Late Night Essay on: The NBA Finals

I, like many, had assumed that this year's NBA Finals would ultimately end up being a rematch of last year's terrific seven-game series between the defending champion San Antonio Spurs and previous winners, the Detroit Pistons.

And I said all along that I would have no complaints with that.

Then something miraculous happened: these entire playoffs actually kicked some major ass.

When I was actively watching the Finals last year, many people asked, "Who cares about the NBA?"

Some of these people also said this year, when the formerly beloved Chicago Bulls were fighting to get into the post-season, "Who care if they make the playoffs?"

Well I'm sorry——not sorry to you, but sorry for you——again.

This has been the best basketball post-season in quite some time——I can't even drum up a comparative year, but maybe it will come to me——from the "What the hell?" of LeBron James and the Cleveland Cavaliers pushing Detroit to an unexpected seventh game; to the Phoenix Suns, and two-time MVP Steve Nash, coming back from a 3-1 opening round defecit to knock out the Los Angeles Lakers, and again going seven with the same city's Clippers the following round; to the Bulls——yes, those same seemingly, supposedly hopeless Bulls——pushing Miami to six games, when they were expected to go out in, say, four.

And now, with the Dallas Mavericks preparing to host the Miami Heat on Thursday night, I'm torn about who to cheer for——as well as who to pick. I'm going to be satisfied either way, but really, I'm just hoping the series just goes seven games. Actually, I hope the league changes the rules to maybe a best-of-nine, or 11——as it similarly did suddenly in mid-season when it went to a seven-game format in the opening round in 2003 to, more or less, benefit the Lakers and the market of Los Angeles.

But Derek Fisher ended up crying on the bench as the Lakers' hopes for a fourth straight title ended, thanks to the San Antonio Spurs. Boo-hoo.

I'll be the first to admit that the NBA——over the course of an entire season—is a far cry from the Jordan-era basketball we came to know and love in Chicago. There's a lot of reasons for this: the increase in players preferring one-on-one moves and taking ill-advised shots as to just passing the fucking ball (Exhibit A: Your New York Knicks, ladies and gentlemen); the increasingly gang-banger image associated with recently over-tattoed NBA stars (Exhibit B: Allen Iverson; supplemented by the whole Ron Artest incident); and just a whole lot of universally-agreed mediocre teams over recent years.

So, with Jordan and Pippen, we were spoiled.

And that was a point I adamantly made when visiting Los Angeles after the Lakers signed Karl Malone and Gary Payton. It was widely assumed by Californians that L.A. was going to run away with the title in 2004. So all throughout that year's Finals, there was a commentary building in my head that I e-mailed everybody I knew when that year's championship was decided:

"When considering the possibility of moving to an area outside Los Angeles just a little less than a year ago, being critical of the supposed Lakers dynasty during a time their fans felt almost invincible seemed quite fun. When potential roommates would scoff at my Chicago ties and the Bulls dynasty I was proud to be a fan of, the Californians were quick to complement the accomplishment of six NBA titles in eight years before saying, "You don't really think they're as good as the Lakers, do you?"

Kobe or Michael, Scottie or Shaq. No, I guess I wouldn't have said that those Bulls were "as good as" these Lakers. Actually, my immediate reply was that those Bulls were better than these Lakers.

Hypothetical situations like those can never yield a clear conclusion, only a mere passionate opinion. Regardless, I would assume even Phil Jackson (who would be the head coach of both teams in such a dream game) could agree to the likelihood that any of his six championship teams in the Windy City would have scrubbed the hardwood with any of the group of actors that got him three more rings on the coast.

Don't get me wrong. It's been a long, hard season coping with the success of a Detroit Pistons franchise that has done nothing but improve each of the past three seasons—rooting for them this season almost seemed sacrilegious. After all, it was the Motor City that sent those beloved Bulls packing three years in a row at the end of the 80s. Three long years of tough, physical basketball in the Eastern Conference usually stole the show from the NBA Finals, always ending with Jordan's crew coming away with the short end of the stick.

Those were the much celebrated "Bad Boys" days in Detroit, a real group of (for lack of a better term) pricks that decided to evacuate their home court when there was still time remaining before the Bulls would sweep the Pistons out of the Eastern Conference Finals and——hopefully——the landscape of the NBA after their fourth consecutive post-season meeting.

There were two fellows, however, with enough sportsmanship to acknowledge the better team and shake hands with the victors: John Salley (who actually joined the Bulls for his third ring in 1996) and Joe Dumars. Perhaps they weren't all so "bad" after all.

