Oh, Ron Ron

Don't you find it funny that when there's unique basketball players out there, they can have a unique nickname. LeBron=Bron Bron. Shaq=Big Aristotle Big Cactus Big Freeze? Then, you have Ron Artest who, depending on how you see him, can be Ron Ron -- the guy who is passionate about the team he plays for (to an extent) and his "hood" -- or that thug n***a who started that big fight with a bunch of fans in Detroit and basically put a black eye on professional sports and connecting athletes with fans.

This past season, I subscribed to the Ron Ron side of things being that he was integral in Houston's rise from the Southwest Division cellar. In fact, I thought he could be a leader rather than someone who could win a championship on the coat tails of a superstar. In small little words, we f*cked, y'all. No Yao for the season and possibly the rest of his career. No superstar presence in the starting five. An ineffective Tracy McGrady since 2004. We were the darlings of the whole Western Conference when we took the Lakers to the brink in the Second Round. Now we're looking at NBA purgatory for the next 3-6 seasons. Believe me, I hung all my hope on Artest being the saving grace of a whole city. Instead, he'll be sipping Moet with Luke Walton and Adam Morrison at the W after a hard fought win against the Clippers.

Don't get me started on Trevor Ariza also. In order for Houston to get a sniff of the playoff drawls, Ariza and Aaron Brooks will have to become superstars this seasons. I wonder what we can give up for Zydrunas Ilgauskas. Somebody up in Cleveland took his job already.

Game 7, Please

The little engine that could. Toot. Toot.

Apparently, the Rockets were the only team that made the trip to Houston for Game Six Thursday. The baby Rockets caught the L.A. Lakers napping Thursday night when they busted out of the gate with an outstanding scoring 1st quarter and held the great and powerful Kobe Bryant to 11-of-27 shooting. All of this happened two nights after the Lakers did the same to the Rockets, winning by 40. The result, just like Game 4 of this Western Conference Semifinal series, was a 95-80 shalacking of the Lake Show and a Game 7 on Sunday.

God, I love it! It's just like 1995 again except we have absolutely no star power on the roster. Plus, I started a strange thing called puberty back then. Now, I have to shave everywhere. You can't bunch up your taint bush, fellas.

Anyways, Aaron Brooks continues to be a scoring beast. The 26th pick overall in 2007 NBA Draft dropped 26 points. Luis Scola, who should have been on the All-Star team this past February, popped L.A. for 24, including the first 10 points of the game.

And all of this is significant because I love the Rockets and hate the Lakers. This makes my lower regions all warm and cuddly inside.

Oh, yeah, Orlando forced a Game 7, as well, against the great and powerful Celtics. If it weren't for that Big Baby Davis muthaf....

Phil Jackson, Your Veiled Anguish Sustains Me

"Zen Master" my ass.

I've held off on commenting on this very juicy Western Conference Second Round series between my beloved Houston Rockets and the Lakers. It's not going to be a memorable series like the Bulls-Celtics first round matchup but we have had several plot points that make this contest juicier than a rare porterhouse (bad analogy). And by that I mean, fights, fights, broken feet, and more fights.

With Yao Ming chalked out of the rest of the playoffs, the remaining Rockets that aren't 7 foot Chinamen or named Tracy McGrady picked up the slack for Game 4, beating the Lakers 99-87. The win was propelled by 6 foot point guard Aaron Brooks' career high 32. (Oregon Duck, eh? Who knew.) At one point, the Rox led by as many as 29 points. Kobe was held to only 15 points.

How did this make Lakers coach and foremost advocate of dating the boss' daughter Phil Jackson feel? Well, let's just say ESPN will be working on a 15-second delay next time.

You just can't "give them credit" and spout out an expletive and expect it to look fine. Phil was clearly pissed and demoralized by this. And, for some twisted reason other than I'm from Houston and I bleed Rockets red, I'm all too amused for it.

Playoff Fever: More Contagious Than Herp...Er...Swine Flu

C*M ON MY FACE!

The NBA. Where last second madness erections happen.

Granted, I've kept up with most of the games in the NBA playoffs through drunken WAP browsing...or sparing TV watching...at bars...drunk. But still, who would have thought that four games in a seven game series would go into extra frames? In a 2-7 matchup, no less?

In my pre-playoffs post (yes, I used alliteration), I dismissed the Baby Bulls due to inexperience and, well, because the Celtics have star power. In fact, Paul Pierce and Jesus Shuttlesworth, er, Ray Allen have more experience in the playoffs in the tip of their penii than the whole Chicago team. But so far in the series, the Bulls have proven that they got charismatic balls. Who knew? Joakim Noah. Brad Miller. Ben Gordon. Derrick Rose. John freakin' Salmons?! They are like the naive but very willing girlfriend that doesn't know how to go down on a guy but is trying so hard that you're left with an unfulfilled but pleasurable mess. Alright, bad analogy.

But still, if you don't know what I'm talking about, six games in this series so far. Four of them have gone to at least one overtime. I think, five of them were decided by less than 4 points. And surprisingly, the Bulls have the Celtics on the ropes. I will be watching the deciding Game 7 somewhere very drunk and very debaucherous, wearing my Ben Gordon jersey. I want this underdog to start barkin'.

In other playoff contagiousness, it took dudes who aren't named Tracy McGrady to get my beloved Rockets past the first round. Actually, it took a very naive, young ball club in the Portland Trail Blazers to lay down for my Houston squad. But, by God, we made it, and now, we get the right to have Kobe, Trevor Ariza, and Pau Gasol wipe our nappy faces up and down the floor. DAMMIT!

Still, it feels good. Like first time in 12 years good, which is the length of time between now and the very next time, I believe, a woman will let me stick my penis inside of her. **Dejected "Wah Wah" Sound**