People who know me well frequently ask me "Do you ever get tired of being wrong?" And now I have my answer.
No. No, I do not.
In fact, I love being wrong. Being wrong is a FREAKING DAY AT THE BEACH IN ARUBA. It's ALL THE ICE CREAM YOU CAN EAT FOREVER AND EVER. It's ...
Well. You get the idea.
I bring this up because just yesterday I Blobbed about how wrong I was about the U.S. men's basketball team, which was crumpling everyone like a paper towel after I'd said the Olympic tournament was going to be no moonlight stroll for the Yanks. I noted that the Americans' closest game was a 17-point saunter against South Sudan, and that they next took on Serbia and Nikola Jokic in the semifinals.
Then I wrote this: I expect another romp, because the Americans already played Joker and the Jokettes in pool play, and beat them by 26. By 26.
So what happened in the rematch?
Thaaaat's right. LeBron 'n' Steph 'n' them jacked around and almost lost.
They fiddled and farted and trailed by 17 points at one juncture, before they mounted a furious rally in the fourth quarter to pull it out by four, 95-91. LeBron decided "Hell with this" and took matters into his own hands, delivering a triple-double. Steph did Steph things, dropping 36 on the Serbs and splashing 9 of 14 threes. Kevin Durant hit two big buckets down the stretch.
"That's impressive," you're saying now. "But not as impressive as you being as wrong as can be about one basketball team for an entire Olympics."
Well, hey. It is the Olympics. A man has to step up his game.
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