I was a witness last night. From this day forward, I’ll know where I was when it happened. I just can’t figure out exactly what I was a witness to.

Was it the day that LeBron James became without a doubt, the best basketball player on the planet? Or the day we saw the mighty Pistons fall, thus ending the reign of "team chemistry basketball" in the NBA?

It’s both.

After James’ 32 points, 5 rebounds, 5 assists, 2 steals and one block in the Cleveland Cavaliers Game 5 upset win over the Detroit Pistons at the Palace, I’m anything but innocent anymore.

I can enjoy the displays that Kobe Bryant puts on, I can still love the Los Angeles Lakers and I can still admire Dwyane Wade, Steve Nash and Dirk Nowitzki. But I can no longer deny LeBron is far more advanced at 21 than anyone in NBA history. What I think I need most right now is to be enrolled in the ‘Witness Protection Program’.

We still can’t compare him to Jordan (which is almost becoming a compliment to James)—he passes like Michael never could. Nor rightfully can we call him Magic—he scores and drives and hits jumpers like Johnson never could; but we can say that LeBron James is fulfilling the prophecy.

What do we do now that we know?

Maybe we wait for his rival to emerge—like Magic, Michael and Larry had each other. Because, if we’re truthful with ourselves, there’s no debating James’ has jumped up a level. Sure, he’ll need to win some titles—but who else has or has ever had the potential since Magic to average a triple double for the entire season?

But there have only been a handful of players who see the game this way—hitting game winners, dropping precision passers for game-winners, doing all the little things and saying all the right things. James trusts his team mates, yes, but he trusts himself even more. While we complain about Kobe’s two versions of selfishness, we LeBron to be more selfish.

Forget the MVP debate; it’s clearly obvious to anyone who’s watched the regular season and the playoffs that LeBron James is the best basketball player in the NBA. The way James understands the game is uncanny. Take his numbers in the regular season, (31.4 points, 7.0 rebounds, 6.6 assists per game) and the playoffs as an example: against Washington, James averaged 35.7 points, 7.5 rebounds and 5.7 assists per game while shooting 50% from the field. He had to score more against the Wizards and Arenas because it was that kind of series. Against Detroit, LeBron has averaged 25.4 points, 8.2 rebounds and 7 assists per game. With a grind it out, defensive minded Pistons team focusing on him, LeBron’s numbers are extraordinary.

Last night, I was a witness to something else: perhaps the end of ‘team chemistry basketball’ as perfected for the past three seasons by the Detroit Pistons.

Maybe they went away from the game plan, maybe they’ve become to cocky and coasted for the past three months, taking every other game off, or maybe they’re just a victim of LeBron James.

But what it must be like for Detroit right now, questioning everything. Lindsay Hunter taking your last good shot of the game? Missing out on the opportunity to capitalize at the end when Eric Snow throws the ball away? These aren’t your older brother’s Pistons. They lost three straight games to a Cleveland team that didn’t even have their second best scorer. Do they even have a game plan for defending LeBron?

The Pistons, since beating the Los Angeles Lakers in the 2004 NBA Finals, have been amassing an ego not rivaled since Willie Beamen in Any Given Sunday. Detroit approached the last four months of this season like the 2004 Lakers did.

Which is why they’re cooked—the Pistons became the exact opposite of what they once were.

This series has implications well beyond this year. Think of what it would to Detroit’s psyche from now on. How would they react next year to facing the Cavs? In future years? By beating the Pistons now, when James and the Cavs weren’t supposed to, is bigger and has greater impact than beating them in a year or two. To Rip, Sheed, Chauncey, Big Ben and Tayshaun, losing this year will be inexplicable.

What we’re really witnessing is the changing landscape of the NBA. Used to be, a team would win games—individuals would entertain. But now, no longer do you need players who fit each role and get along. Start with a couple scorers (preferably one All-Star)—with speed and range on their jump shots—and surround them with role players. That’s more or less what Dallas, Phoenix, Cleveland and L.A. (Lakers) have tried to do. And three of those teams are still playing—all with a 3-2 series lead.

The only thing “guaransheed” right now is that LeBron James has made ‘The Leap’ and the Pistons way of basketball is on the verge of extinction.

We haven’t seen a player this dynamic at this age or a style shift like this since the 1980’s. I was five months old when Magic made ‘The Leap’ in the 1980 NBA Finals. Probably still in diapers when Larry became a ‘Legend’ and had a short attention span, like any kid, who would rather sing the Gatorade commercials when Michael first became ‘Jordan’. If I ignore this, I’m missing out of one of the biggest moments in the history of the NBA. Not many players get there, and no ones done it since the aforementioned “Big Three” did it in the 1980’s. And rarely are there shifts in the formula for building a competitive team like we’ve seen with the Suns, Mavs and Cavs.

