Eleven straight losses. This was the sixteenth game of the season. The last ten losses have been at home.
You all know this. It's inescapable.
In the words of the young scholar at the hot corner, "This has been subtarded, but at least we'll have had this time together. We spoke of summer with fondness and longing. We debated the merits--you in support, and mine the voice of dissent--of the Italian Neorealist movement till the coffee grew tepid and the ashtray was full while agreeing that the Dogme 95 movement was an exercise in pretension. We waxed poetic about the allure of the American Southwest, the starkness of its beauty a point by which we found a kinship in spirit. We hemmed and hawed on what it was to truly be a man, but our differences of opinion never got in the way of our mutual respect for one another. Some of this time was trying. Frankly, a lot of it was, but I must be moving on. Nay, we must be moving on."