The Pistons and My Middlest

Six games and three quarters into this thing, and nothing had been decided. Tied at 57, the next 12 minutes would determine the Piston’s place in history. This is what Piston fans wanted. This was the scenario we thought we could win.

This was the time for Billups and the Wallaces and Rip and Tayshaun to step to thefore.

But last night it was the Spurs who answered the final bell. With three pointers and tenacious defense, they shut the Pistons down on their way to winning the Championship.

This was a heavyweight title fight. Jab Jab Jab. Step back. And then, the knockout blow.

Game seven was different at my house. For one, my oldest went to a friends house to sleep over and watch the game, so we didn’t have him jumping all over the room, pumping his fists and swinging his arms.

For two, my middlest decided to stay up and watch the game. He knows the names, he hears them all the time, but at 5 years old, he doesn’t quite have the grasp of sports yet.

He watched quietly, asking for popcorn and chocolate milk as he read the score off the bottom of the screen.

“Which color are the Piston’s?” he asked, and when they took the lead, as he read the scoreboard on the bottom of the screen, he would excitedly shout that the Piston’s were winning.

He tried to stay up the whole game, but when he was left alone for a few minutes during halftime, he fell asleep on the couch.