I'LL STAND THERE FOR TWO HOURS WITH MY ARMS FOLDED.

There isn't a site yet, but there should be one. FIREBYRONSCOTT.COM. Somebody. Anybody. Start this thing. (There is a firemikedunleavy.com. As well there should be.) Monday night was the last straw for me. Let's review the camel's backbreakers. 

1) When your star player complains of discomfort in his groin and your team is up by 17 points, send him to the back for some quick treatment. Would that have hurt at the end of the third quarter? I think not. 

2) Matchups down the stretch Monday: Rasual Butler (that's the Hornets shooting guard) on LaMarcus Aldridge (that's the Blazers power forward and best low-post player); Peja (who was playing surprisingly good defense all night, though the stretch is a different animal) on hot-shooting, able-to-create-his-own-shot Travis Outlaw.

Yo, Byron. We were up by double digits. We don't exactly need Peja out there. Besides he wasn't feeling it anyway (6-of-17). So how about a) putting Peja on the bench, b) putting Hilton in for him and have him guard Aldridge, so that he's not yawning out there as he scores another basket, c) have Posey shut down Outlaw and d) put Butler back on Roy (who was 2-of-10 mainly because of Butler)? 

3) Scott called two timeouts while the Hornets still had the lead in the fourth. I don't know what he said, but I bet it wasn't this: "Hey guys. We've got them in foul trouble. Be aggressive, especially you D-West like you were in the first half. Get fouled and make some foul shots." From 7:50 left (up 79-74) until West made a putback with 3:56 left to tie the score at 83, the Hornets had eight possessions. On one, Peja got fouled and made foul shots. The other seven ended with long jumpers. Ugh. 

OK, now that I've unleashed that negativity, time to break things and have some fun. Despite Byron Scott, I still think this team can win. They really miss Chandler's defense. D-West will find his jumper. I think Posey will make a jumper again at some point. Come playoff time, they'll have as good a chance as any team. 

Hugo stopped by Section 312 for some hugs in the second quarter. Where was he when I really needed him in the fourth quarter? 

This is Section 324 on Monday night. That's 13 rows in a row without one person. I looked over at this section about 50 times and never saw a person in any of these seats. So don't let anyone tell you how well the Hornets are doing with attendance. K? 

I took this picture at halftime, which was action-packed. 

1) I went down to Section 123 to claim a free Hornets hat. The other day, I got an e-mail from the Hornets saying if I filled out a survey, I could get a free hat. Filling out the survey, printing the confirmation and putting the sheet in my bag took a grand total of one minute. Not the greatest hat in the world, but it was free. 

2) I took the picture of 324 live from Section 324. 

3) I went to the bathroom. Coming out of there, I saw someone I went to high school with. He stopped to start a conversation. I went right by him. 

4) I checked another section to see if somebody was in attendance. Negative. 

5) I got dinner from the WOW! (All that, and I made it back to my seat two minutes before the third quarter started. Note: Lady Usher was not there Monday. In fact, there was no usher in my section.) 

Man, Byron Scott even walks with his arms folded. Yuck. Oh, there's CP3 in a world of pain. When I saw him go down, I thought he was out for two or three weeks. Thankfully, it ain't so bad. I noticed a crazy Lincoln-Kennedy type correlation with Chandler and CP's injuries. 

Both were on a Monday game in my 10-game package. 

Both happened while each was trying to make a nice play.

Both went down in a heap and scared the shit out of me. 

Both games involved the Hornets blowing big leads (different ending, I know.) 

Both were controlling that particular game when they went down. 

Both times Paul was with me, though he wasn't supposed to be. (For the Chandler game, he bought a ticket in a different section and sat by me. I didn't ask him to or invite him to do that. I was with Tina. For the CP game, my first guest backed out, and Paul was my backup.)

All those together equal something but nothing major. I think this last one brings it home to the creepy side. I'm not making this up. During the timeout right before each injury, my section won a "prize" based on someone weaving in and out of cones faster than the competition. 

For the Chandler game, a dude dribbled around some cones to win us something from Sonic. Paul (and maybe three other people) went walking across the Arena to claim the prize. There was a deadline. He came back with a beer. He couldn't find the Sonic people, though one lady came back with some coupons. 

For the CP game, a kid rode a bike around some cones to win us a 2-piece meal from Scooters chicken. This time, the person announcing this to our section spoke really softly (only like three rows heard her) and left. Paul went to claim the prize (again before a deadline), along with maybe three other people. 

He came back with two coupons for the chicken, but it can't be redeemed at the Arena. It has to be used at one of four West Bank locations, on St. Claude or in Chalmette. I lost the coupons. 