Until now.

I was watching when LeBron James made ‘The Leap’ and when the NBA shifted eras. Can I get a witness?

Steve Nash must be taking lessons from David Copperfield. Because Nash winning the MVP this year is like Copperfield dating Claudia Schiffer.

It’s slight of hand and trickery—I just don’t see how Nash became a two-time MVP. I can’t help but feel like we’ve been duped as NBA fans.

Because Steve Nash as a two-time MVP is a farce.

This isn’t about Kobe, LeBron and Dirk anymore and if they should have won. It isn’t about personal attacks or who’s a better person. It isn’t about the merit of their seasons, what makes a team better, how much individual stats hold against team success, etc.

This is about the absurd notion forming that Steve Nash is one of, if not the best, point guards ever.

And if you don’t think that’s what’s happening, you need to realize that by Nash winning his second MVP Award, he just joined Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain, Moses Malone, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Tim Duncan as the only players to have won more than one MVP.

Nash has somehow done this without leading his team in scoring or being a game-altering threat to take over in the 4th quarter. He’s not even a lock to take the last shot in a tight game. Plus, he looks like Kelly Leak from the original Bad News Bears.

The strange thing is I like Steve Nash. I think he’s done wonders to change the pace and face of the NBA the past few seasons, reverting teams back to the 1980’s and early 90’s style of fast-tempo basketball. It’s what the NBA needed.

But Nash is no better than a handful of other NBA point guards who have been good, impressive and great—but never got to that level.

In a comparison provided by the good people at Basketball Reference.com, Nash is in a select company of solid and dependable point guards—but hardly the best ever. In fact, according to the website, Nash has only slightly better than a fifty percent chance to make the Hall of Fame. No other MVP has averaged fewer points since Wes Unseld in 1969. Yet he also became the only other point guard beside Magic Johnson to win back-to-back MVP’s.

Look at this group of point guards and their best seasons:

Steve Nash
2005: 15.5 points, 11.5 assists, 3.3 rebounds per game. He led the league in assists and shot 88.7% from the foul line.
2006: 18 points, 10.5 assists, 4.2 rebounds. He shot 92% from the free throw line and 43% from three point range, and led the league in assists.

John Stockton
1990: 17.2 points, 14.5 assists, 2.7 steals, 2.6 rebounds per game. Stockton led the NBA in assists from 1988-1996—but was never MVP, even though the Jazz routinely won and appeared in the playoffs. In ’90,

Kevin Johnson
1990: 23.9 points, 12.2 assists, 3.9 rebounds per game. Johnson shot 50% from the field that season. He routinely averaged a double-double in points and assists, basically from 1989-1996.

During that 1990 season, Johnson didn’t even get a vote for MVP; Stockton finished 9th to Magic Johnson. Nash is basically doing exactly what all point guards used to do—score and distribute. Heck, on occasion, some of them would even play defense.

The MLB A.L. MVP debate last year focused on the fact that David Ortiz was merely a hitter, while A-Rod played both parts of the game. While its obvious basketball and baseball are different sports; we also apparently have different basic criteria for MVP’s in general, because Nash doesn’t play any defense. Had Smush Parker not gone 7-37 over the last four games of the Lakers-Suns series, a national audience might have seen that Nash couldn’t guard a slow motion Ace Ventura when he’s pretending to play football at the asylum.

Here were the other candidates for MVP this season, who share similarities with MVP’s of the past:

Kobe Bryant, 2006: 35.4 points, 4.5 assists, 5.1 rebounds, 1.8 steals. Bryant won the scoring title.

Allen Iverson, 2001: 31.1 points, 4.6 assists, 3.8 rebounds, 2.5 steals per game. Iverson won the scoring title.

LeBron James, 2006: 31.4 points, 6.6 assists, 7.0 rebounds, 1.6 steals per game.

Michael Jordan, 1992: 30.1 points, 6.1 assists, 6.4 rebounds, 2.3 steals per game.

Obviously, throwing out all these stats isn’t going to change the outcome, and doesn’t prove or disprove anything.

But I can’t shake it—Nash is a current day John Stockton, Kevin Johnson, Isiah Thomas or Tim Hardaway who just joined a list of nine of the greatest players in NBA history.

