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Jack Nicholson's Diary
Rick Reilly
July 26, 2004
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July 26, 2004

Jack Nicholson's Diary

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Dear Diary,

I think I'm goin' freakin' nuts, man. I don't make movies anymore. I don't shower. I don't shave. I just stare into this laptop and write to you.

It's been almost six months since we traded the greatest player on earth for three guys who can't play dead in a Quincy episode. Right now Staples Center is about as exciting as an acid reflux seminar. You talk about Heartburn.

What did they do to my beautiful Lakers? Who the hell's idea was it to hand the franchise over to a guy who, as I write this, is Still on trial 30 games into the season? And why the hell is Kato Kaelin testifying day after day?

Because the stupid trial goes every day, Kobe can't fly back and forth to play, which means we're getting beat like rented mules. By the freakin' Nuggets no less!

It's not just the losing and the half-filled seats. The buzz is gone. I used to see people from the industry at games, you know? Chris Rock, Adam Sandler, Cameron Diaz. You know who was on celebrity row with me last night? Florence Henderson, Urkel, and that "I'm spicy!" guy from the Burger King ads.

Is this as good as it gets?

Lakers floor seats used to go for $1,500. Now they're $27.50 with a chalupa and a Slava Medvedenko bobblehead thrown in. I had some guy sitting next to me last night who said he got his ticket with two Slurpee proof-of-purchase seals. All night the schmo is going, "Jack, you know what your problem is? You can't handle the truth!!!"

Maybe he's right. This Lamar Odom guy we got plays defense the way Kathleen Turner diets. Brian Grant couldn't score on Lil' Kim. Shaq's gone. Karl Malone's gone. Derek Fisher signed with Golden State. Did you ever think you'd see that? A Laker signin' with freakin' Golden State! Worse, Gary Payton's still here.

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