The NBA’s Season of Sharing

Christmas wish lists are usually kept private, but given the tumultuous nature of the 2004-2005 NBA season, I want to offer my list to David Stern and basketball fans everywhere. Go Napster on this list. Cut and paste it into your own. Together, it will be impossible for Santa Claus to ignore us. The following are the 13 gifts that could improve the NBA and the lives of its fans.

1. Continued NHL Lockout

After I watch the West Coast games on the NBA package, I usually flip over to my favorite show, SportsCenter. And thanks to NHL players and the owners, not one minute is wasted on hockey highlights. I'll admit, there are some exciting hockey plays. They're called fights. Unless an already-punished Tie Domi has pummeled another knucklehead in the penalty box, there's no reason to waste anyone's time with hockey highlights. With luck, the latest NHL work stoppage will be permanent.

2. Draft Rights to LeBron James' Son

It is only a matter of time before this happens. Andre Agassi and Steffi Graf's son already has a guaranteed $1 million appearance fee for a tournament on his 18th birthday.

3. A Seat on the NBA Rules Committee

If I got this, I would immediately call for the creation of a basketball version of soccer's yellow and red cards for players who exaggerate the impact of a forearm to the chest. These are the world's greatest athletes, yet many of them have worse balance than my brother's month-old baby girl. In addition to in-game punishments, post-game reviews should be utilized to punish the Vlade Divacs and Derek Fishers of the world.

4. Jeff Van Gundy's Head on a Platter

Rockets GM Carrol Dawson needs to fire Van Gundy. One man should not be allowed to stifle so much talent. Granted, he was an effective coach with the Knicks, leading an undersized roster to the NBA Finals. But the strike-shortened 1999 season was one of the worst seasons in NBA history. Did anyone west of the Lincoln Tunnel actually like watching that team play?

His plodding, defensive style shackled Steve Francis, and we now see the same thing with Tracy McGrady. He refuses to admit that Bill Walton(!) may have exaggerated the brilliance of Yao Ming, whose lack of quickness makes him a second option at best. Right now, I'd rather have Zydrunas Ilgauskas.

5. A Thank You Card

I'd like to thank David Stern for handing down the suspensions that absolutely ruined my fantasy team. Ron Artest was my meal ticket, and now he's gone. Thanks, Commish.

6. League-wide "YMCA" ban

Go to any NBA arena, and in the fourth quarter you are certain to hear the "YMCA" song. Why? The opening chords have a retarding effect on otherwise reasonable adults. Note to arena music directors: there is a reason similarly crappy songs, like the "Macarena" and "Whoop, That Is" get discarded. Somehow, though, fans are still showing off their letter-formation abilities. This must stop.

7. Travel Size Set of Steak Knives

Being the selfless person that I am, I will forward this gift to Kobe Bryant. The next time he tries to extricate himself from a crisis of his own doing, he can save everyone some time, and stab his friends, family, or teammates directly in the back.

8. Ten Crates of Clearasil

I recently made the HDTV leap and it truly is amazing how clear the picture is. But unfortunately, I now can see with great detail the back acne that Eastern Europeans and Brad Miller seem to suffer from. There might be a shortage in the U.S., but I'm sure we can import some from Canada. Pedrag Drobnak: help is on the way.

9. Shawn Marion Bobblehead

My mom recently moved from the home that I grew up in, and unfortunately, she threw away the Skeletor action figure from my He-Man collection. It was a rare collector's item, but even the geeks at Skeletor.com would be hard-pressed to point out a difference in Marion's and Skeletor's bone structure.

10. Canned Goods

I heard that times have gotten so rough for Latrell Sprewell and his family, his wife has resorted to doing what Latrell told the female critic at the Staples Center. If I get any canned goods, I'll do whatever I can to make sure that the Sprewell family makes it through the winter.

11. Karl Malone Miami Heat Jersey

Christmas is nothing if not predictable. Every year, uninspired relatives give me ridiculous-looking sweaters and flannels. And with the booze flowing, there is guaranteed to be at least one shouting match or physical confrontation. My family's drama is nice, but it is PG-rated stuff compared to the would-be drama of Kobe Bryant's Lakers playing host to a Miami Heat roster that included Karl Malone. Please, Karl. Sign with the Heat.

