Wall Takes Care Of His Own

There I was: settled in for a long evening of basketball-related entertainment, when all of a sudden my Twitter and my Tumblr and my Facebooks erupted alerting me to not only the announcement of the new Springsteen album in March, but that the first single was already here. And there. And everywhere for my listening (and re-listening and re-listening enjoyment). The night was shot. Eleven games that I suddenly realized I was going to watch with only one eye. Half a heart. I stayed up late, cats and kittens. Doing my best. If I failed you, I apologize. This is Bruce, after all. And some things are just more important than the fact that anyone who owned a Nugget or a Sixer on their fantasy team made out like bandits last night. Anyway, back to hoops. If D.C. has any strengths – and I’m not necessarily saying they do, so don’t go quoting me – it’s that you never know which sloppy player is going to make a name for himself on any given night. Someone will. And it will be sloppy … unless...