Basketball


In the face of logic and ravages of age, the Boston Celtics are in the midst of a revival and have a real shot at making a run in the NBA playoffs.

But in Game 1, the Celtics came out flat against the Atlanta Hawks. A bad call on a jump ball caused their point guard to lose his temper and bump a referee. They lost, and had to play the second game without him.

They did win, bringing the series back to Boston tied 1-1. After the game, that guard was apologetic and thankful to his teammates, but also surprisingly brash.

“I feel like we’ve already won the series,” he said.

Meet Rajon Rondo, basketball’s answer to the one and only Pedro Martinez. (more…)

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The sight of these two together makes you sick? Sorry. I cant help you.

I didn’t really want to weigh in here on this. Namely, basketball only means so much to me, so I didn’t expect to get caught up in this one way or the other. I just wanted LeBron James to pick a team and have all this news escape my life.

Then he picked a team and the sports world lost their collective minds.

There is real, pure, misguided hate being slung around right now. People are furious at LeBron James, calling him a coward, a traitor, an egomaniac, a jerk, a gutless puke; really, they’re calling him anything you can think of.

And to everyone who’s anywhere from furious or upset about this situation, or hoping the new James-Dwyane Wade-Chris Bosh triumvirate in Miami crashes and burns, I’ll say this:

You need to wake up.

The easiest way is to go through every point that folks are upset over, and explain why it’s not that big a deal.

1. HE BETRAYED THE CLEVELAND CAVALIERS

I like this one, because it’s the easiest to knock down.

Anyone who thinks he owed it to the Cavs to stick around has never had a less-than-great job. Imagine, if you will, that you’re hired by a company right out of college. The money’s decent and you hang around for a few years, but after a while, you start to realize that your potential there is limited, promotions are rare, and you’ll be spinning your wheels the longer you stay.

One day, five other companies who are more appealing come calling, begging you to join them. And two of your friends were just hired by one of them, and it’s in a city where you’ll have more fun in your down time. And your current company? Their entire argument for your staying revolves around, “well, you were here first.” If you’re not leaving that company, you’re either a fool or you hate yourself.

Every move the Cavs have made to surround LeBron James with a championship-level cast has only worked to handcuff the team in salary cap terms, and none of the moves have worked to make the team markedly better. Ben Wallace? Shaq? Antawn Jamison? Every other team had at least the potential to win, especially Miami and Chicago. Cleveland had only this:

“If you leave, we’ll kill ourselves.”

If the only thing keeping me with a company was guilt, I’d be hightailing it out of that disaster-to-be, too.

And if this guy were my boss? Jesus. Get me out of there.

LeBron James didn’t betray the Cavs. They betrayed themselves.

2. HE’S A COWARD WHO THREW AWAY HIS LEGACY

This argument says that “Michael Jordan never would’ve joined forces with Magic Johnson/Isiah Thomas/Charles Barkley/Hakeem Olajuwon/etc.” These fans and writers are furious that LeBron, apparently, is throwing away his talent and his chance to build his own team into a champion, and that he doesn’t have Jordan’s killer instinct.

Now, is it LeBron’s fault that he didn’t have the characteristics so many wanted him to have? So many have pinned that on him, the next Jordan, the next Magic, that guy who can single-handedly carry a team to multiple championships. But what if he’s just a guy who wants to play basketball, who isn’t interested in that kind of legacy, but instead interested in the fun of playing basketball for money? Many are furious that LeBron would lower himself to being Wade’s second banana. They seem to be even more furious that LeBron himself doesn’t see it that way.

And on that note, no one has ever won a championship by themselves. Just about all of them had Hall-of-Famers and All-Stars around them. In case you forgot:

  • Michael Jordan: Scottie Pippen, Dennis Rodman, Horace Grant
  • Magic Johnson: Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, James Worthy, Bob McAdoo, Byron Scott
  • Larry Bird: Kevin McHale, Robert Parish, Dennis Johnson, Bill Walton
  • Julius Erving: Moses Malone, Maurice Cheeks
  • Tim Duncan: David Robinson, Manu Ginobli, Tony Parker
  • Kevin Garnett: Paul Pierce, Ray Allen, Rajon Rondo
  • Kobe Bryant: Shaquille O’Neal, Pau Gasol, Derek Fisher, hell, even Ron Artest
  • Isiah Thomas: Rodman, Joe Dumars, Bill Laimbeer
  • Hakeem Olajuwon: Clyde Drexler, Kenny Smith, Otis Thorpe, Robert Horry (who helped a lot of other folks on this list, too)

If he stays in Cleveland, he never has a chance to join this list, either in the bold part or the help part. And the last time I checked, playing for less money for a chance to win was a good thing.

