P.P.P.

Playoff Post Partum has come. Plotnik started watching his Shmlakers during their Playoffs run in April in Brooklyn and ended up on June 17 in the Worry Room of The Great Plotnik World Headquarters congratulating the Great PunkyDunky long distance on the phone.

Now it's all done. Sigh. What's next?

Certainly not the Plotzers, what a boring team.

Certainly not work -- are you kidding?

Life goes on. L.A. Blue's mom fell and broke her pelvis a few weeks ago and last night fell right out of her chair and broke four ribs. Plot got a text from Blue this morning that said: "Old Age Sucks."

Plot calls Mummy P. and asks what she's doing. "Hahhh!" she says. He and Duck will head down there next weekend.

Life goes on, but in real life no short guy like Plotnik throws down a slam dunk over a seven footer like old age, his mom's or his own.

Life goes on, but in real life Kobe Bryant does not bail you out in the last few seconds with an impossibly difficult jump shot that extends the game. Your best alternative is to stay happy and involved with whatever and whomever you've got, and when that's no longer possible figure out a way find it again.

You've got to be your own Kobe. Otherwise...you stand up, you don't care anymore, you're brittle and you fall over. Something cracks that is unmendable.

But next year -- the season starts all over again. That's all we have to do. Stick around. We'll do it all again.