Very little on this Earth can get me visibly flustered. One time, just before I presented my Senior Thesis to an assembled group of Business Professors, my group partner gave me his phone to look over his notes while he spoke. Unfortunately, when I opened Safari, a very aggressive porn video featuring no less than 5 sweaty people started playing on full volume. I had to speak for 15 minutes on why NCAA athletes should be paid after that and nailed it. Nerves of Steel, I tell you!
That being said, the other night, a friend of mine got me a courtside ticket to watch the Brooklyn Nets play the Charlotte Hornets. A matchup between the 10 and 14 seeds of the Eastern Conference usually wouldn’t garner much conversation, to the casual fan, but I am no mere mortal. I took note of every little thing that happened on the court.
I saw how much Frank Kaminsky hates playing with Charlotte. I saw that Dangelo Russell goes from looking like a kid suffering from severe ADHD to filled a Peach flavored swisher with an eighth of Brooklyn’s strongest Indica and house the entire blunt stoned in a matter of 5 minutes. I also saw Dwight Howard record a 32 point 30 rebound game, virtually all in the second half, and all on basically the same play. Strange happenings.
The main attraction, however, had me all hot and bothered. The National Anthem was playing, and like a dog chasing butterflies, my eyes wandered. That’s when I saw her.
If you are not aware, Lauren Holtkamp, is the only active female referee in the NBA, only the third ever, and sole recipient of my unconditional love.
That is, until 5 minutes ago, when my research told me she married another NBA ref recently, so I’m back on the market ladies.
Heartbreak aside, Lauren should be the logo for Feminism.
This lady stared Draymond Green, easily one of the most intense, intimidating players in the league, right in the eye and told him to Get Out Of My Face a couple of weeks ago.
On a nightly basis, she works in stride with the biggest, most physically gifted men in the world and doesn’t budge. Men who are often on edge, adrenaline coursing through their veins, who feel they can affect a referee’s decision making by arguing every single call that doesn’t go their way.
Look at bae here not even acknowledging the whiney punk bitch that is Chris Paul EVERY SINGLE TIME a call doesn’t go his way.
Not even Ron Jeremy can rattle her.
Check out this video I found in my phone after the game.
****Insert Video I email you following this email******
Was I trying to catch Kemba Walker lead his team to a massive second half comeback OR was I fanboy-ing over Lauren Holtkamp overwhelming professionalism? I don’t know. I blacked out from a euphoric overload of free sour patch kids and Queen Kamp that it’s all a blur.
Somebody call the President of Feminism (Beyonce?) and submit this photo for logo approval. This picture says it all.
What’s wrong? A little blood? How bout this. Take this tech, shut your mouth, and take your dramatic ass to the locker room for halftime. Oh, and quit kicking guys in the dick, that’s a bitch move. Chump.
Don’t change a thing, BooBoo Lauren.
Colby Wohlleb is a BBB (Big Brooklyn Blogger) looking to break into the content creation community of NYC through funny words and hardly apparent alliteration. To learn more about Colby, check out his blog here and his socials here. Listen to Colby's Bus Ride