Jeff Pearlman

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The (Miserable) Stalk

Right now I am miserable.

It’s 10:06 am, and I’m sitting in a crowded Starbucks. This place is great—lots of tables, lots of outlets, smell is unobjectionable. And yet, it one arrives too late, he’s stuck at the big table in the back, where one must share space/resources with a bunch of others. Right now, to my right, a man is checking his iPad. He’s quiet—no problem. Across from me, though, a guy is jabbering on his cell. This is, 100% without question, his right. But it still irks the living fuck fuck out of me, and causes me to repeatedly cast angry glares his way.

As I write this, there are six individual tables. All are filled, and five are taken by people with laptops and thick bags. That means they’re not moving—for hours. The sixth table is home to two elderly ladies. They’re drinking coffee, chatting. I think they’re both done with their  beverages, yet they refuse to budge.

The nice Jeff Pearlman says, “Oh, how lovely. Two friends having a nice time.”

The dick Jeff Pearlman says, “Get the fuck out.”

On days like these, I wish I could write at home. Big table, stocked refrigerator, Norma the dog. But, generally, O can’t. So I come here. Or Cosi. Or Panera. And I stew, like now.

Wait, pardon me …

Fuck! Fuck! Shit fuck shit shit shit shit fuck fuck fuck shit shit fuck fuck cocksucker motherfucker cock shit fuck fuck fucking fuck fuck fuck shit cocky dick fuck shit fuck!!!!!!!!!!

Glub.

Showtime Book
Love Me, Hate Me Barry Bonds Book
Sweetness Walter Peyton Book
The Bad Guys Won Book
The Rocket that Fell to Earth Book
Boys Will Be Boys Book

Once again, Jeff Pearlman has produced an exhaustively researched, elegantly written book that re-creates one of the most colorful and memorable teams of the modern era. No basketball fan's bookshelf will be complete without it.

— Seth Davis, author of Wooden: A Coach's Life