I idolize/d Byron Scott and Magic Johnson. Loved the 39-win team in 1993 that nearly knocked off the all-mighty Charles Barkley-led Suns. At the age of 12, I loved Sedale Threatt. Embraced Cedric “the Garbage Man” Ceballos as the most underrated swing man of the 90’s and still root for the grinning spin doctor of humor with a dominate unrelenting game and a personality to match it: Shaquille O’Neal.

You see….I like me some Lakers. But I just don’t love the maniacally self obsessed Kobe Bryant. That’s it.   

That was in my opinion (key word there…pay attention), the worst move in franchise history, when the team opted to send Shaq packing to Miami in favor of Kobe. It set a precedent that anyone and everyone was/is recyclable. And Shaq, the man who made Kobe Bryant Kobe Bryant is not ever, for one second, recyclable. 

So I began asking the question: Why do I have to go down with the ship if I hate the captain? Why don’t I get to be a free agent with my fansmanship? Why do I have to keep rooting for a team whose face I no longer support? Little did I know just how common my Central-Coast -swing-state perspective was.

A perfect example of this was documented by our own Owen Main in the Spring of 2011. Main asked the question in this article: Is the Central Coast a Giants or Dodgers country? And the answer was neither. What we discovered about ourselves was that we just don’t take sports that serious here. We have beautiful women, concerts in the plaza, an electric farmers market, beautiful downtown’s, stunning antique architecture, award-winning wine country, great bars, rolling Irish-like hillsides, hiking, rugged beaches, pines by the sea, clean air, low crime, abundance of restaurants, wonderful school systems, plentiful tourism, fishing, lakes and according to Oprah, one of the happiest environments in the world. 

Hakuna Matata.

Here, we embrace the many shades of grey and not the childish infatuations or irrelevant loyalty to organizations that have no grip whatsoever on our SLO life.

So here is my short opinion on the Dwight Howard landing in Los Angeles:

I think the move to land Dwight Howard was the second worst decision in team history. He’s a malcontent disconnected character with a lust for Hollywood stardom. And though I agree that Andrew Bynum was a glass kneed fool with a cheap and uninspired heart, he was, for the time-being locked up longer than one freaking year.

One year. 

In the Summer of 2013 when Howard is an unrestricted free agent, he will do as he’s promised all along by signing an enormous contract with the Brooklyn Nets to become the billboard face of Jay-Z’s franchise. And then what? Steve Nash is 40, Bryant a crippled 35 and Meta World is off in India learning to braid hair and meditate. 

The Lakers now have one year to win Bryant his sixth ring and are still only the third best team in the Western Conference. Not to mention I give them only a smidgen of a shot against the deep defensive minded Bulls and no shot whatsoever against the steam-rolling, LeBron-led Heat. I can name four teams right now with a deeper rotation: the Thunder, Spurs, Bulls and Heat.  And the upstart Pacers are on the fringes.    

So just remember this article when Dwight Howard is an underachieving underwear model with his low seeded Nets teams and you’re stuck watching pick and rolls between Steve Blake and Jordan Hill.  Learn to stop throwing rocks and sticking your tongue out at pragmatic realists with a fair take on things. It’s getting tiring and old and I would like to have a mature conversation.  

For a kid growing up in the 80’s, the Lakers dominance was a right of passage. In 1987, I was six years old and I have real memories of the moment when Magic sunk his sky-hook against the Celtics. The Lakers made eight out of ten NBA Finals in the 80’s and won five. Hearing Chick Hearn calling Magic’s sky-hook still gives me the chills.

In 1989, at the age of 8, I watched the Lakers’ last title for a while. After making the Finals in 1991, the franchise lost their superstar and fell on some hard times. Names like Magic, Kareem, and Big Game James were replaced by guys named VanExel, Sedale, Vlade, and Pig. In 1993-94, they finished 16 games below .500 and didn’t make the playoffs. Even for a 12-year old Lakers fanatic, Vlade’s soft Euro-game, Elden Campbell’s small hands, and James Edwards’ fade-away post moves didn’t cut it. VanExel was too young, Sedale too old, and even then George Lynch annoyed me.

While the Lakers continued to improve both in talent and in their record, the remainder of the pre-Shaq era was largely filled with end-of-season frustration and the realization that the Western Conference was completely inferior and that the Lakers were even inferior within the Western Conference.

In one offseason, Shaq’s decision to sign with the Lakers changed everything. No longer did Lakers fans have to deal with the frustration of a 7-foot center who was reluctant to dunk. Shaq’s game was everything that the Lakers seemed to need and more. More importantly, Shaq gave the Lakers a headliner they had been missing in the years since Magic retired. In a star-studded city like Los Angeles, don’t underestimate the impact of a headliner.

Despite losses to the Jazz in the playoffs and frustrating finishes to season, watching Shaq was ALWAYS a treat. As a fan, you always felt like you might see a feat of athletic dominance that you’d never seen before. The Diesel was “bigger, stronger, and faster” personified.

