Justin Hamilton’s Finals Diary: Games 3 & 4



In the morning I wake up and my thoughts come slowly to me and I expect her to be there. I expect that because she was there in my dreams. But when my eyes adjust, sunlight getting cut up by the shades, golden rectangles upon my marble floor, I see that she is gone. She’s left to go wonder into the sky, to lay down on a cloud and ponder her heart and not mine. What about my heart? Eyes low from her and I imagine her saying, “What about it?” Marcella, please. Please have me. I sound pathetic.

These last two have been rough. Both for the team and for myself. We’ve lost two in fairly embarrassing fashion and now we’re down 3-1 and headed back to San Antonio for a most pivotal Game 5. I continue to wear fantastic and minimalistic styles on the bench and my presence is always felt — I go out of my way to high five folks when they come over on timeouts.

But there is something about all this now that makes it feel like a sad end is coming. Marcella showed up to neither Game 3 or Game 4. She had a pretty alright excuse for the first game — death in the family, and family is number one to me as you’re well aware — but the second game she was dark on the rock and I heard absolutely nothing. I texted her several times. The texts went from funny and hilarious bits about her arriving and walking on a Miami Heat red carpet, all the way to me being really concerned that something had happened to her, all the way to me calling her bad words because of her (still inexcusable) unresponsiveness. I shouldn’t have said those words, though.

It’s just frustrating. I thought I’d have a ring and a girl by the end of this postseason. Seems like now I’ll have neither.

What a summer it would have been! Workouts in the morning then time at the beach with ‘Cella in the afternoon. Dinners at fancy places with lots of blue lighting and $16 crab cakes. After that we wouldn’t go out, we would go in. We would go back to my house and stand on my balcony and overlook the beach and I’d watch the breeze rolling off the ocean do things to her hair. We’d stand there with drinks and music and we wouldn’t even have to look at each other because we’d both know the other looked perfect and felt perfect about them. 

As it stands, I am alone. I am alone in thinking we can get it done in SA and I am alone in my home looking out the window for my ‘Cella. Will either come?\



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