I’m still struggling with my affection for the local NBA squad. I watched most of the game last night, but was distracted for much of the second half when I heard Randy Johnson was throwing a perfect game and switched over to TBS (no AI in this house). I’ve stated my indifference for Reggie Miller before. Jamaal Tinsley could drive any fan insane with his erratic play. It doesn’t help his case with me that he was 4-0 against KU in his Iowa State career. But I struggle most with Ron Artest. He brings it every night. He totally sells out to win games. Some nights he can look like the best player in the league. But he plays such a physical style that I’m always a little uncomfortable cheering for him. I love Jermaine O’Neal, Al Harrington, Jeff Foster, and Jonathan Bender. Maybe next year things will finally click between me and the blue and gold.

Worth noting, both Saturday and last night, I devoured some outstanding brisket courtesy of John H. Both nights, the Pacers win. Better keep the smoker stocked for a few more weeks, John!

The trade rumors of Shaquille O’Neal for Jermaine O’Neal are completely insane. Why trade away a franchise player you’ve signed to a long term deal, who happens to not even be in his prime yet for an aging superstar who is one more leg injury from becoming an ineffective, 400 pound, salary hog?

I’m clearly getting old. I watch NBA games and become enraged at the fact no one holds their pivot foot anymore. Some guys post up, get the ball, then slide their pivot foot six feet as they try to determine if they should shoot or pass (Chris Webber). Others completely change their pivot foot, but if they fake two passes between establishing their first foot and changing to the second, referees never call it. I feel like those old guys who go to games and count on their own three second calls the entire night. “One…two….THREE!!!!!!!”

People I love: citizens with seats near the high cameras at basketball games who insist on standing and waving their hands in front of the camera each time they have a chance to cheer. I like them so much I think they should be shot. Some idiot in Miami last night insisted on not only putting his head and hands in America’s face, but swinging some noise maker around as well. Thank goodness for the local coverage of the game, which used a different set of cameras.

Something I actually like: spring downpours. We got a good soaker last night. I love sitting in the house, having no place to go, no need to step outside, then hearing monsoonal rains hit the roof. Of course, as a native Kansan, I revel in all spring weather. On our second night in Indy last year, we were at the in-laws for dinner when the tornado sirens went off. Indiana gets its share of storms, so everyone sat calmly at the table eating, watching the radar on TV to make sure they didn’t need to head to the basement. The Kansan in the house went running outside to look for the storm. I spent at least 20 minutes staring at one set of clouds. “Are you going to eat or not?”

Hey, I heard Fred White doing the Royals game last night! That was outstanding. No body can replace the almost impossible to listen to Denny Matthews better than the monumentally horrid White. I thought the Royals ran him off. What’s with this guilt that he was “wronged” and bringing him back to cover for vacations? They did him a favor by manufacturing several excuses for his dismissal rather than just saying he’s an awful announcer. Is there some kind of law that the Royals have to have the worst announcers in baseball? Denny, Ryan, and Fred are all historically bad. Bob Davis is exceptionally poor. Paul Splittorf is ok, but he’s not the most dynamic person in the world. Sleepy announcers for a sleepy team, I suppose. Maybe they’ll perk up now that the Zack Greinke era is about to begin. .500 here we come!