It took patience to wait for Phil Jackson to move to Los Angeles and for Kobe Bryant to mature enough to provide the second punch in the Lakers’ attack. But while we waited for the team to mature, Shaq provided mammoth dunk after mammoth dunk.

During the 1999-2000 season, Shaq took both his game and his showmanship to another level. In the new Staples Center — the entertainment crown jewel of Los Angeles — fans were serenaded with the theme from Superman whenever their own “Superman” established his dominance over an opponent.

The Lakers won the title in 2000 and the next two after that. His amazing ability on the court was sealed.

But I will remember other things most about Shaq and his time in Los Angeles.

I will remember not answering the questions asked by someone like Craig Saeger or John Ireland, but rather answer whatever question he felt like answering.

Sideline guy: “Shaq, you scored 37 points and pulled down 22 rebounds. Was the game plan to get the ball into you early?”

Shaq: “My teammates were really great tonight, I love this city and we are all excited to get this win on the road.”

Genius.

I’ll remember Shaq’s glossing himself “The Big Aristotle” after some deep conversations with and study under the Zen Master.

I’ll remember his story about how Phil Jackson made him swim out into a lake to help him with a chore when he went to visit Jackson in Montana after Jackson committed to the Lakers. Whether it happened or not, it was a great story and vintage Shaq showmanship.

I’ll always remember conversations with my college roommate, Kurt, about how his teammates were the stupidest people alive if they didn’t throw the ball into Shaq in the post on every possession. He was that dominant.

Most of all, I’ll probably remember some of Shaq’s quotes about being allowed to be abused in the post.

Many of them are chronicled here at http://shaqquotes.com .

Some of my favorites are:

“Keep in mind, I’m not allowed to be tough. I’m tamed.” Shaq had to take abuse all game, every game, and not strike back. His self-awareness of the fact that he was “tamed” is an interesting observation. For those who question how hard he tried or how much he cared, you should also question what kind of madness may have happened to other people on the court had he cared a little more or acted out on what were surely his desires to get all the Matt Geigers of the world back for inflicting constant physical harm upon him.

“You guys make the rules up, so a foul is a foul.  It doesn’t matter if a guy is bigger and stronger. It’s not my fault I ate my Frosted Flakes when I was little, and you ate Wheaties.”

Shaq gave Barkley-level quotes while being likeable during his playing days. He had what was arguably the most dominant 5 year stretch a player could have. He went away from Los Angeles and while he was bitter, he had built up so much good will, that it was still hard to dislike him as an overweight and bitter also-ran who was run out of town. As a Lakers fan, I was truly happy for him when he won another title.

Despite an injury-plagued end to his career, Shaq even made the Celtics more likable this year. His impact on the game will be measured against Bird, Magic, Jordan, Chamberlain, Robertson, West, Erving, and Jabbar. At a time when everyone complained about a Jordan-less league Shaq was the main attraction, carrying the weight of David Stern’s post-Jordan bitterness on his broad shoulders with ease. His presence will be missed on the court.

His retirement, however, opens up an opportunity for the greatest pre/post game show in NBA history. I can’t watch those games, but I would probably tune in to see Shaq, Charles, Kenny, and EJ on a pre-game, halftime, or post-game show. Can you dig it?

There is only one man who can answer these pondering’s, that being “Big Shot Bob,” otherwise known as Robert Horry, who made a living with the Rockets, Lakers, and Spurs, en route to seven rings by nailing the clutch shot.

Why does this matter? He was never a star, but he has rings galore bronzed on his swish- svelte fingers. 

In today’s NBA we judge  all-time greats by how many rings they’ve won and whether or not they led their teams to title town. But is this a fair assessment, considering a life-long bench guy like Horry can be carried to seven?

Never was Horry the franchise guy. In fact, as great as he seemed in closing minutes, Robert Horry never became the player we expected him to be after his timely three point shooting for Houston’s 2nd title run.

Horry’s brief stint in Phoenix after a trade in 1996, proved he was not endowed with a star motor. A hot tempered, dramatic and aloof head case, Bob languished averaging 6.9 points at a career low shooting clip: 41.8%. A trade by mid-season to the L.A. Lakers–a team filled with Kobe Bryant, Shaquille O’Neal, Nick Van Exel, Eddie Jones, Elden Campbell, and Cedric Ceballos changed the trajectory of his failing career.

So why then is Bob a champion? Why not franchise guys like Barkley, Malone, Stockton, Dominique, Ewing, or Reggie Miller?

Each of those listed above were worthy of winning gold, were they not? All of them were respective franchise pieces with the heart, skills, and late game heroics to hold the O’Brien.

The answer to their problems was Michael Jordan’s Bulls: a team of role guys surrounding the king of the sport with that IT factor needed to win it all. Something today’s critics use to gauge greatness and rank the all time elites.

So what is the issue then with the tautness of this old-time equation? Why not turn a blind eye and allow this to be the answer to everything?

Simply because it just does not add up. It does not offer enough answers. If Big Shot Bob has seven, or the likes of Jack Haley–former twelfth man for Jordan’s final three peat has three, the equation’s a bit off. We need something else, a new perspective when thinking of the greats and why and how they never hung the O’Brien.

