The NBA season is finally drawing to a close, and it’s the time to put a bow on the interminable season behind us.

If you’re a features reporter and you cover the NBA as I did in the late '80s, this is the time of year when you take stock of the season and put it into some sort of perspective. I was never one for doing things the way everyone else did. In fact, my approach was to think of the most obvious way to do something then do the opposite. So when it came time for my 1988-89 NBA year-in-review, I set aside the stats sheets and the obvious angles (Michael Jordan did this, Larry Bird did that) and brought to our TBS audience the highlights in the form of a bedtime story for my 3-year-old daughter, Lindsay.

Lindsay and I had practiced our lines and were ready to knock it out quickly and charm the audience with the cutest little year-in-review they’d ever see. I ushered the crew—two grown men she’d never seen before—into her bedroom where they set up the camera and lights. And just before Lindsay’s call to the set, I could hear her downstairs, telling my wife, “I don’t wanna do it.”

My career flashed before my eyes as we did everything we could—short of cutting her out of the will—to get her to deliver her lines. We made faces, we plied her with marshmallows, we enlisted the aid of various stuffed animals, until four hours later we had enough to work with. I felt as pushy as Brooke Shields’ mother. If I ever get Lindsay’s permission (she’s 24 now), I’ll show you some of the outtakes.

In the meantime, here’s our NBA bedtime story from 1989. Sweet dreams.