A Walk in the Parquet May 7

     There are few vocations that allow you to let out a primal scream to celebrate a job well done.

     Very infrequently you see a mechanic jump up on his desk and shout after he reinstalls a carburetor.

     Even less frequently you have to endure a celebratory cheer from a lawyer in his courtroom after his client is acquitted.

     So it’s a special moment (for Celtics, Bulls, and basketball fans alike) when the ever-well-spoken Joakim Noah can—into a microphone, no less—just let out a guttural, jungle-esque scream in celebration of the Bulls’ win over the C’s on April 30.

     Now, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been following Noah since his college days with the Florida Gators, and I’m not exactly his biggest fan. Case and point, that towel-whipping crap he pulled after winning it all with Florida made me want to slap him.

     It’s just that Noah was the everyman just then.

     There’s a certain amount of reverence a sports fan puts into the players he sees on the court—whether he likes them or not; as in the way a McCain supporter would still be awe-struck to see President Obama in person.

     Almost Herculean, they represent a higher level of manhood. They’re faster, stronger, more famous, richer, and can laze around with beautiful people all day. As an 18-year-old sportswriter from Corinna, Maine, there’s something endlessly godlike about a sports star.

     But the moment Noah let out that lion’s roar of his into the microphone, he was just as overwhelmed as the rest of us. He was human.

     Take it from me, I was letting out similar groans as the Bulls amassed point after point in sending the game into a third overtime. Ask my girlfriend who dozed throughout the game—she didn’t exactly get the best of sleep in between my grunting and throwing of hands into air.

     It really is living vicariously, this sports thing. A little self-projection. A little role-playing game where, if I’m wearing the Rondo jersey I got for $14.99 at Olympia Sports in the mall, I can punch Brad Miller in the mouth.

     A little metaphysical, astroprojection, scientific, anti-gravitational, quasi-plausible—

     Wait… I’m getting ahead of myself.

     What I meant to say is this:

     Man, I love this game.