If you grew up in EST-land as a sports fan like I did, then you understand just how incredible being a transplant on the West Coast is.  Live sports at 4pm, particularly if you're someone who starts his morning around at 0600h, is like finding a five dollar bill in the pocket of an old jacket.  You go about your workday, wind down a little early to watch the game --- when you'd normally be sputtering your way through your late-afternoon coma --- then resume regularly-scheduled programming by nightfall.   Last night was perfectly set up because I had a 7p thing over at Pacific Design Center.  My plan was to watch the first three quarters, then listen to Matt Pinto[1] while driving crosstown. 

At least that was the plan.  Gliding down the hill toward Sunset, what did I find on 710AM?  A college football game.  Oh...one of the locals must be playing their big, meaningless bowl game, right?  Nope.  What we get on the Clippers' flagship was...let me get this straight...Louisville and Wake Forest.  A bout of great local and regional interest.  A college football showdown so important that the winner will advance to...Will get to tout itself as the....Will go down in the annals of history as one of the great...

Annoying, but by no means felonious because this happened a couple of weeks ago, and that night I found the game on 830AM, and I was savvy enough to program in that station on the panel.  So I turn over to 830 and what do I find?  Los Angeles Kings hockey.  I wasn't aware they were still playing professional hockey in North America, but whatever, I'm sure a quick tour through the all-Sports stations in the region will yield a Clipper game. 

That's not it.

Neither is that.

Or that. 

Round Two, this time descending from 1700 backwards.  Nothing.

At this point, I'm all the way to Melrose and Western and the fourth quarter is half over, I'm certain.  I try the FM dial.  How the fuck does Jeffery Osbourne still have a listening audience on commercial radio?   Back to AM because, well, maybe there was a timeout.  Michael Savage is all upset that the leaders of our nation, Henry Kissinger included, are members of a secret society [Skull & Bones] that mandates nude mud wrestling upon initiation.  And is there ever a moment when the Corona Freeway isn't an unmitigated ratfuck? 

By the time I get to the PDC, the game is almost certainly over.  It's just as well because, having watched the end of the third, I'd bet Mike Dunleavy's entire wardrobe of winter pastels that the Clippers screwed the pooch and coughed this one up.  And Justin, who's there to meet me and watched the game just half-a-mile from the PDC at his girlfriend's pad, confirms that --- even with JJ Redick's most profound accommodation - the Clippers indeed lost. 

I still can't tell you if and where on your radio dial the Clippers-Orlando game was broadcasted yesterday.  Wanna listen to the game tonight?  According to the Clippers' website, that game will air on...TBD.  Literally, TBD.  When and by whom this will be determined is anyone's guess. No worries because, I mean, it's not like anyone in Southern California is in his car between 4p-7p or anything. 

The fact that the Clippers continue to market their product, extend their decidedly average coach multiple years, and sell ticket plans based on a three-month run that occurred almost a year ago doesn't bother me.  Having said that, the least they can do is afford me the opportunity to listen to my team during rush hour, a privilege granted to students of the most pathetically administered Division III athletic programs and fans of any short-season Pioneer League baseball team.  I mean, I know the Pervis Ellision Ace Bandage Bowl is smokin' hot, but live radio is the least you can fucking do, gentlemen. 

[1] About as underrated an NBA play-by-play man as you'll find on air.  He works a one-man booth, seamlessly connects play-by-play with color, is supportive of the Clips but by no means a homer, has a fluent technical grasp of the game, and is pleasant to listen to, but not oleaginous.