It's already yesterday

Step right up and deliver us from stagnation in a time of rapid transit that passes me by; a low steady rumble on the 2 freeway a constant reminder and protector from the less enlightened.
OK, let's slow that way down.
Dominique Wilkins was inducted into the Pro Basketball Hall of Fame this weekend and I hope Atlanta really appreciates him for all he gave the city. I pull for the Hawks with all I've got (I paid $100 to see them play the Lakers here this year when I couldn't afford imported beer) but they've sucked away all my well wishes ever since they hung up number 21. Back in the '80's we literally sang his praises, writing songs for our mighty warriors in red, white, and gold (see comments). The greatest game I ever watched was the game seven duel in the Boston Garden in 1987 when Dominique, se magnifique, went head to head with Larry Bird and scored 47 but the Hawks came up just short at the buzzer. A lot of people I know, not just Atlanta fans, say that was one of the greatest games in the history of the league. I hate to give him any space here because I detest his work with the Yankees but in those days John Sterling was the voice of the Hawks and I listened to his descriptions of the mighty 'Nique in the glory days. The man who gave us El Nique-O (which I called him on in a bar once and he accepted it) once noted during a broadcast, "There's only one word to describe Dominique: indefatigable!" I rarely missed a playoff game in those days and screamed my head off in the old Omni which I can't believe I miss but Phillips Arena doesn't have any soul at all which is sad because it's a great building but it feels flat inside. Back in the days of 'Nique and Tree Rollins and Doc Rivers and Randy Wittman and Spud Webb and Cliff Levingston and Antoine Carr and Kevin Willis, that crusty old building would boil and tremble at the height of springtime, when the Celtics and the Pistons and the Pacers and the Bucks would dance the dance in the richest era of the game, by far. I wish I could have been in Springfield, Mass. the other night to cheer for number 21 one more time.
"Bernstein, am I a stuffed shirt?" asked Jed Leland those many black and white years ago. Sometimes I feel like I saw where the whipping post used to be but maybe suffering is a personal experience that no one could truly compare with another. You know, like with weaker humans than my own self. Galactus would compare them to ants and the comparison holds some wisdom. I mean, come on, we all heed the voice of Galactus.
Through it all the bright eyes of Walter probe me in ways that I cannot describe. He scans me but for now mine is the superior intellect. In my infinite wisdom I play a game and allow him to live under the illusion of rank. I'm such a nice guy.
Oh, and the Hawks beat the Lakers this year, by the way.