It is late in the evening, and I am slipping deeper into the couch cushions. Any moment now, I am sure I will disappear. Considering what is on my television, worse options are possible.
I am watching the unwatchable, and any moment now, my eyes will begin to bleed.
Either the "pause" button on my remote is stuck, or I am watching the NBA Finals.
On the screen, the Lakers are growing old before my eyes. Minute by minute, you can see them wither and fade. Shaquille O'Neal waddles down the court, four strides behind whichever direction the Pistons are heading, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepen. On the sideline, you can see Karl Malone's hair turn more gray. Any minute, Gary Payton may break a hip. As they say in L.A., keep a good thought.
As for Kobe Bryant, I'm not sure how many extra years he's looking at, but I'm thinking 10-20, with time off for good behavior.
I think of changing the channel, but I am certain that if I do, I will find one of those Grumpy Old Men movies where Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau spend the entire time bickering which, when you get down to it, really isn't any different from watching the Lakers.
It was in that instant that I figured out what was wrong with the NBA Finals.
It needs more Brad Richards.
It needs a kick-save by Nikolai Khabibulin.
It needs Vinny Lecavalier in the final seconds.
Why hasn't anyone noticed this before? The NBA needs more Jarome Iginla and more Marty St. Louis. It needs more Dave Andreychuk and more Miikka Kiprusoff. It needs drama and desperation and broken hearts and wrenched guts and controversies and conspiracy theories. A penalty box wouldn't hurt, either.
In other words, the NBA needs be more like the NHL.
Anyone who disagrees gets slammed into the boards.
Talk if you wish about the TV ratings. True, a great many people saw the Pistons embarrass the Lakers, and not many saw the Lightning beat the Flames. The TV ratings are for the people who sell cat food. They are less important than Michael Bolton's CD going platinum.
The point is, judged from this year's playoffs, the NHL had it all over the NBA. More intensity. More excitement. More time on the edge of your seat.
Consider this: On its way to winning the Stanley Cup, the Lightning played in nine one-goal games. By comparison, the entire NBA postseason, counting every game by every team, had only 12 games decided by one basket (three points or fewer). The Pistons didn't play any.
In the NHL, you had seven games in the final, and the last four dared you to catch your breath. In the NBA, you had five games, all duller than a dictionary.
In the NHL, you had stars saying hello. In the NBA, you had stars saying goodbye.
In the NHL, you had teams that didn't like each other. In the NBA, you had the Lakers, who didn't like each other.
And no matter what anyone says, Slava Medvedenko is no Ruslan Fedotenko.
Also, Kobe is no Kuby.
This is nothing against the Pistons, who were fierce. It is great to see a team of underappreciated players win. And it was nice to see Bill Davidson succeed where Smarty Jones fell short. Still, it's a question of whether this will be remembered for what the Pistons did or what the Lakers failed to do.
Let's face it. If there ever have been two teams that were more opposite in nature, it's the Lakers and the Lightning. The Lakers are all rep, overpaid and pompous, selfish and satisfied. If they were a rock band, they would be one of the ones who refuse to eat the brown M&M's.
Then there are the coaches. With Phil Jackson, the moon is always in the seventh house, and Jupiter always aligns with Mars. Jackson sees himself as Peter Fonda in Easy Rider. John Tortorella sees himself as Louis Gossett Jr. in An Officer and a Gentleman. He wouldn't know Zen from yen. Put it this way: Jackson is coming off a $30-million contract; Tortorella's team is coming off a $33-million payroll.
As a result, the NHL final looked like two teams arriving, and the NBA had one team departing. They will dismantle the Lakers now, and it sounds as if Jackson, Payton and Bryant are all scrambling to board the first plane out.
Perhaps that is why America tuned in. Not to see the wonderful Pistons win, but to see the squabbling Lakers lose. This was the team that old war horses such as Malone and Payton hopped aboard, remember, to take an easy ride to an elusive title. Some suggested they would be a dream team; the Lakers responded by taking naps during games.
They underachieved at historic proportions. L.A. hasn't seen a day like it since Will Smith, Kevin Kline, and Salma Hayak got together, and all that came out was that dreadful Wild, Wild West.
You know the worst part? When the Lakers were up against it, there was no fire, no desperation. There was merely a humble acceptance.
For the players of the NBA, there are lessons to be learned from the NHL. Performance is bigger than paycheck. It is worth a few bruises to get to the trophy.
For the Lightning players, there are lessons, too. There is trouble in prosperity. Sometimes, a team's success is the most difficult thing of all to overcome.