3. HE’S AN EGOMANIAC WHO LEFT IN THE WORST WAY POSSIBLE

Now, if I did decided to leave, would I have had a self-serving, one-hour special dedicated to it? No. But I’m not in the NBA, either.

The NBA, more than any other league on this continent, lives on egomaniacs. Chris Bosh had a documentary film crew following him around while talking to teams. Kobe Bryant used a rape charge as “everyone is against me!” fuel for his career. Long ago, Dennis Rodman helped jump-start reality t.v., Michael Jordan started the idea of a player as a “brand,” Latrell Sprewell tried to kill his coach and got away with it, with his contract in place … honestly, LeBron holding a sham special in Greenwich, Conn., is supposed to deeply, deeply offend me?

Cleveland fans will say it was the ultimate stab in the back, a humiliation of epic proportions. Maybe it’s true. But if you didn’t see it coming, you don’t know how the NBA works. The NBA is professional wrestling, right down to the “Superstar” designation and the maybe-they-are, maybe-they-aren’t fixed games. It’s a league of personalities, not teams, and looking at it any other way is to just be purposely blind to it.

Speaking of Cleveland fans…

4. HE STABBED CLEVELAND FANS IN THE HEART

Well, if he meant so much to you, maybe you shouldn’t have booed him in his last home game. And maybe you shouldn’t now be crucifying him for not winning you a championship all by himself. Really, the nerve of that guy!

Another thing, the idea of Cleveland being justified in burning his jersey is ridiculous. Cleveland is not the first city to lose a great player in a sport to free agency or a crazy trade. They will not be the last. But they act like this is unique to them. Well, tell that to:

  • Atlanta: Dominique Wilkins
  • Boston: Roger Clemens, Johnny Damon, Phil Esposito, Bobby Orr, Curtis Martin
  • Chicago: Greg Maddux, Jeremy Roenick, Chris Chelios, Scottie Pippen
  • Edmonton: Wayne Gretzky, Mark Messier, Grant Fuhr, Jari Kurri, Adam Graves, and the rest of the Oilers
  • Miami: The 1997 Marlins, the 2003 Marlins
  • Milwaukee: Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, C.C. Sabathia, Ray Allen
  • Minnesota: Kevin Garnett, Johan Santana
  • New York: Tom Seaver
  • Oakland: Catfish Hunter, Reggie Jackson, Rollie Fingers, Baron Davis
  • Orlando: Shaq
  • Philadelphia: Charles Barkley
  • Phoenix: Amar’e Stoudemire (remember that? Like, three days ago?)
  • Pittsburgh: Barry Bonds, Bobby Bonilla
  • Seattle: Ken Griffey, Jr., Randy Johnson, Alex Rodriguez, the SuperSonics

I’ll stop there, but obviously, with a little more time, I could go on forever.

I’ll speak on one of these, Johnny Damon. When Damon left the Red Sox for the Yankees, I was furious. But my anger was at the Red Sox, for creating this situation. And, later, for the fans for turning on him when he’d just helped the team win its first championship in 86 years. They were mad at him for taking the money. To them, I said (and still say), “when you turn down an extra $12 million, then we can talk.” I have a Damon t-shirt that’s a little worn, but I still wear now and again. Sometimes, people give me crap for it. And I always give it right back to them. I remember the good, and I don’t hold it against him because he exercised his right as an adult.

Now, if for some unknown reason, Wade had left the Heat and joined Cleveland, does anyone think those fans wouldn’t be holding a parade right now? Of course they would. But that’s not how it worked, so they get to act like a giant group of entitled babies.

Cleveland, you just watched the best player you’ll ever have, and for seven years. His team did little to improve the situation, and when he leaves, you burn his jersey?

I have no sympathy for you. None.

Larry Bird, 1991 NBA Hoops checklist

I’d like to think that, somewhere, Larry Bird was bummed.

So, it’s been quiet around here, mainly thanks to an epic trip to Chicago. I landed last week, and eight hours later, Jonathan Toews and the Chicago Blackhawks were lifting the Stanley Cup on the Flyers’ home ice, sending the city into a frenzy. It was unbridled mayhem, nothing but good-natured folks going out of their minds over their hockey team finally reaching the promised land, 49 years after their last trip.

