Zuckerberg turns up at home of Linsanity
It's a holiday weekend in America and, this week, the most important issue hasn't been the national debt or the dearth of novel political thought.
It's the entry of Jeremy Lin of the New York Knicks into the national consciousness.
Just this morning, ESPN announced that it had fired an online headline writer for offering this on Lin's first defeat as a starter: "Chink in the Armor."
And now, as I am torn between my affection for a former Golden State Warrior (most do better when they leave) and my fondness for the Cubans that own the Dallas Mavericks, I am suddenly assaulted by a very odd sight: Mark Zuckerberg.
Yes, behind the Knicks bench at Madison Square Garden, there sits the Facebook CEO who, thus far, has been to ball sports what Genghis Khan was to peace talks.
Indeed, Zuckerberg's only fondness for sports seems to have been of the bloody variety. After his declaration that he would only eat meat that he had personally killed, one wondered whether any animals would be safe from his sights.
So why the sudden interest in the NBA and, presumably, Lin?
Yes, they both went to Harvard. But Lin was there long after Zuckerberg was off to be Silicon Valley's new point guard. And the Knick, well, graduated.
So some might assume this is beautiful marketing from Facebook. As mortal enemy Google is mired in ever more suggestions that its iniquity knows no bounds, someone must have whispered to Zuckerberg: "Get next to the saint."
And there he is in the second row on the Knicks side, bathing in secondary beatification.
I am excluding the slight possibility that he is there to witness the arrival of J.R. Smith, one of the less charming players in the NBA. So I have contacted Facebook to see whether its CEO got his tickets from Lin or merely bought them on StubHub.
In the meantime, Twitter has begun to shudder with this extraordinary sighting--both through the misspelled "Zuckerburg" hashtag and the more accurate "Zuckerberg."
I wonder if Zuckerberg and Lin will pop out for a cup of tea--and, perhaps, some freshly killed bison--after the game.