This is getting ridiculous.

Okay, I am now going to write about sports, so bear with me. This is a relatively brief story of personal frustration that must be told. Hopefully, it will entertain.

I spent most of my life in Chicago before moving out here a little over two years ago. Growing up in Chicago in the 90’s, you couldn’t help but be a huge Bulls fan. My dad introduced me to basketball, and it’s the only sport I’ve ever remotely cared about. But I cared about it a lot. I was able to see Jordan playing in his prime in person, which is something I’ll be proud to tell my children. Hell, I got to work with the guy for an afternoon when my dad was working on the set of the Michael Jordan to the Max documentary, and hired me on a PA. Though that’s probably yet another story for another time (I also got to meet the Wachowskis that day!).

Anyhow, I’ve truly following the Bulls through thick and thin since their championship years, and it’s been damn hard to catch them playing since movng out West. So I was thrilled to see them back in the playoffs this year. Problem is, between the time different of San Francisco, Chicago, and Boston, and not getting home until 7:15 on most weekdays, it’s been nearly impossible to catch the games.

The trouble first started with Game 4 this past Sunday. I remember that the first thing I did when I woke up was set my DVR to record the game, as my girlfriend and I would be out looking at apartments all day. When I hit “record” my DVR warns me that the game may run long, and asks me how much further beyond the alloted time I’d like to record. “No way they’re going into overtime again,” I think to myself, and choose a half hour. And I go about my day. A few hours later, my good friend Tom calls me — knowing I was missing the game, with the best of intentions — to tell me that it just went into overtime. Thanks, Tom, there goes the enjoyment of the first four quarters. Then I receive an e-mail from my dad, that simply says “I hope you’re watching this game!” Yes, father, I would like to be. TRUST ME. Then later, at my girlfriend’s house, I’m innocently checking my Gmail, when I catch part of the little news banner thingy out the corner of my eye; I read something about “NBA”, “even”, and “2OT”, and my brain fills in the rest, and I hope my brain is wrong and that I haven’t just spoiled the whole thing. I quickly close the window.

So I get home that evening and watch the entire second half, into overtime. And then I see it: There is precious little time left on the recording, and the game still has a ways to go. And the worst scenario comes true: My DVR cuts off with less than a minute to go in the first overtime. CRIPES. No fun. I frantically call Tom to ask him to look around online for the rest of it to watch, but alas, it can’t be found. So I stay up til 1:30 a.m. just to watch the repeat of the game on ESPN, to catch the rest of it that I missed. Hellish.

I was going to blog about just that, but then it got so much worse tonight. This morning I set my DVR a full hour over, thinking I was playing it safe. I come home from work, and probably could have just watched from about the fourth quarter onwards live, but no, I want to watch the whole thing cause I’m a goddamn Bulls fan. So I spend the next several hours watching every second of the game. And it goes into overtime, again! I’m cackling with excitement, clapping my hands with delight. And then double overtime, AGAIN. I’m excited, sure, but concerned…again, I can see my DVR ticking down to die before its time. And this time it’s so much worse. It cuts off with 29.2 seconds left in double overtime, and my heart breaks. And it’s not repeating tonight. And I can’t wait to try my luck for tomorrow. So I start to poke around online for it, and the inevitable happens: I spoil it for myself, only to see that — SPOILER — the Bulls won in TRIPLE friggin’ overtime. You know how bad it hurts to watch the first 5 9/10ths quarters of a game but not the last 1 1/10th? It hurts bad. For the briefest of moments, I sympathize with all the jocks and meatheads who usually clog the train on the way home during local sporting events. My elusive sports spot is punched, and I wince. I’m still dying to see the rest of the game in its entirety, but it just won’t be the same. Boo.