Yeah, I know, all things considered, big picture, grand scheme, nearest available supposed to be now and forever politically correct-wise, I probably should be addressing the current Washington Redskins name brand crisis.
But, seriously, being as how this year's edition of said inside the beltway gridiron franchise totally sacre bleu - pardon my not even ever typically used by the French.
And because, surprise, surprise, truth be told, I much prefer any sort of hoops action - heck, at this point of the program, even a hardly fought ultra-mediocre battle to the stand-off finish between the Nets and the Jazz would seem to be a way cool/must see alternative to any here to there and all way back sporting activities otherwise available to the home consumer (what can I tell ya, that's how I roll!) - far over and way above anything that's gotta get up to get down on the nearest available football field of your choice, I figure I'll let Chief Cook and his Bottle Washers worry about what they think they need to, while I just keep me eyes on this anything but jive, and thus, keep it all going where I was headed in the first place, if you don't mind.
In other words……
Eastern Conference/Central Division
Chicago Bulls - Now we're talkin'. Or, at least I am. About my favorite b-ball team, that's for dang sure. With, of course, their perfect fit, grander than grand nickname, of sorts. All of which that totally matches up with the now and forever stubbornly strong, full of determined take no s%#@ spirit, that continually steers the heart and mind crush proof soul of this here ever-so wonderful Windy City of Broad Shoulders. And, okay, sure maybe to some of the outta town don't rightly knows, Bulls - especially in a more singular, soon to be stepped into fashion - might otherwise describe the overall start to never finish political climate around here. What with more than a few deader than usual stiffs swingin' many an election, ward bosses running amuck for any sort of look the other way big buck luck, and, oh yeah, more than a few mayors (and nearby governors, too - but that's another story) being way less than honorable via their agenda-driven whims cause they just don't care. But still, when all is said and done, just try and find a front of the jersey better one. Go ahead, I dare ya.
Detroit Pistons - Oh look, another longtime member of the Association sporting a nickname that can't help but say it all. In other words, at one time, this all-too-necessary engine item was nothing if not the primary part of the big power stroke that drove 'em 24/7 crazy back in the good old day Motor of City. And, although things aren't anything close to being that way anymore, it still beats that way long ago, before my time feeling during the pre-Dave Bing/Bob Lanier days when this here recklessly rearranged team name was simply yet another indirect local reminder that these back in the whole other day downtown cagemeisters were, more often than not, the 12-man team equivalent of an extraordinarily large, cumbersome quantity of fill 'er to the brim urine. As in, tons, literally, and then some. Uhhh, will that be for here, or to go? Whatever, just as long as it ain't a triple-double.
Cleveland Cavaliers - Technically speaking, except for maybe one or two magazines featuring scantily clad females of the va-va-voom kind (or, so I've heard), "Cavalier" was generally only used as a term in the olden days. Apparently before the invention of sliced bread, but not as far back as when wheels started rolling. In other words, to all to often describe either members of a King's court of attending parliamentarians, foppish swashbuckling caballeros, and/or, any Royalist worth his salt and peter sprinkled powder puff already in the service of King Charles of France. Or, something like that, if not more so, once, of course, you factor in the hot babes I just referred to, and for some reason - the first 38 don't count - keep coming back to, but, yeah, that's another story, too. Okay, so where was I? Oh yeah. Needless to say such an all-purpose description - at this point I'm not sure which one, take your pick - seems decidedly inappropriate for anyone still crawling around this otherwise charming (sure, if you say so) rustbelt-oriented, formally on fire lakefront community, especially in the way left behind after the fact wake of King You Know Who James of Now Elsewhere.
Indiana Pacers - I'm not sure, but even this wasn't supposed to be a backdoor salute to one of the many misshaped vehicles responsible for the anything but too-soon demise of American Motors, somebody around these here sum of no one's parts certainly has a sense of humor that only Dr. Mengele might get around to appreciating. But only after a couple quarts of peppermint schnapps, following, of course, another general clearing out of the nearest patient waiting room. If, however, it was meant as a reminder to whoever coaches these fellas into and out of the play-offs once more as to what he's going to be doing up and down the sidelines all season, then whoever you are, your point is well taken, and, like always, once again on the chin.
Milwaukee Bucks - Since I'm not now or ever will be a hunter, I just don't care. In other words, 12-point, 16-point, no matter how many points, and/or mostly lack there of, methinks no one's ever going to win a ring or beat the spread in this burg. So, relax, and, be sure to never sweat any and all overs and unders, either. Cause, well, WTF, for most of the season, due to the ongoing wind chill, and, seemingly endless variety of all the way freeze-outs, ain't nobody around here sweats, period.
To be continued. That is, eventually, one way or another. I promise. Trust me. What the hey, for some of you, rumor has it there's gotta be a first time.
Next Up: Eastern Conference/Southeast Division