The Philadelphia 76ers haven’t been to the NBA Finals since 2001, and they haven’t won a championship since 1983. They’re all washed up, but their city still stinks. They’re has-beens, and it’s been so long that nobody remembers why they “had been” in the first place. They’re one of the oldest teams in the league. How old? So old that their first draft pick was Jesus. So old that their first shoe sponsors were bare feet. They once started all-time greats such as Wilt the Stilt and Julius Irving. But in the past 15 years, their front office has done more bad business than a Ponzi-scheming klepto junkie with your mama’s checkbook. All that’s left is the awkward shell of a once-great franchise and the sour funk of mediocrity. They shoot like they’ve got roofies in their Chiclets. They run like they’ve got boulders in their Nikes. They’re soft as jelly doughnuts on a hot day. The Miami Heat, however, are on fire, so we’re gonna spark Philly like a fat blunt of krip weed and leave the twisted roach and ashes in the gutters outside the American Airlines Arena.
Tue., April 3, 7:30 p.m., 2012