Something to lighten the mood while trade rumors swirl:
My wife, 8-month-old daughter and I landed at LAX Sunday night after an hour flight delay in Phoenix (where we had been visiting relatives from Ireland, several 65-year-old women who liked to complain about how hard it is to get a cab when they leave the pub at night). We get our bags (well, three of the four, the other came 15 hours later) and go outside. While Iâ€™m on the phone trying to find out what happened to our ride home, my wife taps me on the shoulder and says, â€œIs that guy a coach?â€
I turn around to see Ben Howland standing there with most of the UCLA team behind him, returning from the Bay Area. Most of the guys head for the team bus, but a couple break off as other people are picking them up.
I find this mildly interesting, but that cannot overcome the frustration I have with the disappearing ride home. So I walk over to an area with better cell reception to make another call and raise my blood pressure a few notches.
When I come back over to my family what do I see â€” my daughter doing her best to flirt with Jordan Farmar. Sheâ€™s cooing and talking to him, and heâ€™s smiling and saying “hi” back.
It was very cute, but I think Iâ€™m in a world of trouble in 15 years or so.