Precipice of Whatever

We at No Regard love the New Jersey Nets: About 1/3 of us grew up in NJ and/or live there now, and the rest have adopted the state as their spirit animal. We consider the 2007-2008 season magical because one of us had season tickets and we got to watch J-Kidd give up in person. Anyway, we're close to New Jersey's lost children, so we know what we're talking about. And believe me when I say:

This was the best season ever to be a Nets fan. Oh just relax. I have my reasons.

Each Win Was Euphoric.
Yes, those first 18 losses in 18 games weren't easy to sit through, but after win number one? Kiki's Delivery Service (trademark) took the notion of "no expectations/no pressure" to an entirely new place. Once they secured that worst out-the-gate record, every loss was a familiar face and each win was delicious gravy. That Saturday afternoon Celtics win was New Year's Eve, the first bite of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a Flaming Lips concert rolled into one smorgasbord of happy. In all the years since those two Jason Kidd-led finals runs, Nets fans have been faced with constant underachieving and disappointment. This year, though, we reverted back to what Nets fans are supposed to be: Sad people with a very measured expectation of our team's limits.

The Kidd-Jefferson-Vinsanity era was a painful purgatory; this year the four horsemen of the apocalypse were played by Kiki, Devin Harris, Bruce Ratner and the ghost of Lawrence Frank; and next year is said to be the rapture.

The Promise of Next Season.
Each loss carried with it the largest of all caveats: Next year will bring a high draft pick, a savior free agent and a tall Russian man with $8 billion ushering in a future filled with gold toilets and championship rings. For this one season, all Nets fans got to ignore the probable reality of next season: Overpaying for Rudy Gay or Joe Johnson, Demarcus Cousins' starring role as Derrick Coleman 2.0 and Prokorov pissing off every tangible coaching candidate by offering the mirage of Coach K $12 million... then $15 million, then $17 million.

So yes, I'm worried about next season. As established, I'm a Nets fan: Optimism has no place in my psyche and disappointment could start tonight with the draft lottery. Do I worry that tonight will be the first of many instances when Nets beat writers are forced to write those dreaded "Yeah, this isn't what we wanted, but there's a silver lining" stories? Absolutely. Derrick Favors means nothing to me.

But then, as if the Russian could read minds, owner Mikhail Prokhorov showed up at either my grandmother's old house or the clubhouse at Augusta National Golf Club to record this message:




He may be magic. Let's hope so.