Perhaps I May, One Day, Strongly Consider Doing Julie Browman

"Say what you want about the nuggets. . . " my friend's voice trailed off as if interrupted. However, only the sound of the TV populated the background; it was the first game of the 2007 season, and it seemed like everyone was working out their in-game kinks. He took a sip of his drink and reloaded the thought which he attempted to espouse once again, "Say what you want about this nugget team but. . ." He trailed off again unable to complete his thought. This time, however, there was no need to try one more time. He didn't have to say anything, the silence spoke volumes to both of us.

On the television, the Nugget's Altitude halftime TV crew sat. Julie Browman and Bill Hanzlik were busy jawing about the first half. Losing one's train of thought during the Nugget's halftime show was not an uncommon occurrence. The mediocre analysis wasn't enough to hold one's attention. Often, someone new to the Altitude halftime show would be thrown off by Hanzlik's abortion of a mustache. Why Hanzlik kept the fetal remains of a mustache never to be on his face was anybody's guess. You would think Hastings Or Marlowe would throw a Mach 3 his direction; if not outright, through the guise of a secret santa at the Christmas party. But Altitude viewers had no such luck, and maybe, that was for the best; symbolically the unshaven placental mustache stood as a harsh reminder of the pre-Carmelo years, when Denver basketball wasn't so pretty, and yet, like the mustache, had no prospect for change.



But my friend and I had seen Hanzlik's upper lip monstrosity before, and though we found its presence offensive, its shock value had long since worn off. No, this was different-- it was almost like we were re-calibrating something. Our eyes were squarely on Julie Browman, and my friend, not in a manner meant to be creepy, but rather, in a way that indicated his genuine concern and confusion, broke the silence: "Man. .uhh. . .should I be Aroused right now. . .?"

Even though his tone was that of a bewildered child, my instinctive reaction reflected the awkwardness of the question. "JESUS man. What the fuck??!! ARE YOU AROUSED?!" His answer allayed my fears and coincided with my own thoughts "No. . no. . .but I mean. . . SHOULD I be?"

I completely understood. As people, we go through our whole lives with ratings. 5 stars. thumbs up. And when it comes to women, they fall into a neat 1 to 10 scale of do-ability. Consciously or subconsciously we rate every woman we encounter throughout our whole lives, and after a certain amount of time, each woman falls nicely into a number. Given enough data, nothing surprises us anymore-- some woman can jump up a few points, some woman can fall a few points, but these swings usually happen over weeks, months and years-- Not seconds. 2 months ago I would have considered this last statement gospel, now everything I had grown to know as true had to be thrown out because of one glaring counter-example: one Julie Browman.

With video camera shots at a distance, Browman is in the immediate 7-8-9 range depending on your specific likes. It's almost a no brainer- cute, chipper, can talk Nuggets- what's not to like? However when the camera gets a little closer, Browman drastically drops to the 4-5-6 range if not lower. It leads to a frustrating situation wherein all of your womanly calibrations gathered throughout your lifetime are thrown into question as various camera shots of the deceptive demi-goddess/sort of busted-faced girl flashes across the screen. You cannot peg this girl down, and you begin to realize despite the copious amounts of data, the tireless categorizing of everyone you encounter, and the nights spent pondering various degrees of hotness-- your life's work of rating the opposite sex is, at best, inadequate.

It's not just on different camera shots mind you. Mrs. Browman is just an Oddity (or is it Ms. Browman?. . .On those distance camera shots I'm hoping for 'Ms.' --Otherwise I hope it's 'Mrs.' cause "all of god's creatures need someone special" yknow?). Check Exhibit A below.




Both shots are Julie Browman. Both are even at approximately the same DISTANCE. However, the girl on the top is super hot; the girl on the bottom? ehhh "*shrugs*. . . she's a cool girl". The girl on top you can spend a day just silently gazing into her eyes; the girl on the bottom won't shut the fuck up as she loudly broadcasts her insecurities for anyone within earshot willing to listen. I want to do the girl on top; the girl on the bottom is her best friend that I settle for at the end of the night because 'topnotch' up there is outta my league.

And yet she IS the same person. We will go through the season, and 82+ times we will be presented with this anomaly. And the best we will be able to do each time is this inconsistent categorization. By game 10 it'll be an annoyance. By game 20 we'll be over it. By game 30, because we have long since discontinued our categorization attempts, we be will forced to cease seeing her in a sexual manner, but rather, as a eunuch or an asexual cherub. Possibly as a basketball loving nun who, out of sheer compassion and a duty to god, took in a man with a horribly disfigured upper lip and saved his life by starting a basketball halftime show in a football town. And, By the end of the season, it'll be a non issue.

Over the offseason we'll forget about Browman. We'll fall into the trap of hubris we do every offseason-- as the memory of Browman fades and we rate more and more woman, we'll forget about our rating system's inadequacies; the carefree days of summer among the backdrop of cloudless skies will allow us to believe nothing is wrong.

We know everything. We know all.

This will continue until the first game of the season wherein we'll be rudely awakened. Julie Browman will grace us with her presence and we'll have the horrid realization that all is not right. This is the exact point where my friend and I stood at the first halftime of the season. Our silence was merely the re-realization that our lifelong assumptions weren't all correct. The realization that, in life, nothing is for certain. Each of god's creatures are unique. You can never know everything; there is always room for improvement. And above all, there's always an exception to the rule.

My friend tried to speak one more time, but it was obvious his original thought had long since exited his mind. Instead his comment reflected the moment "Say what you will about this Nugget team. . .but we have one of the Most Compelling halftime shows in the league!!!" He was right. Our halftime hosts could sit silently at the desk for 15 minutes, and he would still be right. There was no such halftime show in any SPORT, let alone basketball, quite like this one.

And yet, as the second half started and we heard Hasting's voice, our relief was palpable. We had survived the first of the many halftimes this season, and in a weird way, we were better for it.

-*Sim-u-l8r*-