And so it goes for the cursed New Jersey Nets that the last game played in Jersey gets no pomp and no circumstance. No ABA banners lowered, no cigars lit by Joey Pants.
No goodbye swamp song by Bon Jovi followed by a hello canal song by Jay Z. No graceful wave to the fans by Buck, just sorry faithful, you’re shit out of luck.
No final salute to Drazen Petrovic’s passion. Just a promise of Rocawear fashion. No recollection of what could have been with Michael Ray. Just a glimmer of the future along the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway.
No video highlights of Jason Kidd’s no-look passes. Just moving trucks driving past Fairleigh Dickinson classes. No nod to the men who grew up cheering for Chocolate Thunder. Just the flashy new billboards we’ll soon be walking under.
No standing ovation for the gravity defying leaps of Dr. J. Just Brook scraping Park Slope’s sky and waiting to say hey. No final complaint about the wasteland once known as Brendan Byrne. Just an architectural wonder that shouts it’s our turn.
No laughing at Derrick Coleman and Whoop De Damn Doo. Just Prokhorov swooping in and ending the zoo. No honest emotion from the voice of Ian Eagle. Just celebrity row with Rosie Perez and quite possibly, Jason Segal.
No Bill Raftery call of one more kiss off the glass. Just faded memories whizzing by of childhood’s past.
No final season at all and to all fans it’s good night. Just hope along the horizon that Dwight Howard just might.
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