Shameful

Pathetic Disgusting Collapse


















That's all I can stomach writing at this point.

Palpable Hatred

Go To Hell Already Cornbread

Meet the jackass responsible for being the first professional athlete to cause me to lose my mind while watching a sporting event, kicking off a lifetime of swearing blue streaks at ballers clad in kelly green. Many Lakers fans over the age of thirty will pinpoint Kevin Mchale's attempted murder of Kurt Rambis in game 4 of the '84 finals, as the moment that their hatred for the everything Boston was cemented forever. As much as I despise Kevin for his overall "McHaleness", at least he was man enough to deliver a clothesline during the heat of battle. Then you have Cedric Maxwell, the original choke-sign flash artist--taunting James Worthy between free-throws during overtime of that same game. I still wonder what would have happened to "Big Game" had he responded by trying to strangle Cornbread with the strap of his goggles--or maybe I'm just still wishing that he had. By now, it must be glaringly obvious that I lack the capacity to objectively comment on the upcoming NBA Finals. Neither can anyone who ever rooted or played for either franchise. That being said...Lakers in five. I'm just hoping that a Lakers title will finally convince Bill Simmons to pack up his act to head back home, so he can be with his own kind. I'm perfectly capable of ignoring his columns, and changing the channel when he appears on ESPN no matter where he lives. For more (and better) Celtics bashing please visit The Hater Nation as they chronicle the most contemptible Celtics of all time, beating us to the punch yet again.

Who Needs Noise?

Too much is being made of the fact that the Staples Center crowd isn't loud enough to provide an intimidating enough atmosphere for opposing teams. Some say it's because Lakers fans lack passion, but I know better. Staples is quiet because fans are either stoned, famous, or just too cool for school. But mostly just stoned. Don't believe me? All you have to do is visit the Staples Center outdoor patio during halftime of any Lakers game to get a breath of fresh air. Not only will you be treated to the usual metropolitan pollutants found in other cities, you'll get a killer contact high. You might also get lucky and spot a washed up B-list rapper hitting a joint fatter than your middle finger, then passing the roach to a punk-ass white kid before ducking back into the arena. So much for the days of getting your favorite player's autograph.

I love L.A.