Last night, I was in Massachusetts, again just in time for another championship game. This time, the Boston Celtics and Los Angeles Lakers were writing the next chapter in their history, taking their series to a Game 7.

Needless to say, it didn’t go as well.

♦ ♦ ♦

First, the Hawks. Of course, I’m a Bruins fan first. The Bruins might mean more to me than any other team I follow, really. But I’ve always had a soft spot for the Blackhawks, dating to the days of Jeremy Roenick and Chris Chelios (who, at 48, is still kicking with the Atlanta Thrashers. Amazing). They’re an original six team, they play in one of my favorite cities, my friends all love them unconditionally, and if that weren’t enough, they have, easily, the best uniform in sports. This year, they were especially fun, with toothless Duncan Keith holding down the blue line and a front three of Toews, Dustin Byfuglien and Patrick Kane terrorizing NHL defenses.

Partying at Comiskey. From left to right: Me, a hoosier, a Cubs fan, Mrs. Jason Varitek and a White Sox fan, all united for the Hawks.

As was our plan, my friends and I made our way to Comiskey Park for the White Sox/Tigers game, with plans to keep tabs on Game 6 as best as possible. And thanks to the Bullpen Bar, that wasn’t very hard at all. Except for one magical inning where the Other Sox scored seven runs, there wasn’t much baseball watched. This was all about the Cup.

The game ended, and the center field scoreboard switched to the Hawks. Down 4-3, the Flyers tied it and sent the game to overtime. But Kane scored that beautiful, no-angle goal, and the place went crazy. By this point, I had totally bought in to the Hawks, wearing the sweater I’d picked up years earlier to the game. I was jumping on top of people, screaming, generally making an ass of myself, but all in good spirits.

The next two days were fantastic. I couldn’t go anywhere without hearing the Hawks’ goal foghorn and the Fratellis’ “Chelsea Dagger,” which has become their anthem. We found the team at a bar the night after partying with the Stanley Cup, and then two million Chicago crazies packed downtown for the parade. By the end of it, I was totally exhausted, but satisfied. Nothing feels better than when your team takes it all home, and for these folks who’d waited so long, it felt great to see them have their day. I’m glad they let me be a part of it.

♦ ♦ ♦

Then, there’s the Celtics. They will likely always suffer the fact that I’m just not as into basketball as I am most other sports.

It wasn’t always that way. In fact, the Celtics were the first team I really fell in love with, in elementary school following the twilight of Larry Bird and Kevin McHale, collecting basketball cards to match. Bird’s retirement offered up my first broken heart as a fan, and Reggie Lewis’ death not long after, well, there are still no words for that one.

But basketball changed as the 1990s went on. The Celtics went from great to good to bad, but more than that, the NBA took a turn I couldn’t stand. The referees were horrible (and are somehow worse now), the Knicks and Heat turned the game into a league-wide wrestling match, and the last interesting dude in the game, Michael Jordan, retired in 1998. With him gone, my focus on basketball went, and so did the Celtics.

Dovetailing perfectly with all that was the rise of the Lakers. To summarize, the Lakers represent just about everything I despise in sports. Their “Showtime” attitude, their ridiculous cavalcade of celebrity fans, their $10,000 seats, Phil Jackson’s Montana-sized ego, and, of course, Kobe Bryant. There’s not enough harm that could come to the Lakers to satisfy me. Naturally, going into last night, they’d won four championships since 2000.

Since 2007-08, the Celtics have mattered. With the arrival of Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen, the maturating of Rajon Rondo and Kendrick Perkins, and the continuing cool of Paul Pierce, the Celtics turned the ship around and reclaimed basketball glory in 2008. And that was nice, though the Celtics’ win seemed just as cool that year as the Lakers’ loss. But I’ll still watch the Celtics, still root for them, and always root for Paul Pierce, who was a baby the last year I really tuned into a full season end-to-end.

So, the night began at a restaurant in Dartmouth, Mass., eating a pizza at the bar and watching the first half. At halftime, following some great work by Rondo and Garnett, the Celtics were up 40-34, and feelings were mostly good. They were still getting out-rebounded and missing easy shots, and the Lakers still had that guy on their side.

For the second half, the show moved to a bar in New Bedford just a quick walk from my apartment, where a band was playing, which I appreciated. If this were the Bruins or the Red Sox, I wouldn’t want that kind of distraction. But I was feeling anxious, and not having to hear the announcers helped.

