win, chances are you're not getting one. We're getting jobbed by the refs as the other teams' crafty veterans stick it to Shved with those crafty veteran moves that are for the most part indistinguishable from cheating but hey — in a country run by business people for the greater glory of profit, cheating is what puts a bonus into your bank account.

So now that you're up to speed on me, Britt Robson's latest column on the Wolves won't seem like quite the downer it is because when life sucks it's hard not to remember that basketball is just a game. A stupid, #$%@, referee-impaired game, but still just a game.