The sky must be about to fall. How else to explain my desire to discuss the NBA?

But I'd like to take a moment to talk about the athlete who ranks second (a distant second to His Holiness, but No. 2 nonetheless) on my current list of favorites... Shaquille O'Neal.

Why the love for Shaq Daddy, despite his playing in a league I rank somewhere behind women's soccer, bowling, the Fitness America Pageant and Extreme Ironing? Because while so many of his assclown, whiny fellow athletes look like they're being tortured by their fame and fortune, he actually looks like he's enjoying himself. He also often has something amusing and interesting to say, which again puts him ahead of the curve.

That said, I completely ignored this weekend's NBA All-Star game. But I found this paragraph from Jason Whitlock rather eye-opening:

David Stern seriously needs to consider moving the event out of the country for the next couple of years in hopes that young, hip-hop hoodlums would find another event to terrorize. Taking the game to Canada won't do it. The game needs to be moved overseas, someplace where the Bloods and Crips and hookers and hoes can't get to it without a passport and plane ticket.

Yowza.

Speaking of sports, the local paper delivered yet again today, this time with a bit of unexpected shtick from Dear Abby. A few weeks ago, Abby responded to a letter from a bride who was upset that her father left immediately after her wedding ceremony to watch a football game. Today, Abby printed responses to the original letter. The message to the bride? She's to blame, for poor planning.

And I have to agree. There are three events I'd consider before scheduling my nuptials:
1) March Madness, from the first Thursday to the final Monday (which is not to criticize the bride and groom whose wedding I'll be attending next month - they've scheduled it to coincide with St. Patty's Day, which is admirable).
2) OSU-Michigan (Ok. OSU-anyone).
3) The majority of the NFL schedule. Most notably, Jets' home games.

I attended a wedding during the first game of the Subway Series in 2000. I have three vivid memories of that night:
1) A friend wearing an earpiece with a transistor radio, like he was Secret Service, so he could listen to the game.

2) Smoking cigars with another friend and banging my head on the bar as the Mets went down in flames in 12 innings.

3) Yet another friend hurling into his dress shirt in the back seat of my car very late that evening, which led to him abandoning said shirt on the side of Route 78.

Good times.

Finally, the lead story in today's paper was this. Can we be too far from the complete elimination of all reporters and photographers at the paper?