The third quarter looked great. Garnett was imposing his will, the Celtics ran up a lead, and going into the fourth, I felt slightly better than OK.

In the fourth quarter, it started again. Boston’s complete inability to hit a shot, which had killed them in Game 6, was back for an encore performance. And the Lakers were hitting shots. And soon enough, they had a lead.

With about six minutes left, I went home, and flicked over to Family Guy on Adult Swim. I had seen enough of the Celtics this year to know how this movie ended. After about 10 minutes, I checked online to see that, yeah, they were down by six with about a minute to go. Soon, it was outside for a walk, where the game was visible through a few windows. Through a curtain, there were all those yellow shirts storming the court, with the volume up high enough to hear the chaos in the arena. There was no doubt now.

For a real sports fan, the peaks are few and amazing. The valleys can’t be avoided.

He was so good for so long. Just look at him in this picture; is there anywhere else he’d want to be? Incidentally, this is one of my favorite baseball cards.

I’ve always loved the history of my favorite sports, whether it’s diving back into baseball’s dead-ball era or recreating the magic of the old Garden-era Bruins and Celtics in my head. It’s a lot of fun to look back and see what came before my sports consciousness began around 1988 or so.

And with that, I’ve developed a list of favorites that predate my own fandom. Of course, this skews towards some New England legends, but how else could it be, right?

1. Carl Yastrzemski
Boston Red Sox, 1961-83
Just one look at his stats is enough to send me into convulsions. How else to react to a career, spanning 23 seasons, that began as a phenom replacing a legend and ended as the elder statesman of a league? Yaz was great from about 1963-1970, but was very good the entire way, moving from the outfield to first base, then back to the outfield, and back to first base again, before winding up his time as a designated hitter.

He was a tireless worker who hit forever, but this is my favorite tidbit about him: After moving to first base in 1974 to accommodate a young Jim Rice, Yaz moved back to left field for the 1975 ALCS, and then spent the full 1977 season there, where, at age 37, he went errorless and captured his seventh and final gold glove. And (I’m basing this on highlight reels, of course), he could move. How many 37-year-old outfielders have you heard of who could really cover their ground? I’m guessing Ichiro next year could do it, but it’s a short list to be sure.

2. Bill Russell
Boston Celtics, 1956-69
When looking at Bill Russell, what jumps out first is that he was a winner. His Celtics won 11 championships in his 13-season run, while he redefined what players could do on the defensive side of the ball. Wilt Chamberlain scored more? That’s great. But I’ll take Russell as my center any day, and he’s second only to Michael Jordan in my list of NBA greats.

But what puts Russell over the top for me is his behavior and demeanor as a man. Playing in a horribly racist environment in Boston during the 1960s, Russell used the hate sent towards him as motivation, shutting out the bigotry and refusing to compromise. And he was more than a basketball player. As he famously said, “basketball is what I do. It is not who I am.”

3. Bobby Orr
Boston Bruins, 1966-76; Chicago Blackhawks, 1976-1979
Three consecutive Hart trophies as the NHL’s MVP, eight consecutive Norris trophies as the league’s best defenseman, two Conn Smythe trophies as the most valuable player of the Stanley Cup playoffs, delivered the Bruins’ last two Cups, was the only defenseman to win the Art Ross trophy as the league’s leading scorer (and he did it twice), led the league in plus/minus six times, completely changed the game of hockey and how defense could be played, and of course there’s that goal he scored.

Honestly, what else is there to say? There will only be one number 4.

4. Terry O’Reilly
Boston Bruins, 1972-85
I can’t think of another athlete who did more with less. O’Reilly was not the strongest skater and not the most gifted athlete. But he worked, and worked, and turned himself into an elite scorer, leading the Bruins with 90 points in 1977-78, and eventually served as their captain in his final two seasons.

And memorably, if you crossed him, he had no issue with beating the ever-loving shit out of you.

5. Ted Williams
Boston Red Sox, 1939-60
When the Greatest Hitter Who Ever Lived plies his trade in your backyard, it’s hard not to go back and appreciate it. Last hitter to hit .400 (.406 in 1941 of course), 1942 and ’46 MVP, 521 career home runs, a career OPS of 1.119 and three fantastic nicknames (Teddy Ballgame, the Splendid Splinter, the Kid) would be enough. But these are three things that stand out for me:

  1. When he first enlisted in the Navy, doctors realized his vision was 20-10, or to put it another way, the best they’d ever seen.
  2. He inspired the greatest piece of sports writing ever, John Updike’s “Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu.”
  3. His pregame batting practice ritual of hitting home runs, followed by shouting, “that’s right, I’m Ted Williams! I’m Ted Fucking Williams!”