To recap: Both Mondays a contestant was playing for Section 312. That contestant won both times. Both times the majority of our section had no clue we won. Both times Paul (who wasn't supposed to be with me) walked around the building to claim the terrible prize. Both times a star player went down a few plays later. 

Lessons: 1) Section 312 should not be allowed to ever win anything ever again. 2) They're not giving anything away at the Arena (except that hat I got). 3) Don't let Paul go anywhere if he wasn't invited in the first place. 4) Cones should be banished from the Arena. 

When the score was Hornets 78, Blazers 70 with 9:18 remaining, I turned to Paul and said: "They'll lose by 10." OK. I was off by two. But still. Look, I wasn't trying to be a negative nancy. I wasn't trying to do reverse psychology on myself. That was my "expert" opinion based on Byron Scott being the coach and the body language of the players. 

Did I stop cheering? No. I probably cheered as loud as I've ever cheered at a Hornets game (excepting Game 7 vs. the Spurs, of course). I yelled DEFENSE and clapped. I stood up the last eight minutes. I yelled at Scott to put in Hilton. I said Let's Go. And Come On. Etc. 

Know what the problem was? The rest of the crowd (it was full in the lower bowl) was the problem. They just sat there and took it like a prison bitch. It was pathetic. I blame the crowd just as much as Scott and the players. We didn't give them any energy. Which is strange because I've thought the crowds the past two seasons have been unbelievable. 

And that's why I broke this seat.  

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom likes discussing American Idol and its history. 

Mom: Who won before David Cook?

Me: Jordin Sparks.

Mom: Oh yeah. That was a fucked-up season. 

I then ask mom to name all the winners and all the runner-ups. When she gets to the fifth season, she says Taylor Hicks and Katharine McPhee. "Man, that season was fucked up." 

Mom watches a segment on some show about David Cook. "You hear that? Fucking music first. A girlfriend second. (She nods her head.) He has his priorities straight." 

I'm working on my material in my room when mom says from the hallway: "That fucking guy Joel on Talk Soup. He's so funny." 

E! shows a highlight of the show Bromance. "Bromance. What the fuck is that?" 

Mom and I are talking about the difference between the Metairie Randazzo's and the Harahan one. "Your dad went there (Harahan) at 8:30 on Saturday. Not a soul in there. Other place probably had a fucking line around the fucking building." 

Mom is religiously going to a tanning salon. She doesn't like the Mystic tan. "That's for fucking people who don't know how to let the fucking shit take them over." When she went the other day, however, she couldn't get a tan. "Place was fucking flooded. Well, the back part where I go was."  

COULD HAVE ADDED THE CHIHUAHUA IN THERE, TOO.

Besides talking about Warner's "fumble" and the lack of media coverage on it (can you say "they" wanted the Steelers to win?), my favorite topic to discuss from the Super Bowl is the commercials. I told you my top five, but I had strong feelings on several others (both in favor and not in favor). 

Namely, the Taco Bell one where a guy quickly advances a relationship with a woman he meets at a party. He calls her, gets dinner and introduces her to his parents. Several co-workers really liked this ad. I beg to differ. 

This was a ridiculous concept. That in itself is not a problem. Starting with a ridiculous concept is fine. But when you have a ridiculous concept, you need to run, no sprint, with it. Instead, Taco Bell jogged with it. Jogged. You jog in warmups. This was the SUPER BOWL. 

Yes, I have a solution. Well, Paul and I came up with a better finish on the way to the Hornets game Monday. Our idea involves adding two quick moments to the ad. Time-wise, they'd have to quicken the rest of the ad to fit these. But that wouldn't be too difficult. 

1) As the guy's mom says, "Is this her?" the woman should have a weird look on her face. Keep in mind, she was chewing during the parent introduction. There should have been an engagement ring in the enchilada. 

2) In shock, the woman stands up and gives a look to the guy. He stands as well and makes a gesture for her to face forward. She turns to see a priest. "Dearly beloved." 

And end scene. 

PARTING SHOT

D is reading a story about the Super Bowl. 

D: You see what happened in Arizona after Larry Fitzgerald's touchdown?

Me: Heidi came on? 

Marcus: Something like that.

THE DAILY TOP LIST

My top five bands of the 70s. (On the day the music died.)

5) The Rolling Stones.

Also would be in my top bands of the 60s.

4) The Eagles.

Greatest Hits Vol. 1. Doesn't get much better than that. 

3) Queen.

I have fond memories of a certain song in The Maroon office.

2) Aerosmith.

Mom has all my old toys in the attic.

1) The Steve Miller Band.  

Michael Phelps: He's a looker. He's a pacemaker. He's a midnight toker. (What does his mom have to say about all this?)