The Second Comings...

Oh Kevin McHale and Robert Parish, why do you haunt me so? With the dream NBA Finals featuring the stupenderific Los Angeles Lakers and the despicable Boston Celtics, memories of a gangly McHale and a plodding Parish surface and rear their ugly faces. The McHale clothesline. The Parish grimace. Ugh.

To make sure this dream final becomes a nightmare for me, the Celtics trot out PJ Brown and Kendrick Perkins. Okay, okay, these guys are no McHale and Parish as far as talent, skill, and basketball IQ go, but they do fill that thuggish, villain roll oh so well. And Brown, well, he does resemble McHale and Parish in that unfortunate, necessary other way. Have you seen this guy's forehead?

I guess I should be thankful. It does make watching the games more entertaining when the opposing team features players that boil one's blood. I can boo and deride Brown and Perkins to my heart's content. I can mock their clumsy styles and get fired up after they play Whack-a-Laker in the paint on every shot and every rebound. And I can stand up and cheer when Kobe fakes them out of their socks whipping a pass to Lamar or when Pau flies up and snatches away the rebound.

I can't hate Garnett. I can't hate Pierce. Ray Allen? Okay, yes, I can hate him in a Dennis Johnson sort of way. And Sam Cassell, a player I have always loved to hate, fills the Danny Ainge roll nicely. But it's Perkins and Brown who provide my anger with an outlet. Instead of getting annoyed to a point of dizziness by another blown Odom lay-up or Radmanovic airball, I can holler at Brown for mugging Farmar or I can jeer Perkins for being an oaf. These hooligans allow me to redirect my vitriol from Purple and Gold misfires to the Green Goons.

So bring 'em on Doc. Tell Perkins to foul Pau. Tell Brown to bang Lamar. And maybe if you do, maybe Gasol and Odom will feel the fire and wake up in time and help Kobe and the rest of the Lakers to their 15th NBA Championship.