Sometimes Feelings Hurt

By: Dan Meehan

I’m a white guy from the suburbs from Pennsylvania. I have a good relationship with my family, went to private school all my life, and took piano lessons in 2nd grade. I’ve never experienced a real hardship in my life. But what is happening right now is more than hardship. It’s suffering. It’s pain. The 76ers have somehow erased my 20 years of genuine happiness that I have enjoyed. Even my patented twinkle in my eye has disappeared. I can deal with the Phillies being bad because they gave me Chase Utley, Ryan Howard, Chad Durbin, and Jimmy Rollins. They’re simply going through a rebuilding phase. I’ve come to expect a letdown with the Eagles and Flyers, so their struggles have just become part of my life.

The Sixers were supposed to be different. Believe me, I’m still aboard the Sixers train, but holy nips this has been brutal. The worst part is that I thought I was immune to Sixers sadness. I thought I had become the Dennis Reynolds of Philadelphia basketball. I didn’t have feelings anymore. “Ive developed a cold, calculated shell”, to be specific. When Simmons went down, I took the news and I just absorbed it, because I’m used to being let down. Then I was teased with Embiid playing like Air Bud in one of the 12 movies that were made. Then they start winning. Cats are being tossed in the air, Okafor is riding the bench, TJ McConnell becomes an NBA point guard, and Air Bud himself mentions the playoffs. After that, it was blue ball city homecoming. Rumors of Jah being traded made me swell up like elephantitis. Day after day, trade talks are heating up. The Pelicans want him, the Bulls want him. “He’ll be gone by the end of the day, we can all be happy and leave the casino and get back to our son’s birthday party!” Out of nowhere, Noel is traded. My mutated penis sunk along with my heart. I knew that meant the end of the Jah trade talks.

Although my groin had experienced probably a little too much, my mind hadn’t changed, because I was an emotionless man afraid to love. Disappointment in sports was a part of me, and a part of every Philadelphian. So later that day, Air Bud (Joel Embiid if you’re struggling) entered my mind and not in a sexual way. Dario joined the party and now I’ve got a couple of men that are 6’10+ just jumping on my brain. Jumping so joyously that I thought my elephantitis might make a reappearance. Finally, the most recent news hit us all right in the kisser. Jo-Jo is being shut down for the year. This news didn’t get absorbed like all the others. It was shoved down my throat and I’m still waiting for it to pass. I have a feeling it won’t leave my body the normal way. It is going to force its way through my urethra like a barbed-wire kidney stone. Just picture the blood, and you understand how I’m feeling.

Sports aren’t supposed to make grown men cry themselves to sleep. The Sixers have given me that experience. I’m so sorry for all of the Sixers brethren out there. Keep the faith. Remember that someone out there loves you. And you’re right, that person is me. I love you. Hard.



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