Ridgeline

I cannot fathom why, on earth, anyone even cares about NBA basketball any more. To be fair, the first time Ron Artest's name cracked my thick skulled consciousness was when he requested a leave of absence because he was tired from his other job, a dilettante hip hop impresario. Now, though after the great Panic in Detroit, I would merely point to him as the latest, greatest, reason for the sad decline of professional basketball in the US. In the wake of Latrell Spreewell's attack on coach PJ Carlesimo, and the US Olympic team's dismal performance in Athens in 2004, the insolent culture of entitlement that has come to perpetuate our postmodern NBA has, sadly, killed the sport. Artest's protest that the suspension is unfair, and the union's grievance of the commissioner's decision, are simply ludicrous. I would have banned him for life.