It is February, which is usually the month when the wind in Ontario feels like it is personally offended by your existence. We are looking at the standings again, which is a dangerous pastime, much like eating a Jamaican patty that you found in a pocket you haven't checked since November.
The math says we need to win about half of our remaining games to make the play-in tournament. Winning half is a strange concept for this team, as it implies a level of consistency that we usually reserve for things like road construction on the 401. It is the basketball equivalent of a coin flip that somehow lands on its edge and then rolls into a sewer grate.
The Linguistic Stylings of Scottie Barnes
Scottie Barnes recently took some time to correct an American reporter on the proper way to say Toronto. You do not pronounce the second 't', because that is a sign of someone who probably pays for their milk in a carton instead of a bag. It is 'Churrono', or something close to it, depending on how much humidity is in the air.
It is nice to see Scottie taking on the role of a geography teacher. Last week he was the franchise cornerstone, and now he is the lead consultant for the Ministry of Tourism. He does it all, except for maybe convincing us that we are definitely going to win those half of our games.
A Collection of Stitched Regrets
People are talking about their bad luck with jerseys again. It seems like every time someone buys a jersey, the player is traded for a package of protected second round picks and a player who will be waived before he even finds a short term rental in Liberty Village. My uncle has a Primo Brezec jersey in his basement, and he claims it is the only thing holding up his house.
The past and the future of this team are always colliding in ways that feel slightly uncomfortable. We spend a lot of time looking at grainy photos of 2019 while trying to figure out if a nineteen year old from the G-League is the next savior. It is a cycle, like the laundry, but you keep losing one sock every time you think you're finished.
The Search for the Missing Piece
Apparently there is a guy we need to get to make all of this better. There is always a guy. We look at other rosters like we are browsing a menu at a diner at 3:00 AM, convinced that a specific side order of hash browns will solve our spiritual crisis.
We just need to win half. Not more, not less, just fifty percent. It is the ultimate middle-of-the-road goal, which is very polite, and very much the way we do things here. If it does not happen, there is always the draft, and more jerseys to buy that will eventually become reminders of players who used to live here.