Then we lost. When others are injured, I recognize the need for improved play from those in the game. And were I not 1 for 6 from the shootings, victory would now be in our grasp. ¡Mis disculpas!
To keep balance and remind me of home, I read about España in the news. For an instance, I follow the movements of Spanish defense minister Carme Chacón Piqueras (left) with great interest. (She is in Afghanistan at the moment.) Also, I see a debate rages at home over toreros and bullfighting. Champion bullfighter Francisco Rivera Ordóñez was just awarded a Fine Arts medal from the Spanish Culture Ministry. Out of this erupted controversy! A former winner, José Tomás, returned his previously awarded medal in disgust.
This Fine Arts medal can be likened to the NBA’s Most Valued Player award, if any deep meaning resonated with the average American regarding it. Now imagine Michael Jordan returning his MVP trophies in protest over it being given to a talented but uninspired practitioner, e.g., Carmelo Anthony.
That is what happened; an esteemed matador and former winner, José Tomás, returned his previously awarded medal in disgust!
In Spain, a bullfighter is an artist, an icon, a socialite, and an athlete. Panache is everything! And while Mr. Rivera is a blueblood who is married to the renowned María Eugenia Brianda Timotea Cecilia Martínez de Irujo y Fitz-James Stuart, his bullfighting is boring. (This is in contrast to Carmelo Anthony's churlish brio.)
How this debate will resolve, I do not know. But I do know that to escape my own shooting slumpage, I must muster courage, plant my feet in the bloody sand, and stare the enraged bull (or Buck) who defends me in the eyes.
Then I must shoot! (With accuracy would be nice.)
(Rudy photo derived from the estimable BustaBucket.)