The same guy who, at times during Phoenix’s Game 7 win over the Lakers Saturday, wasn’t even the most valuable guard on his own team, with Leandro Barbosa making us question why Nash had such a hard time earlier in the series. The same guy who has a two year scoring average of 16.7 points and plays some of the worst defense in the league. The same guy who is now in the same breath as Jordan, Bird and Magic.

I just don’t see it—but maybe you can.

When it comes to sports and gambling, we’re a fickle crowd. We like predictions, like being told who’s going to win and lose, not just in the big games, but game eleven of the regular season as well. It’s funny—we love the World Series of Poker, “The Gambler”, White Men Can’t Jump and everything in between—as long as it doesn’t involve real athletes and sports that we care about.

Fans, well we’re allowed to gamble. As betters, we don’t have favorites. We have winners and losers—and we respect them equally because they put money in our pockets. We can place bets on the teams, the winner, the loser, what the total points scored by both teams is, how many points, hits or touchdowns a player will have. We bet on everything down to the length of the game.

But we sure are funny—if not a bunch of hypocrites.

See, it’s ok for us to bet on sports, to put money down on something, anything—but it’s not ok for athletes themselves—even if they don’t play the sport they’re betting on or are retired from professional sports all together. It raises more eyebrows than antes.

We can bet on college sports like the USC-Texas Rose Bowl or the NCAA Tournament—and do it online at every major sports site, but Charles Barkley is viewed negatively for telling us he threw thousands and thousands of dollars away at some table in Vegas?

Here’s what I don’t understand: why do we care? Aside from crossing the line of fixing games to meet the outcome that the bookies want (which is wrong and has no place in sports, obviously), where else is gambling someone else’s concern?

Would you care if I went out and blew all my money in Vegas, then came home with nothing and my family ended up on the street? Probably not.

It’s like watching Austin Powers gamble—if I’m a dumb gambler and don’t know a thing about cards or casinos or betting and lose—then call me stupid and irresponsible with money. Maybe worry for my family for having to rely on me to provide for them.

Barkley can do whatever he wants with his money, because it’s his.

This isn’t steroids; it isn’t drugs or performance enhancers that affect (except in cases of fixed games) the purity of the game or score fixing. When you bet, you are always at risk to lose—the more you could lose. These are the rules, they’ve always been the rules and you know that going in.

When Daly and Barkley go out and confess to having a “gambling problem”, I don’t feel sorry for them or hold them in contempt—I laugh. Because anyone who has taken a math class can tell you it’s quite a risk to put a large sum of money on the probability that the event you’re betting on will occur.

Daly isn’t stealing money from me—he’s throwing it away in bunches, which is silly, but none of my concern. If it was an athlete that wasn’t playing hard and was getting criticized for it, I can see that debate.

But Barkley isn’t playing for his lunch money; he isn’t a person of high power in a public setting that has a problem which would affect his leadership abilities.

(Though, if Chuckles did run for Governor of Alabama, I wouldn’t want to hear his economic improvement strategy: “Let’s just take all last year’s taxes and put in on Red 19—we’ll triple our state income!”)

A lot of what we think about the topic depends on who it is: Pete Rose is considered a baseball pariah—even though it was never proven he bet on baseball as a player, which is what keeps him out of the Hall of Fame.

Michael Jordan heavily gambled (there’s even been that gossip-like rumor that Jordan was forced to retire from basketball in 1993 because of gambling problems)—but we don’t let that affect our judgment of His Airness.

In fact, we don’t let anything affect our opinion of Jordan. It’s taking on mythic proportions at this point. He’s turned into Bill Brasky from the SNL skits with Will Ferrell.

Let’s hope Kobe Bryant doesn’t start gambling away money at a blackjack table—he’ll never be allowed on the basketball court again.

We sure are funny sports fans. We hate the gamblers, but we love the lines. In that spirit, here are the odds for some upcoming sporting events:

10:1—Odds that Kobe Bryant and Raja Bell participate in a “No Holds Barred” match after Game 7, with Luke Walton and Lakers assistant Kurt Rambis as Kobe’s manager.

Hilarious: Riveting—Odds that Bill Walton will call Game 7 of Lakers-Suns Saturday and act like he doesn’t know or acknowledge Luke Walton.

Over/Under on how many days until Paris Hilton moves on to Vince Young or Jay Cutler: 6

2:1—Odds that Barry Bonds uses his recent head injury to plead that amnesia caused him to forget whether or not he knowingly took steroids. Looks like now we’ll never know.

EVEN—The winner of NASCAR’s Crown Royal 250 must take 250 shots of Crown to prove he’s the champ.

1,000,000:1—Odds that Jeff Gordon is that man.

