Yesterday, the worst team in the NBA, the Cleveland Cavaliers, enjoyed the one and only high point of their dreadful season -- in a home game at the Q, they opened a can of whup-ass and beat up on LeBron James and the mighty Miami Heat. It was a no-doubter, in which Bron-Bron was knocked to the floor so violently his fuckin' headband flew off. No foul was called. Hee-hee!
As a Cav, LeBron's huge entourage was always allowed access to all the amenities -- prime seats, prime parking, prime everything, if you know what I mean. Yesterday, as a Heat (A "Heat"? A "Hot"?" Lousy name.) LeBron was OK'd for underground clubhouse parking, but his triple-Escalade load of sycophantic hangers-on was turned away. Flat-out fuck-off.
As Cavs owner Dan Gilbert Tweeted after the victory, "Not in our garage!"
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