A Modest Proposal: Catman 2.0

Nacho: If you're a fan of the Panthers, then you know all about our boy Greg Good, better known as Catman to his fans. Catman was at the Bobcats game, being his joyful, boisterous self, causing a ruckus and distracting free-throw shooting Hornets. He's great for the fans, and always gets himself on tv.

In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I'll put forth a modest proposal: Greg needs to stick to football, and let someone else be the Catman for the Bobcats. And that person, should be me.

For the night the Bobcats found their Permanent Fan of the Game, click on...

Nacho cont'd: Brethren had scored some sweet tickets for the Bobcats/Knicks game last week, and through a series of wacky, well-connected events, I ended up in the halftime show. This halftime show played to my strengths: rather than attempting a half court shot or scooting around on a tricycle, all I had to do was select one of five oversized presents and hope I didn't get the one with Rufus and his silly string in it.

I ended up getting two tickets situated directly beneath the basket. As Brethren had already headed back up to New Yawk City, Mammy joined me in a night of revelry. We were told we were given access to the Hardwood Club, an ultra-exclusive dining room with free food and free hooch. There was some confusion about whether or not this access was, in fact, granted, but they let us in anyway. At the end of our delicious, free meal, we made our way to our seats and were informed that we were, in fact, not granted said privilege, and would not be allowed back in at halftime. This suited us just fine.

Mammy & I got to our seats and I started giggling. A lot. I mean, you would to if you were this close to the game.

We ordered beers, and the game began. About halfway through the first quarter a Lady Cat turned around and asked, "Weren't you the one who won the tickets?" I gleefully responded affirmatively. I mean, even for a stud like me, it's not every day a professional cheerleader remembers you. She was even kind enough to take a picture with me as I stammered out some garbled mix of "Merry Holiday New Years Boobs." Yeah, I let her down gently.

The Lady Cats endorse me as Catman 2.0

The Hornets got out to an early lead and never looked back, so I decided to make the most of the seats. Every time there was a free-throw situation, I ceaselessly talked shit to Peja Stojakovic about his inability to grow a real man's beard (beard seen here.) Coming out of a time out, I started cheering, rather obnoxiously, and the badass camera guy seated in front of us turned his magnificent machine on me, and suddenly my howling, screaming, crazed countenance was splattered across the Jumbotron and pumping up the fans. It's quite mind-melting to be flapping one's arms and, out of the corner of your eye, see yourself flapping 30 feet tall. This set a precedent and the camera guy and I became comrades.

At one point, I caught the game ball as it errantly flew out of bounds. Wait, it gets more impressive: I snagged it with my right hand, and didn't spill a drop of the beer that was in my left. Game balls feel nice....I said game, right?

A few minutes later, Gerald Wallace shot down the floor on a fast break, and ended up getting fouled and careening our way. He stopped just short of slapping me in the face with his dong, but did make eye contact and give me a low five. I can now die happy. (Side note: despite how close you are to the floor, you really have no idea how tall pro ball players are until you're junk-high.)

The crowning moment came in middle of the fourth quarter: The Bobcats had cut the lead to single digits and the Rocky theme came on the PA system. Naturally, I started shadowboxing and the cameraman rewarded me. The entire arena feared my wikid quick jabs and I turned around and did the whole Sly Stallone arms-raised thing. It thoroughly pumped up the crowd and further cemented my legend.

The rest of the night, I stalked from bar to bar in downtown Charlotte and folks kept recognizing me. The most common refrain was "Hey! Fan of the Game, right? HEY GUYS, IT'S THE GUY! THE BEARD! DUDE YOU GOTTA TAKE THIS!"
< /proceeds to take shot>

All in all, I feel I ran a great campaign to become Catman 2.0. Alas, I live in Hollywood and rarely get to see our boys play live. When I am home, however, you can bet your sweet ass, I'm going to as many games as possible. Now, I'm off to go purchase the rest of my Bobcat outfit for the Clippers game.

Also, if you're reading this, Adam Morrison, I promise I'm not stalking you. Yes, the bearded fellow who talked to you at the Panther game was the same guy on the Jumbotron, but I have no ulterior motives, I'm just a fan.

A fan, with a free hat.