Until Tuesday night, the antithesis to Showtime was always the Boston Celtics.

Magic versus Bird. Jack Nicholson versus "Beat L.A.," Pat Riley's slicked back hair versus Red Auerbach's raging cigar. The beautiful people versus well, we all know what Bird, Kevin McHale and Robert Parrish looked like.

All good things come to an end. Bird and Magic retired while Michael Jordan reached his zenith. Rivalry in the NBA became a fossil as Jordan alone became the Chicago Bulls. For every championship the Bulls won in the 1990s, Jordan was the MVP. Teams weren't represented by a logo, they were represented with the most marketable face that dressed each game night.

For a team sport, the NBA became a culture of superstars. Karl Malone and Gary Payton didn't go to Los Angeles to win a championship for the Lakers, they came to win a championship for themselves.

Then, Detroit happened. The Pistons exploded a team of players that nobody wanted - the names weren't big enough - into a supernova of fundamental team athletics.

Chauncey Billups bounced around the NBA like a pinball, playing on five teams since 1997 before finding a home in Detroit. Ben Wallace went from undrafted, small-school project to one of the best defenders in the league. Rasheed Wallace, a man synonymous with technical fouls and arrest records, became the missing ingredient into a championship team. A team of outcasts, nobodies, has-beens and never-will-bes showed the NBA that a team is bigger than any superstar.

If the antithesis of the Lakers in the 1980s was the Boston Celtics, then the antithesis to the superstar culture is now the world champion Detroit Pistons. For a city that drives the world, Detroit is plenty ignored by the rest of the nation. Detroit is, to L.A., the homeless man they pretend not to notice on their way to Starbucks. If this was a conglomeration of roughneck players abandoned by the NBA, what better city than Detroit to remind the world to never sleep on a city with an indestructible spirit.

Those who do not understand how such a deteriorated city could have so much pride is best off rooting for the Lakers. The Detroit Pistons are more than Ben Wallace's afro and the clock tower chime. They're more than the attention Richard Hamilton's broken nose received for two weeks. The perfect personification of Detroit today is Chauncey Billups' Finals MVP trophy and the grin on Rasheed Wallace's face. The two men that no one wanted found a home in the city the rest of the nation pretends they don't see. Call them misfits or miscreants, today they're champions.

Lakers coach Phil Jackson has nine championship rings. Kobe Bryant and Shaquille O'Neal have three each and remain dominant individual players in the NBA. But as Detroit showed Los Angeles Tuesday night, having a ring does not make someone a champion. Champions are self-made.

Look at your hands right now - you will always have as many championship rings as Karl Malone and Gary Payton.