No, Dumars has long been one of the classiest guys in the league, and judging by what he surrounded himself with in Detroit since the days of the thugs he captured back-to-back titles with, he still is. More than 17 years after Al Campanis went on Nightline for the 40th anniversary of Jackie Robinson's major league debut and claimed blacks "may not have some of the necessities" to be a General Manager, Dumars proves African-Americans are capable of being more than just the natural-born athletes stereotype (P.S. Way to go, Larry Bird).

I'll be the first to admit how wrong I was in questioning the decisions made by the President of Basketball Operations for the Pistons. After making the playoffs last year, the Pistons still managed to nab the second pick in the following draft, taking Darko Milicic——and then rubbed it in by having him spend the season on the bench.

They got rid of a coach that turned the team around in Rick Carlisle, replacing him with Larry Brown. After tireless efforts to get Allen Iverson to grow up in Philadelphia failed, Brown was only too happy to inherit Carlisle's squad of ballers——the coach even praised the now Indiana head coach when accepting the Larry O'Brien trophy following Detroit's dominant Game 5 clincher. This season, the squad suddenly started to play a defense that could rival that of the "Bad Boys" era, a force overlooked throughout the season thanks to juicier headlines provided by other teams in the league. Most notably, the glitz of Los Angeles.

While the Pistons boasted a roster of hard-working and somewhat less mentioned players similar to Dumars (Ben Wallace, Chauncey Billups, Elden Campbell), fans in Los Angeles were already putting the champagne on ice before the season began.

Add two future hall-of-famers to a team that already starts two of the league's biggest stars, and it's hard to argue. When the late-night talk on sports radio in Chicago shifts to a national broadcast, you're often subjected to a host with a distinct favoring of teams in a particular market (either New York or L.A.). After signing both Karl Malone and Gary Payton, the West coast pundits would've made you think that the Lakers were bound to shatter every record in the book. "It's a joke if the Lakers don't win the title," said one Jim Rome wannabe. You'd think.

Instead, it was a long soap opera that probably tickled the fancy of as many Laker fans as the rest of the nation. Night after night after night of the same thing. Kobe leaving a trial in Colorado and always managing to somehow arrive at Staples to sink a game-winner. The courtroom in the Rockies almost seemed to be in cahoots with the court of David Stern.

There were injuries and childish spats among the team along the way, but the Lakers nabbed the Pacific title on the season's final day in trademark dramatic fashion. The ever-dominant Western Conference (the last Eastern representative to win an NBA Championship? Yeah, you know) seemed but a casual stroll for Los Angeles, so it's easy to understand why they took these Pistons lightly.

Why Phil Jackson would treat the Detroit team the same way is another matter——if that were really the case. Rather, the simple truth is (take note here, Yankee fans——you're next) buying celebrated veterans at bargain prices guarantees nothing. Karl Malone and Gary Payton fit into the triangle about as well as William Ligue, Jr. would fit into Kauffman Stadium. Put two tired, old pros in a setting where they're only showing up because they think they're simply entitled to a championship ring, and there'll be twelve guys more determined to prove otherwise.

So Karl Malone sat on the bench Tuesday night in his street clothes. Gary Payton was about as much of an impact as he'd have been if he were watching the game from Seattle or Milwaukee. Oh, and Derek Fisher blinked back tears for the second year in a row as an added bonus.

Yes, the ratings for the so-so ABC coverage improved from last year. Perhaps it was the marquee talent of that Laker squad, but I'd like to think it might have something to do with improved quality of the product. The Pistons of 2004 recalled the fundamentals of the game that had seemingly disappeared in the past five or so years of flops and complaints for whistles that have dominated the NBA playoffs—this year seemed to be a sort of throwback to when the Bulls drew the numbers for NBC with, well, pretty solid basketball that was entertaining for all.

Detroit or Los Angeles, the NBA or what fans the league has left; to me, it seems like this season, everybody got exactly what they deserved."

In yesterday's Chicago Tribune, Sam Smith covered NBA Commissioner David Stern saying how complaints against the league's officiating ultimately hurt the game. He ended his first segment—touching on the excessive amount of charging calls—on this paragraph:

"Even though zones are allowed now, hardly anyone plays them for more than a few minutes. Sliding over to get in front of a driver is hardly good defense. It's a trick, and it's time the NBA recognized that."

I concur.

But the game is changing for the better, and my prediction is the Mavericks in seven. Whom I root for, however, will likely change on a nightly basis.