Rob Deals with Divorce Darkness.

Shh! I have a secret. If I reveal it, I could get killed. Yeah, it's pretty dark. Then again, yesterday was a dark day in California. No, It had nothing to do with the marriage bunnies hopping rampant around the countryside. My blog doesn't deal with those issues. I deal with divorce. Read the title. Thunderclouds and hailstorms. That's me. Rainbows and weddings, that's for somebody else. As for the rainbows, I wish them all the happiness of their straight counterparts.

Ok. Fine. I wish them more, but I wish more than a 50/50 shot for their straight counterparts too. Especially this counterpart. Now my counterpart has turned counter to my part and I'm here typing in the dark. I'm hiding from California.

No, my secret is darker than any man/man love. It's a love the burns deep in every Californian, except me. I'm talking about the Laker love. And it's a love as true as the gold on their jerseys. I think if you took a poll, more Californians would like to mount Kobe Bryant than Paris Hilton. If they could keep him over their mantle, I know a few who'd do that too.

Yeah, no worries. I'm not on either of those lists. It's ok, I doubt Kobe or Paris are mounting a Rob crusade either. If you are on such a campaign though, let me know. I might be able to tell you where to track one down and bag him. For now, I'm in hiding.

See, I'm not a Lakers fan. In fact, I don't even like them. Yes, yes, I hear the hush vacuum as all the oxygen is sucked from the room. It's true though, I live in an undisclosed California location, and I hate the Lakers.

Shh! What's that noise outside?

I'm more of a Suns fan. Sun-folk, don't put your glory fist in the air just yet either. When I say "fan" I really mean I prefer them, but at this end of the scale, that's like saying I'm more of a hangnail fan than a castration fan. It's true, but I'm not really looking forward to the next hangnail party.

Basketball isn't my sport, that's all. In school I was a wrestler. In wrestling we had a slogan, "I would rather have wrestled and lost than to have played basketball." I'm thinking a bunch of guys getting married in California yesterday can say the same thing.

I liked football. MyUnwife was the basketball fan and one thing we did share was our love of hating the Lakers. If it burns deep enough, you can actually sustain a marriage on that. Bad sex? Horrible finances? No communication? You can have all these things, but if you hate the Lakers together your hearts will thump together in a pitter-pat chorus. It sounds like a million basketballs pelting Phil Jackson. It got a good beat, and I would certainly dance to it.

Maybe that's what happened with MyUnwife and I: We were distracted. In the early days we proclaimed our hatred with the spit from our mouths and the spite from our tongues.

"Lakers Suck!"

"Yeah!"

Time and age have a way of mellowing things. Towards the end, our hatred produced barely enough saliva to blow spit wads at the Staples Center while driving past. We stopped following the Lakers' failures in our "die of sudden death" scrap book, we no longer attended water balloon rallies. We stopped.

"Go not Lakers..."

"yeah…"

So now we're both on our own again. Our hatreds burn as bright as ever; We're older we're wiser and our hatred is our torch lighting the way. A way for other hater moths to find us in the fog, and embrace us in disbelief. It's good, like a stinky cheese, we're pungent, we're strong, we're ripe and ready.

Last night the Lakers lost, and MyUnwife and I exchanged our glee.

"Lakers Suck!"

"You bet your @#$%'n ass they suck!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

Yeah, we're ready.