Phil: I’m sorry about your Celtics, Steve. You’re probably in mourning and it would be very uncouth of me to gloat, so, being devoid of any couth, here it goes: The Lakers are still in it. Yeah, they barely got by the Yao-less Rockets, but they got by. Sort of like last year’s Celtics, who went to seven games with the Hawks before persevering. I’m taking it as a good omen. Still, I was rooting for a rematch with your green guys from Beantown.
Steve: I knew you were couth-free, but do we have to talk about this? I’m still emotionally drained after watching my injury-depleted Celtics go down to ignominious defeat. I certainly did everything I could, even skipping a party at the Greenbergs’ house to root for the Celts in Game 7, but it wasn’t enough. And you know how difficult it is for me to pass up a party and all of the related booze food fellowship. I’ve learned a lesson, I suppose. No matter how loudly I scream at the TV here in Redding, it has no effect on a game in Boston.
Phil: I don’t know about that. I’ve coached some great games from the sofa. Shoot, I even got T’d up after giving the ref a piece of my mind, so don’t think your histrionics have no effect.
Steve: We have a long tradition in my family of talking back to the TV. My great-grandfather, who was a very old man when TV first arrived, was famous in the family for arguing with newscasters and calling them “lying SOBs.” (I only do that when forced to watch Fox News.) Also, he wouldn’t change clothes in a room where there was a TV because he thought the people on TV could see him as well as hear him.
Phil: Those were the days. People displayed a little modesty back then. Personally, I think your great-grandfather should be commended for his sense of decorum. You know what people do in front of the TV nowadays? I mean, even I get carried away on occasion. I’m ashamed of what Salma Hayek must think of me. Salma, if you’re reading this (as I know you are), I’m sorry. Oh, and just so you know, it gets really cold here in Redding at night. Please keep that in mind. Thanks.
Steve: Lust for Salma Hayek. Another thing we have in common! We keep stumbling onto these shared interests. It’s a wonder people can tell us apart.
Phil: I get confused myself. I believe I’m the one closer to sea level with no evident couth.
Steve: Let’s see, we’ve covered lust, gluttony, sloth and (playoff) envy so far. Any other Deadly Sins you’d like to entertain? Which one is most manly?
Phil: That leaves greed, anger and pride, all fairly masculine traits. Of those three I’d have to give the ‘manly’ edge to anger. I do my best to control my anger, but those damn referees make it so difficult. Actually, I’m proud that I get so pissed off when I don’t get what I want. Hey, talk about your trifectas! I got three of the Seven Deadly Sins goin’ all at once there! I may be going to Hell, but I’m going in style.
Steve: Trifectas make me mad because they’re so greedy and I’m too fat and lazy to think of them myself. I’m impressed that you know the Seven Deadly Sins by heart. I always get them mixed up with the Seven Dwarves. If you can get sent to Hell for being Grumpy or Sleepy, I’m doomed. And we’re all Sneezy in Redding in the springtime.
Phil: Springtime? Was that springtime? I missed it again! Since moving to Redding 20 years ago I can recall only one spring. 1992, I believe. Lasted four and a half hours before summer kicked in. I frolicked in the lush green meadow like a baby goat until it turned all brown and highly flammable in the afternoon. Now, as an older goat, I fear my frolicking days are over. Just as well I slept through spring again. It appears summer is upon us.
Steve: I’m not ready for summer. When the temperature danced around the “century mark,” as the TV weathermen love to say, I could only hunker in the bunker, staying indoors and arguing with Kelly over thermostat settings. My lovely wife apparently has become a reptile. She thinks 77 degrees is a proper economical setting for the A/C. I prefer a setting that causes icicles to extend from my nostrils.
Phil: I don’t know if one can ever be ‘ready’ for a Redding summer. After all these years, I’ve come to appreciate them for what they are: a way to separate the wussies from the potential Reddingites. Beelzebub himself got off the bus in Redding and turned around and got right back on; he couldn’t take the heat. We don’t need the incessant whining from folks who think a median temperature of 119 is “too hot.” Hey, if it’s too hot for you here, go back to the Sudan or some other temperate zone and leave the sidewalk egg-frying to those of us with huevos to burn. (By the way, thanks for leaving off with a sentence ending with the word ‘nostrils’ — to demonstrate my newfound maturity I refrained from utilizing any phrases containing the words “booger,” “snotlocker” or even “mucus.” If it weren’t a Deadly Sin, I’d be very proud of myself.)
Steve: Is it too late to add to the list of Deadly Sins? I believe printing the word “booger,” in any context, might qualify. Whoops, now I’ve done it, too. See you in Hell, Phil.
Phil: I’ll bring the marshmallows.
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Doni and Kelly’s Dish will return next Friday to its rightful place.
