You have to love the NBA Playoffs.
Right off the bat, you get two weeks worth of five-game first-round matchups, full of 83-63 nail-biters. And now, international espionage?
Brace yourself America, everyone’s catching a mean case of Pistons fever.
Normally, being the nondiscriminating diplomat I try to be, I’d extend the invitation to all of North America. But the Pistons don’t like Canada, remember?
Especially, “Oh, Canada,” which fans at The Palace at Auburn Hills booed prior to the series opener.
An excerpt from an apology posted on the main page of the Detroit Pistons official Web site, www.nba.com/pistons reads:
“Oftentimes, in the heat of the moment with emotions running high, individuals allow their enthusiasm to overshadow their sense of decorum. We would like to state that these few in no way reflect the attitude of the Detroit Pistons organization, or the overwhelming majority of Pistons fans, regarding our feelings for Canada or our Canadian neighbors.”
Hmmm … wow. How profound of a statement is that? You mean Joe Dumars and the rest of the execs don’t spit in the direction of Windsor?
Does anybody really think Ben Wallace got pumped up for game one by listening to Loverboy and screaming “Let’s get those Canuck bastards?”
Did Chucky Atkins rile up the Piston faithful by saying, “Why is a leaf a symbol of pride?”
Quick sidenote: It’s a good thing Lamar Odom isn’t a Raptor because then one particular leaf definitely would be a symbol of pride.
Anyway, it’s ridiculous to assume people really judge the Piston franchise as a whole in regards to ethnocentric behavior. It clearly was some fans with little intelligence.
But who’s ever accused Detroit sports fans of being smart?
While this incident could have been regarded as a public relations nightmare, personally, this is just what I needed.
Without going further in this column, I have a confession to make: I hate the Detroit Pistons. And by hate, I mean hate times 74.
The loathing of the red and blue stems to my early days in the mean streets of Arlington Heights, a northwest suburb of Chicago.
You see, the Bad Boys were the easiest thing to hate back then for a Bulls fan. I guess you could say it’s as easy as hating Roseanne.
They beat up my Bulls for a few years before plummeting into years of mediocrity.
And this year was supposed to be no different.
But, the acquisition of Jon Barry, the emergence of Wallace and the tutelage of Rick Carlisle pushed the overachieving team to the second-best record in the Eastern Conference.
Even worse, the Pistons played as a team, didn’t say anything too stupid and had a guy with a terrific Afro in Wallace.
I hate to admit it, but it is a very tough team to dislike.
They even have Dana Barros on the roster, the single deadliest three-point specialist in NBA Live ’95.
But this whole Canadian anthem thing helped me realize I still can hate the Pistons.
Ridiculous as this may sound, I hate the fact I can’t hate the Pistons. It keeps me up at night, sweating and whining while lying in the fetal position.
I close my eyes and pray they’ll trade for John Starks, the Rev. Jerry Falwell, Judge Judy or the Prince of Darkness (not Ozzy).
I check their Web site daily, looking to see if they hired Dr. Laura as their team physician.
But, just like Mick Jagger, I can’t get no satisfaction. Not when it comes to this team of overachieving, blue-collar goody-goodies.
And, in a sad way, I hope they continue to win and move toward the NBA Finals.
Who knows? It might give me more time for Michael Curry to commit some flagrant fouls or push an old lady over after stealing her purse.
Is that too much to ask?
Dan Woike, a sport’s reporter, will buy a Bison Dele, Fennis Dembo or William Bedford jersey if you can give him some legit reason to hate the Pistons. E-mail him at woikedan@msu.edu.
