My name is not Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am 36 years old, exactly one year older than the Minnesota Timberwolves, and I live in Minneapolis with thousands of my brothers and sisters. I have often thought that with any luck at all we could see the Wolves parade down Nicollet Mall on a perfect early summer afternoon, because when I was six my dad took me to see Doug West and the T-Wolves beat the Charlotte Hornets and ever since then I’ve believed, but I’ve had to be content with what I have.

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