Congratulations to the Detroit Pistons on breaking the tyranny of Western oppression. Congratulations also for grabbing the national headlines for all of eleven seconds before the media returned to talking about the Lakers.
In the playoffs, the Lakers were 4-0 when Kobe flew in from his Colorado rape trial. That's a great statistic, eh? That's like pointing out what the unemployment rate was while the President was having oral sex in the Oval Office. My favorite part of the series was watching Kobe Bryant so utterly driven to frustration by the Pistons defense that he eventually was jacking up three pointers from the bench during time outs.
And now that the playoffs are finished, there are some questions we have to ask, America. Why did the entire country suddenly develop a profound awe for Kobe, and demand everyone give him credit for playing so well in the playoffs? It's not like Kobe was shaking off the flu, or rehabbing an injury, or spending his days in a soup kitchen feeding the homeless. He's fending off rape charges during the day, and playing basketball at night. He's like the opposite of Batman.
Quite frankly, I refuse to open my "Athletic Memories Hall Of Fame" for a player splitting time between a sport and a full-court press to avoid federal prison. Kobe's a hero? Sure. In fact, Kobe may be the greatest hero of all. Imagine how much bigger Joe Montana would be if he'd been up on sexual assault charges the night before Super Bowl XXIII. Think of how the legend of Kirk Gibson would have been elevated if the week before his World Series pinch-hit home run, he had beaten a nun to death with a sock full of pennies in front of an orphanage. I guess it's all in the context.
By the way, Kobe's official stance is that he is an adulterer, but not a rapist. He also admits to killing the sheriff, but staunchly denies shooting the deputy.
I don't want it to seem like I'm down on Kobe. In fact, I wish the NBA had used him more. I wanted to see Kobe in one of those promos where players talk about what they'd do with the NBA Trophy. Can't you picture a promo with Kobe and the trophy sitting on a bed in a hotel room, with him saying he wasn't going to take no for an answer?
In spite of all this, I enjoyed the series, especially the two games in Los Angeles. There's just something about L.A., the city so shallow that x-ray technicians refere to themselves as "filmmakers." My favorite part of the entire Championship? The enormous pair of Los Angeles breasts on the woman sitting over Phil Jackson's right shoulder in every bench shot. In L.A., it's okay to use the Finals as a resume tape.
In horse racing, something big happened. I know this because people were pretending to be interested in horse racing for a couple of weeks, and then it all went away. You know my favorite part about horse racing? When you hear about a good horse, you never find out that his dad is his manager, and he's trying to hold out for more money.
I love the overanalysis of horse racing. One analyst, with a straight face, said Smarty Jones was ready for his big day. Really? How does that happen, does the horse keep a day planner? He comes out and runs on Friday, nobody's there. He runs on Saturday, two hundred thousand people are cheering him on. He comes back on Sunday, nobody's there. I doubt the horse cared too much, especially once he got the concept of "stud."
Lebron James is going to the Olympics. Great. I hope he took some shop classes in high school, because right now Athens needs a team of carpenters and construction workers a lot more than it needs a team of athletes.
It was a fun first few months of the baseball season. Roger Clemens is pitching pretty well for a forty-year old retiree. Every time I call a Barry Bonds home run, it's all I can do to keep from yelling "The needle...and the damage done." And the Yankees early season struggles had Derek Jeter's career expectation going from the Hall Of Fame to dying alone on the soiled floor of an opium den with a needle in his arm, surrounded by overdue library books. Nice of Yankees fans not to jump the gun.
Yankee Alex Rodriguez accepted the Babe Ruth award for hitting the most home runs in baseball last year. Coincidentally, the Babe was another player the Yankees bought from somebody who was strapped for cash.
Cubs outfielder Moises Alou has revealed rather than wear batting gloves, he urinates on his hands to toughen them up. Sadly, Alou is the only quality reliever Chicago has right now.
The average baseball player's salary has fallen to 2.49 million this year. That probably means we'll see them in the offseason at farmer's markets, selling their autographs for quick cash. And not just Darryl Strawberry this time.
Labels: Lakers, MLB, NBA