6. Bill Lee
Boston Red Sox, 1969-78; Montreal Expos, 1979-82
The Spaceman has made a nice little life for himself pontificating on all things pure in baseball, sharing his left-brained views in The Wrong Stuff and The Little Red (Sox) Book, as well as appearing in Ken Burns’ epic Baseball documentary. But beyond his opinions on the designated hitter, drugs, and aluminum bats, Lee also takes time to visit Cuba, bringing the game and plenty of equipment to the poor but baseball-loving country.

And, for what it’s worth, he was also a hell of a pitcher. He was a key to the Sox’ pennant-winning rotation in 1975, racking up 119 wins and a 3.62 era in a 14-year career that ended with a walkout from Montreal in protest of teammate Rodney Scott’s release.

7. Luis Tiant
Cleveland Indians, 1964-69; Minnesota Twins, 1970; Boston Red Sox, 1971-78; New York Yankees, 1979-80; Pittsburgh Pirates, 1981; California Angels, 1982
The accent, the crazy mustache, the gyrating windup and the “Looo-EEEE!” chant of the Fenway faithful all add up to as colorful a character as has ever taken the mound for the Red Sox. But we’re also talking about a dominant presence, too. As evidence, let’s look at his Game 1 start in the 1975 World Series against the Cincinnati Reds: a complete-game shutout, limiting the Big Red Machine of Morgan, Bench and Rose to five hits in a tidy 100 pitches.

But let’s look at his Game 4 performance, too: another win, another complete game, this time over a whopping 155 pitches, giving up four runs and striking out four. Gutty? I’d say so.

8. Gordie Howe
Detroit Red Wings, 1947-71; Houston Aeros, 1973-77; New England/Hartford Whalers, 1977-80
Like Yaz, Howe played forever, and by the time he retired, he was the proud owner of several records, including most goals and points in a career (later to be broken by another Kick Saves favorite, Wayne Gretzky). But let’s take a look at his last year, at age 51, with the Whalers:

80 games, 15 goals, 26 assists, 41 points

For random comparison’s sake, let’s also look the 2009-10 season of our favorite current Bruin, Patrice Bergeron (who is a snappy 24 years old):

73 games, 19 goals, 33 assists, 52 points

I think it goes without saying that players aren’t supposed to be that good when they’re 51 years old.

9. Wayne Cashman
Boston Bruins, 1964-65, 1967-82
Like Yaz, Cashman spanned three decades with one team, and like Howe and O’Reilly, he was as tough as they come. He gets lost in the shuffle of great Bruins behind the likes of Orr, O’Reilly, Derek Sanderson and Johnny Bucyk, but Cashman carved out a stellar career of his own, scoring 277 goals and racking up 1,041 penalty minutes as a hard-working right wing. Most memorably, he served as the Bruins’ captain from 1977 until he retired in ’83, leading Don Cherry’s Lunch Pail A.C.

10. Dave Cowens
Boston Celtics 1970-80; Milwaukee Bucks 1982-83
This is almost completely anecdotal, as I’ve never seen full games of Cowens and only snippets of highlights here and there. But from what I know, he was a 6’9″ center who had to battle the likes of Chamberlain and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, won the 1973 MVP, led the Celtics to two banners in 1974 and ’76, and was basically forced to play much bigger than his frame. It’s easy to get behind someone who plays with such abandon all the time.

I always gravitated toward overachievers and hard workers, and it’s easy to say that pretty much everyone on this list were never short on effort in their careers. I didn’t get to see them, but I’m glad they were memorable enough for me to think about.

Editors note: In the wake of the Celtics’ epic dismissal of the Cleveland Cavaliers last night, please enjoy this guest post by good friend and long-time Seattle SuperSonics devotee, Ryan Robidoux, who knows more about basketball than I could ever hope to forget.

It’s been tougher to find a worthy heir to Jordan’s thrown than you think.