Imagine Kobe driving to a basket defended by Karl "The Mexican Hunter" Malone and Shaquille "I Never Forget" O'Neal. Would he have the guts to do it? Before he decides, Kobe should talk to Brad Miller, who Shaq almost killed with a haymaker a few years back, or Isiah Thomas, whose bonehead decision making skills I attribute to the vicious elbow delivered by Karl in 1992. I understand that Kobe bulked up to 230 pounds in the offseason. Whoa. Shaq and Karl, two of the biggest freaks of nature in the NBA, must be as intimidated as all of the referees Kobe has berated this season. His mouth is writing checks that his body can't cash.

12. TiVo

I already have TiVo, but I'd like to give one to every sports columnist so that they can get their facts right. If I had a dollar for every error-filled, post-fight review, I might be able to feed Latrell Sprewell's family this winter. If it weren't for TiVo, I might be like the rest of ignorant America, and think that the Pacers are animals who viciously attacked fans who absentmindedly wandered onto the court on their way to the restroom. Thanks to TiVo, I was able to read the lips of the squatty guy who got blasted by a Jermaine O'Neal slide-by. He definitely was not asking for directions to section 143.

In watching the fight in Detroit more than 100 times, I also realized that TiVo's slow-motion replay feature is priceless. There is nothing funnier than the transformation of glee to terror on the guy's face at the exact moment he realized he was about to be Ron Artest's first victim.

13. The Real Dream Team

Is it really a surprise that Team USA didn't win the gold medal in Athens? After all, we are talking about a team put together by Stu Jackson. How this guy's opinion is respected by anyone, is beyond me. He has a losing-career coaching record, and contributed to numerous mediocre Knicks rosters. Stu had his shot at assembling the Olympic team; now it's my turn.

Coach: Stan Van Gundy

I'm breaking with the tradition of selecting a coach who has a long, successful track record. Larry Brown is widely regarded as one of the greatest coaches in basketball, but he was a horrible Olympic coach. My coach will be like the ceremonial All-star Game coach who just tells the guys to compete and have fun.

Really, though, having Stan Van Gundy is a marketing ploy. His uncanny resemblance to renowned film actor Ron Jeremy will increase NBC's ratings by 30 percent.

Center: Shaquille O'Neal

Let's see how many threes other countries' centers hit after a few possessions of being backed into by Shaq.

Power Forward: Amare Stoudemire

Give him all the minutes he wants, damnit. If Pau Gasol was dunking on everyone, how many will Amare get? If the American-playa-hatin' international refs try to foul him out, put sixth man Ron Artest in the game to intimidate them. For that matter, why not put Mike Tyson on the squad as a backup power forward? Think Barkley in his angry younger days, and on an empty stomach.

Small Forward: Kevin Garnett

With Garnett guarding them, no 6-6 Turk will parlay a 27-point game into a NBA contract. See: Seattle Supersonics guard, Ibrahim Kutluay.

Shooting Guard: LeBron James

Not only because he is the best perimeter player in the NBA, but also because I'm tired of referring to him as "LeBronze."

Point Guard: Me

This one on paper appears to be a head-scratcher. I'm 6-1, 160 lbs., and worst of all, white. Truthfully, there are probably only 20 teams in the WNBA that I could start for.

On offense, my game resembles a tragic imitation of the "Professor" on And-One's reality series, "Streetball." Only my friend Eamon looks more ridiculous when making no-look inbounds passes or unnecessary behind-the-back and through-the-shirt dribbles. My shooting range is limited to about 12 feet, due to my sixth-grade upper body strength.

On defense, I am a complete liability. I vastly overestimate my own quickness, so I'm usually out of position after going for the steal. And that is if I actually make it back to that end of the court. Because of my blue-state lifestyle of smoking and drinking, I've got worse stamina than Stanley Roberts. With me in the lineup, it's more like 4.5-on-5.

But given my teammates, I'm confident we would bring home the gold. I'm allowed to dream when making a "Dream Team," right?