I hope Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban is right. I hope former Mavs forward Josh Howard -- recently traded to the Washington Wizards -- did not, as reported, miss a game due to a U.S.S. Nimitz-class hangover.
Because otherwise, I'll be utterly disappointed. Crushed, really, in the way of say it ain't so and the first time I got dumped and discovering that both Santa Claus and 90 percent of what used to be Heidi Montag aren't actually real.
Let me explain.
My problem isn't with Howard for possibly missing a game with a hangover. My problem is with Howard for possibly missing a game because of a hangover. Sure, the morning after can be brutal. Especially if tequila is involved. But that's an issue for common plebes like you and me. Salaryman office schlubs. Workaday losers. Professional athletes are different. At least, they're supposed to be different. They're the elite, the chosen, the Nietzschean supermen, the godlike individuals whom everyone else gazes upon and despairs. And I'm not talking about running fast or jumping high or putting the ball in the basket.
No, I'm talking about partying. Hard.