Honestly, I don't know why I still bother to care. Other than a few isolated bright spots (The Warriors/Mavs series, that one Nuggets victory, the frustratingly infrequent flashes of greatness from LeBron), this year's NBA playoffs were the most boring and mechanical I can remember. Now that the San Antonio Spurs have trudged their way to a fourth championship with all the passion and urgency of a pack of Office Space drones, at least this abortion of a season has come to an end. The Spurs made it quick, dropping the Cavaliers in four straight games. And I blame myself for even watching that ass-ugly series; this year's ending was determined the moment that NBA commissioner David Stern decided to suspend Amare Stoudamire and Boris Diaw for basically nothing, effectively squashing any chance that his league might generate a few more interesting stories this spring. And still, like an idiot, I held out hope even through last night's game that LeBron games would start gargling blood and spitting fire, finding his inner demon-god and laying waste to the most boringly dominant dynasty in recent sports history. The really infuriating thing was that he always could've done it; I lost count of the moments where he should've just banged on defensive dipshit Bruce Bowen. But he usually passed to the open scrubs on his team instead, knowing full-well that they'd probably miss their uncontested three-pointers. So last night marked a disappointing end to a disappointing season, and there's really no redemption in sight for my favorite sport.
Maybe a couple of general managers will make a couple of smart off-season decisions or Allen Iverson and Carmelo Anthony will have time to gel in the off-season and come into the year looking unstoppable and all of a sudden we'll have a competitive league again. See? These fuckers are already roping me in again.