I’ve always had two favorite NBA players, a Celtic and a non-Celtic, and, like every other NBA fan in the 80s and 90s, they were Danny Ainge and Michael Jordan, respectively. No? You liked Larry Bird, you say? Well, you’re a weirdo. Moving on. Typically, its uncouth for a hardcore fan to admit their favorite player is the NBA’s biggest attraction, unless he plays for your home team. But it was the 80s, the NBA’s glory days, and cocaine was the only thing cooler than being a Michael Jordan fan. I could inundate you with statistics (for instance, 2.3 steals/game, 3rd all-time … career low was 1.5, when he was 40), but my fanaticism needs no further explanation. He was the greatest basketball player of all-time, period. Possibly, even the greatest athlete to play his respective sport (Gretzky and the Splendid Splinter also being in the conversation). So on January 13, 1999, I was left to be half of a fan … Jordan was gone forever. Yes, you heard correctly, forever. Even though during those two seasons you just brought up, he put up better numbers at forward than James Worthy ever did (21.5 ppg/5.0 rpg/5.9 apg).

Initially, I put all my stock into Vince Carter. A high-flyer out of MJ’s alma-mater, he was (and still is) the best dunker I’ve ever seen [insert youtube clip]. Throw in the fact that he led a ragtag team of old fogey’s and whippersnappers to within inches of beating Allen Iverson and the “6 or 7 Other Guys That Didn’t Matter”-ers in the 2001 NBA Eastern Conference Semifinals, and it was a wise choice. However, a mass exodus over the next few seasons, highlighted by Tracy McGrady’s defection to Orlando, left Toronto young and in Vince’s hands. Alas, in 2004, Carter felt those hands didn’t have enough money in them, and he sulked his way to the New Jersey Nets, crossing his name off my list forever, and beginning the downfall of the Jugger-Aught Nets (2000 – 2007).

At this point, I was transitioning from Dana Barros to Tony Allen, via Waaaawlta McCarty, on the Celtic front. But I was becoming very interested in this “King James” fellow, though leery of, yet again, being a fan of the NBA’s big to-do. It was 2005, the NBA glory days were long gone, and hardcore NBA fans needed to root for players like Michael Finley (a one-time candidate), since the day they were drafted out of Wisconsin University by the Phoenix Suns in 1995. I needed overwhelming proof that LeBron James would be someone I could fanatically follow. His stats, over these last five years, have increasingly proven worthy, almost too crazy to believe at times. But it wasn’t until this season that I had gained enough proof to think about taking out that $20 bill and buy a non-Celtic t-shirt. “If he has another phenomenal year, and stays with the Cavs, then I will anoint him to my non-Celtic throne,” I told myself back in November.

He was so close.

After Tuesday night’s embarrassment in Game 5 against the Celtics, of all teams, I have crossed LeBron James off my list of candidates. I can get past his emotional “What? I didn’t foul him, when I punched him in the gut!” face, and his Penny Hardaway-esque puppet commercials. But I refuse to root for a player who isn’t man enough to tell a city that he’s either going to leave them (which he is clearly doing…enjoy your new right hand man, Bill Walker!) or put a ring on it [whoa oh oh, oh oh oh]. Nor will I root for a player who gives up on his team in arguably the biggest game of his career, by pulling his best Kobe Bryant, circa 2006 (see “Suns Series, Game 7”), and then has the balls to say the following:

“I spoil a lot of people with my play. When you have a bad game here or there, you’ve had three bad games in a seven-year career, then it’s easy to point that out.”

Karl Malone says that. Peyton Manning says that. Susan Lucci says that. Michael Jordan and Rajon Rondo (favorite Celtic since 2007) don’t say that. They shut up, watch video, and go out the next game with vengeance dripping from their pores. Michael Jordan once waited a whole season to torch the lowly Minnesota Timberwolves, in Minnesota, just because a fan called in a prank about Jordan’s family. After the Celtics’ depressing loss last Friday in Game 3, Rajon Rondo took it upon himself to win Game 4 by putting up one of, if not the greatest, Celtic playoff performance ever (28/18/13).

LeBron James, you are a disappointment. You got what you deserved last night, when Rondo and Kevin Garnett sent you on you way to … um, I don’t know, let’s just say Notclevelandsburg. While some say your play “redeemed” yourself, I disagree. You’re 27/19/10 was misleading, Mr. James, because you shot 8-21 with 9 turnovers, which negates 9 of those assists, leaving you with a 27/19/1 line. Patrick Ewing and Karl Malone used to be very proud of numbers like that.

I hope you enjoy your new company.