The NBA Finals are almost over. Praise Jesus.
I was worried last night when the Cavaliers led by seven in the fourth quarter. If Cleveland had won, the series would have been guarantted to return to Oakland for game 5 Monday night, which would have meant more and more and more hype Saturday, Sunday and Monday.
I have had it with the NBA. Enough. Actually, I’ve had it with the NBA since June 1990, when the Pistons won their second consecutive championship by defeating the Trail Blazers in the finals. I stayed up late to watch the four night games in the finals–I missed game three, which was played on a Sunday afternoon, because I went with my dad and brother to an American Legion baseball game–and I was up long enough to see CBS Sports bid adieu to the NBA, since it was their last telecast after having the national television package since the 1973-74 season.
By time the 1990-91 season rolled around, I decided I would severely cut back my NBA watching. If there was nothing else on, maybe I would watch. But if there were other things to watch–and even in the early 1990s, there were–I would skip the NBA.
God I hated the Bulls. Hated them. I was no big fan of the Pistsons, and Lord I didn’t like Isaiah Thomas, but I was sick and tired of all the ass kissing going on around Michael Jeffrey Jordan, ass kissing which would only get worse and worse as his career continued and the Bulls continuued to win championships.
The NBA became as predicatable as the weather on a summer day in New Orleans. You knew the Bulls would win the championship as long as Jordan was there. Sure, he didn’t win a championship until he got help from Scottie Pippen and Hoarce Grant, but give me a break. Jordan was going to win championships with whomever he played with, as long as one of them was an above-average NBA player.
Thankfully Jordan did take some time off from the NBA following his father’s tragic death in July 1993, allowing Hakeem Olajuwon’s Rockets to briefly take center stage in 1994 and ’95. Sadly, the Rockets will be forever linked to Orenthal James Simpson, who told Al Cowlings to lead the Los Angeles Police Department on a slow-speed chase on the city’s freeways while Game 5 of the 1994 NBA Finals were taking place on the other side of the continent at Madison Square Garden.
That week of June 1994 was a great one for American sports. The Rangers won the Stanley Cup for the first time since 1940. The World Cup kicked off in the United States. The Rockets and Knicks were providing some much-needed relief to the montony which had become the NBA of Michael Jeffrey Jordan (David Stern was commissioner in name only; whatever Jordan wanted, he got). And here comes Orenthal James Simpson, brutally killing his ex-wife Nicole Brown and her friend Ron Goldman, simply because Orenthal Jamse Simpson never learned how to properly treat a lady and got jealous when Nicole broke free and found comfort with another man.
When Michael Jordan returend to the NBA March 19, 1995, I said to myself “JESUS F***ING CHRIST”.
Sure enough, the Bulls won NBA titles in 1996, ’97 and ’98, the last coming when Jordan used his right arm to shove off Utah’s Bryon Russell in order to have a clear view for the winning shot in game six. Of course, Dick Bavetta, that cuckold pussy piece of shit referee, wasn’t about to whistle Black Jesus, aka Michael Jeffrey Jordan, for a foul. Ever. How the fuck is Dick Bavetta in the Hall of Fame?
Dick Bavetta, fuck you. Fuck you and almost every other official during the Jordan years. You let the asshole get away with everything, yet something like that done by a lesser player would be an automatic foul. Bavetta and other spineless NBA referees all had balls the size of BBs. As in none.
it was too bad Earl Strom retired the year before Jordan won his first title. It’s too bad Jake O’Donnell was forced out of the NBA just after Jordan ended his first retirement. It’s too bad Mendy Rudolph retired in 1975 and died in 1979. It’s too bad Richie Powers was blackballed out of the league in the late 1970s after he crossed the picket line during a strike and allowed coaches to play illegal defense all game without calling it.
Strom, O’Donnell, Rudolph and Powers had the balls to give equal treatment to superstars and average players. They would not have put up with Jordan’s bullshit. They would not have allowed Dennis Rodman to make a farce of basketball and abuse officials the way he did. Rodman would not have dared head butt Strom the way he did Ted Bernhardt in 1996. Jordan would not have dared scream the whole game at O’Donnell the way he did to just about every referee, Steve Javie excepted, in the mid-1990s.
You wonder why Kobe, LeBron and other superstars get preferential treatment? They learned from the master, Dick Bavetta, who somehow is in the Hall of Fame.
That angered me. Really pissed me off.
To me, Dick Bavetta was just like the late Eric Gregg, the National League umpire who was grossly incompetent, not to mention grossly obese, yet still kept his job for years and years. Bavetta was a showboat who wanted to bask in the reflected glory of the NBA’s superstars. And that meant giving Michael Jeffrey Jordan whatever the fuck he wanted.
I apologize for the profanity. I really do. I’m sorry, Peggy Cox.
Enough about the NBA. I’m praying Golden State ends this charade tomorrow night so First Take, Colin Cowherd, Around the Horn, Pardon the Interruption and every other show can talk about Major League Baseball and the NFL.
I doubt many people in the United Kingdom are waking up at 4 a.m. to watch this. If they are, then God help them. I know the Premier League season is done, but there’s got to be better sports to watch in the UK than the NBA. What about cricket?