And I believe individual luck IS the partly the answer, luck, a maddening machine random like the California Lottery. Historians prefer the term historical happenings–a notion that choices are made for no other reason except that they were made, and the dominoes re-arrange the cosmos of a world more closely inter-connected than we might wish it to be (think guy who smells like farts at the movies, or the swine flu victim winding a cough onto the back nape of the neck.)

Luck.

To think Michael Jordan fell to number three in the 1984 draft could be easily overlooked for a variety of reasons: Sam Bowie, the number two pick before MJ, was a  college superstar and a big man compared at the time to the greats. The Blazers already had a gifted wingman in Clyde Drexler andat the time the league was built around bigs: Kareem, Sampson and Olajuwan, Robert Parish, Patrick Ewing, and Moses Malone.

But that doesn’t make things less ludicrous.  Look at how the draft shaped the NBA forever. MJ goes to an ordinary Bulls team built in perhaps the greatest city in America, where he wins ROY, ultimately five MVP’s, slam dunk contests, becomes the games biggest mogul, and wins six titles. Alongside Oprah, MJ is easily the greatest name in Chicago history and can be attributed for an economical explosion that saved the lower West side of the city once run with crime: drug abuse, gang wars, and prostitution.

Bowie, in the annals of the NBA, is known as ‘the bust.’ He never won a thing in the pros: no all star games, no shoe deals, thus injuring the once bright ideal the Blazers had in trading their franchise Center Bill Walton to Boston.

This, my friends, is the Sam Bowie, a supernatural element that cannot be ignored.

Luck.

Yet like so many children born into inner city poverty without the tools necessary to change their lives, we cannot judge the stars through the a similar bias, because not all players are born lucky into a posh franchise. The gift of playing in Los Angeles or Boston does not come to everyone. Not every player is born into a showtime era, a team so deep they make the ocean look like a kids pool.

For some, seeking a new home is like divorcing an abusive wife. In order for Mitch Richmond to adorn gold, the talented and true shooting guard had to eventually break ties in the perils of Sacramento. Karl Malone found it necessary to join with Kobe and Shaq in 04′ after a long tenure in Utah. And even the humble Clyde Drexlerleft a hell of a situation in Portland to win it Houston. All three of which were great with or without (Sing it Bono) a championship.

The reality of the situation is heart breaking for most. We as childish dreamers wish our favorite player could be greater than the others, but this is not real. Embracing a pragmatic approach to the sport tied less to your heart strings will allow you to see greatness wrapped in many different packages. 

Reality 1: Great players DO NOT win championships, great TEAMS win championships. The 2004 Detroit Pistons are a perfect example of this. A team of role guys without a future hall of famer, the Pistons had the momentary IT. Call it faith, hard work, purity, and any other beautiful thing you want, but to explain why they won a title over an L.A. Laker team stocked with four future hall of famers would be absurd.

Reality 2: Like the stars in the sky, NBA STARS need other STARS. Think for a moment about the teams who’ve won championships the last thirty years. All of them have one thing in common: team depth and stars surrounding stars. Magic had Kareem and Worthy; Bird–Mchale and Parish; Dr.J–Moses Malone; Isaiah–Dumars and Rodman; MJ–Pippen; Hakeem–Clyde; Shaq–Kobe and Wade; Duncan–Robinson, Parker, and Ginobili; Pierce–KG and Allen.

Reality 3:  Winning titles does mean a lot, but it does not mean everything for a myriad of reasons. If the 1919 Chicago Blacksox or dirty referees like Tim Donaghy can throw World Series and playoff games, then how serious can we take this thing? Not very. Take everything with a grain of salt and learn other decided facets when it comes to judging all-time greats: MVP’s, All Star appearances, Career Totals, Game Winners, Ability to close, Athleticism, Re-defining the sport, dominance-ometer, and sociological affects.

LeBron James is not a sell out because the guy wants to win, he’s a realist. A star unselfish enough to admit that NO star including himself, can win a title completely on his own.

LeBron is stuck in the the Bill Clinton Vacuum. Though he does great things, he is brushed aside because of one unlikeable decision.

But greatness is not a grade school quiz on being friendly, it is brutal giftedness. And likeability is not the twin brother to being great.

LeBron made a  decision to better his career andhis life. Leading a Cleveland Cavs team the last seven years, that never boasted anybody better than a has-been version of Antawn Jamison warrants James departure.  No it does not warrant the overdone TV cinematic’s regarding “the decision,” nor the Pat Riley blowout introduction party in South Beach. Yet neither should it foster the illogical hysteria across America attempting to deny the man’s sheer dominance and greatness.

This isn’t patty cake kids. We are talking about a production entertainment, where all titles are but a decorative decor. They might help the woman look fine, but if that woman is not fine without the jewelry or the tight fitting jeans, I say run, run as fast as you can.

Drop by the nearest bar and have a scotch on me. Look through the world with freshness and at what is truly great (it is not the girl next to you.). It is the scraggly bartender able to whip up drinks faster than the average Joe.