For the first time in many years, I got to attend a Harlem Globetrotters basketball game last night. Some kind person was nice enough to donate 50 tickets to The Hope Center so that we could attend with a bunch of our kids and their parents, and we gladly accepted the gift.

To add to the silliness of the night, my female counterpart at the Hope Center and I decided to dress up like Superfans. She decked herself out in the most outstanding and hyperbolic display of red, white and blue I have ever seen. She was ready and willing to root her Globetrotters onto victory.

Not to be outdone, I went crazy in a green and gold motif. I felt as though, surely, this would be the night when the Globetrotters would fall. The streak had to die. It had to end. I sported the mullet wig, sweet shades, homemade jersey and metallic gold pants. I was totally hot.

But alas, the Washington Generals let their halftime lead slip away amid a flurry of dunks and chicanery, once again the losers in one of the longest running rivalries in sports history.

Apparently I was a little too boisterous in my support for the Gens, because the kids we were with really rubbed it in when my boys went down in defeat. One girl was particularly merciless.

Girl: Are you going to go home and cry?

Me: I'll try to be tough, but I might just have to cry myself to sleep on my gigantic pillow.

Girl: You're going to cry. You're going to cry and your little baby is going to look at you and say, "You're just like me. You're crying like a little baby. What a baby."

Ouch. I guess that's what I get for being the only person standing, yelling and screaming every time the Generals hit a three or took the lead.

Fair Dinkum