A Day of Mourning

A moment of silence please....

I thought losing Chick Hearn once was bad enough, but twice is just unbearable. Chick, an apparent victim of the chaos in my house, will be sorely missed.

Chick and I go way back. He taught me everything I know about professional basketball. For instance, many of you incorrectly think too many steps in the paint is called traveling. Wrong. It's a bunny hop in the pea patch. Or how about someone jumping at a player who did a pump fake? That man just got put in the popcorn machine, and he's got butter and salt over him. Here's some easy ones: air ball, charity stripe, finger roll, brick, ticky-tack, and the description of the game "moving left to right across your dial." Those are all Chickisms-- things he taught me 82+ games a year.

When Chick passed away the first time, I continued my tradition of watching games with him by placing his permanently smiling-microphone-talking face next to my TV during the NBA season. There he sat with my husband Kobe, helping me through the good times and the bad. It's like he was still helping me through the season.

So imagine my shock when I discovered his lifeless body beneath the rubble of my desk this weekend. At first I thought he was the innocent victim of an errant bump or falling book. But wait! Upon closer inspection, I discovered the wound around his neck was too clean and the edgs were smooth... like a knife had been used. He had been murdered. Death by decapitation. And I wasn't the only one reeling from the news:

Don't let his smile fool you. Those tears are real. Kobe doesn't take breaking the law lightly, and he and I are offering a reward to anyone with a tip that leads to an arrest of the responsible party. We won't rest until the murderous (wo)man is in the fridge, with the lights out, eggs cooling, butter getting hard and the jello jiggling.