I love the game of basketball. I love watching it. I love playing it. (I'm much better at watching it.)
I grew up in Indiana; it's in my blood.
The Bulls have given me a lot to love this season. They're playing the best basketball in the league—and the best basketball this city has seen since the hallowed Jordan years.
But, apparently I shouldn't care.
There's a line of thought out there that these Bulls wins that are piling up like Lindsay Lohan's trips to rehab aren't important.
When Derrick Rose hit the game-winning shot March 7 at Milwaukee, it was a fitting end to a stirring game. I celebrated it. I enjoyed it. I bragged about it on Twitter. I didn't expect the reaction I got.
"The only wins that matter are the 16 wins in the playoffs."
That Milwaukee game paled in comparison, however, to the March 14 game vs. the hated Heat of Miami at the United Center. Injured Rose watched as John Lucas III played the hero and the shorthanded Bulls won a 106-102 thriller.
Again, I logged on to Twitter to express my delight.
"Let's see what happens when the Bulls and Miami meet in the playoffs."
March 19, the Bulls faced another tall task without Rose in Orlando. They responded with an 85-59 humiliation of the Magic.
"I want to see them do this in June."
I don't understand these reactions, which aren't limited to social media discussions. I've heard similar hesitance from Bulls fans—and haters—in real life.
I feel badly for these people who can't take these games, these wins, these memorable performances at face value. They seem to forget the days when 30 wins were looked at as a positive.
Of course, a title at the end of the season would be the perfect way to cap yet another amazing Bulls season, but what fans have been treated to so far this season is a gift. Enjoy it for what it's worth and stop worrying about injuries, playoff positioning or matching up with Miami.
Just think. It could all vanish in a few short years.
Now there's something to worry about.
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