Valentine's Day fantasy: Proposing at the Timberwolves game

I'm going to propose to you at a sporting event, my sweet.

Our love is so true, so tested, so pure, and so right that I cannot deprive approximately 11,000 strangers (according to paid attendance) of the chance to observe a moment that we will surely reflect upon for the next five decades of healthy marriage.

I was initially planning to propose to you at Target Field this summer past, but that idea ultimately felt really trite, what with other creative, romantic fellas such as myself kneeling before their queens at the Twins' new palace.  

I then considered a proposal at a Vikings game in mid-December, my snow angel, although that became the contest against the Giants that was moved to Detroit after 17 inches of snow felled the Metrodome roof. I felt the omen an inauspicious one, just as I concurrently considered the look on your father's face if I were to tell him, "I'm proposing to Detroit."  

I also gauged kneeling before you at the Xcel Energy Center, but then remembered that you were once puked on by a Nashville Predators fan in the ladies' room, so I wanted to navigate around that ugly association.

But now, on Valentine's Day, the timing is perfect. I will propose to you during the Timberwolves vs. Portland Trailblazers game on Monday eve, and the moment will serve as the foundation for the remainder of our fruitful and beloved days (and nights). Target Center really can be a romantic place if one imbibes enough Amaretto, and I know how much you adore the Blazers' LaMarcus Aldridge--so everything is in place. I've planned this to perfection.

First, we will arrive via light rail, just to start the night off with a real big-city feel. Upon our arrival at the arena, we will retire to the same seats we've enjoyed all season long via the team's "10-Game Flex Pack."  (As always, you were so wise to keep me abreast of the great savings about town, my dove). I will then purchase for us a copious portion of nachos, so we can share a cute moment when you have to remove a stray dab of cheese or wedge of chip from my winter beard. Then, prior to the player introductions, I will buy three Mich Golden Lights for myself (I'll need to ease the nerves) along with your usual double Amaretto with a splash of sour and no ice.

As a bundled mass of city folk and families from Minot arrive in their respective seats, we will drink and laugh and people-watch, my sweet flower. Soon, a gaggle of gangly high school kids will sing the national anthem, and while I place my hand over my chest in salute I will discreetly reach into my breast pocket and secure the ring box.

The visitors will then be introduced and public address announcer Rod Johnson will say, "From Texas, LaMarcus Aldridge," and you'll swoon playfully while I order us six more drinks and two pretzels (no salt, I know) while concurrently draining the remnant of my plastic beer bottle in hopes of minimizing my flop sweat.

The lights will go out and a blast of daunting theme music will play over the crowd. The Timberwolves' introductions will begin and I'll breathe slowly as the names of "Flynn" (unless Luke Ridnour is again the starter) and "Johnson" (unless he's passed over for a hotter hand) and "Beasley" (if he's returned to health) and "Milicic" (if he's returned to health) are called, one by one.

And for the final introduction, Johnson's voice will boom, "At forward, from UCLA, your All-Star, Kevin Love!" And at this exact moment, at the mention of Love, the lights will return to the arena and I will look in your Timberwolf-blue eyes and I will kneel down upon the concrete below your beautiful feet beholding your New Balance sneakers--not caring in the slightest if I accrue excess nacho on my slacks--and the Minot people will say, "Lookit, lookit," and I will take your soft hand in mine.

Our images will appear on the screen overhead for all to see and I will voice a few choice words that I've memorized while you're watching your reality crap in the other room, and I will present to you the ring and your screams of joy will echo throughout the half-filled arena.

And just after we hug I've arranged for Kevin Love to run over to our seats and share in our timeless embrace and say to you the words that I paid the organization $1,500 for: "You're Dave's All-Star, Jeannie." He'll turn his back and deftly show us the surname on the rear of his jersey, and look back to us one more time, and knowingly nod, before returning to his place on the court.

You are my All-Star, Jeannie. We'll make such a wonderful team. Happy Valentine's Day, my love.

(P.S.  Due to the cost of the Kevin Love appearance, I'll be unable to finance the remainder of the "Flex Pack" for the duration of this season.) 


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