Summer is here in the Bay Area, where, for the third time in the last four years, the Golden State Warriors are raucously celebrating a world championship. The sweet nectar of Hennessy and the rich scent of fresh (legalized) ganja satiates the citizens of Oakland. They gleefully reminisce on how the champs buried those old Spurs, plucked those plucky Pelicans, grounded those misfiring Rockets, and swept LeBron James out of “The Land”.
Speaking of those San Antonio Spurs, I was disturbed from my usual morning ritual of standing on my balcony, overlooking the Bay, painting Baroque-inspired scenes of the Warriors domination (today’s piece had the working title of “Curry: Taker of Ankles”).