If you had told me at any point in the past ten years that the Los Angeles Lakers and the Los Angeles Clippers would meet in the playoffs during any postseason, I would have spit out my beer and laughed uncontrollably, like the New Orleans Saints front office probably did after the Houston Texans didn’t take Reggie Bush in the NFL Draft last Saturday.

So here we are, dealing with the improbable, but very possible—a series between two franchises who share the same arena, but distinctly different histories. If this wasn’t the Lakers and the Clippers, the focus would be on the goofy notion that neither team will leave their home court; they’ll just alternate locker rooms. The biggest thing either has to deal with is the change in the paint color scheme on the court.

Here’s what’s most troubling: who would get dibs on the front row seats, Jack Nicholson or Billy Crystal?—because Lord knows there isn’t room for both in Staples.

While the focus in this upcoming series should be on the Clippers, a Caddyshack like Cinderella story of the bumbling franchise that all of the sudden turned into a viable playoff contender (with Donald Sterling staring as Judge Smails)—it won’t be.

The Lakers are the most intriguing playoff story going, for two reasons: Phil Jackson and Kobe Bryant.

Though he’s tied with Red Auerbach with most NBA titles won by a coach, the knock on Phil Jackson has always been he had all the talent while winning titles with the Bulls and Lakers. And until recently, maybe that was true.

But after this impressive season-long coaching clinic, when will Phil get the recognition he deserves as Greatest Coach of All-Time? Because there’s nothing left now to discuss with his latest turn in L.A.—and maybe that’s why he came back. How do you top winning championships with Michael and Scottie, Shaq and Kobe? How about turning a team that everyone laughed at for two seasons and making them a Western Conference semi-finalist.

We should have seen this coming—shouldn’t have we assumed that Jackson would out-coach Mike D’Antoni?

Maybe this was Phil’s plan all along. Think about it: if you were Jackson, how would you go about winning games during the regular season in the West? Team ball? No way. Sure, maybe you can count on this collection of misfits to step up in the playoff spotlight like they have, but night after night, over the course of 82 games? Not a chance.

So you put the ball into the hands of one of the league’s most dynamic players and basically let him try to get the team into the playoffs. While Kobe’s doing his thing, Jackson was molding the likes of Lamar Odom, Luke Walton, Smush Parker and Kwame Brown into believing in their roles.

(Can you actually believe we’re talking about Kwame Brown and Luke Walton as a viable basketball players? Me neither.) One unmistakable fact about Jackson: he’s an excellent motivator and can sell basketball like Big Tom Callahan sold auto-parts.

Then, there’s Kobe. I remember watching Jordan’s “Flue-Game” against the Jazz in ’97 and the Game 6 winner over Russell in ’98, with a bunch of my friends. And it was…anti-climatic. We’d come to expect the 50 point games and last second heroics. He was Air Jordan for crying out loud.

But with Kobe, well, it’s unfair to compare him to Jordan, because he’s really not. He’s actually the anti-Jordan.

He wasn’t cut in seventh grade, his father wasn’t killed tragically and for all of his smiling, he doesn’t have Jordan’s off-court likeability (not to mention the whole Shaq divorce). Jordan was endearing because of those all his quirks. Bryant speaks multiple languages, has openly admitted to cheating on his wife and has an ego the size of Jackson’s Montana ranch getaway. Bryant is less than likeable because of these things.

So as Kobe hit the game tying lay-up and subsequent overtime winner, I was thoroughly impressed because unlike Jordan, everyone who isn’t a Laker fan is rooting for Kobe to miss those shots. Most of us want to see him fail because, frankly, we don’t like him as a person.

And that’s fine—we don’t have to like him. But we have to recognize what Bryant’s doing on the basketball court. In the past 86 games, he’s gone from selfish and self-serving, to 62 points in three quarters (where he was berated for not going for the non-Wilt record, to scoring 81 (where he was berated for actually doing it), to leading a group of players who wouldn’t see the court on most NBA rosters into the playoffs.

If there’s one Jordan comparison that works, maybe it’s this one: he massages his team mates’ confidence the same way MJ did. Did you see the way he talked to Parker after that game-tying lay-up?

And did you see the way his team mates mobbed him like Jimmy Chitwood after the Game 4 OT winner? They love him.

But somehow, we still don’t.

In a short five game span, Kobe’s played the role designed by his coach. He became a team leader and a team mate, making the Lakers into a fun-loving, all-for-one NCAA Tournament style playoff Cinderella.

And yet, we still discredit the performance. We still call him self-serving and egotistical. Make no mistake—he’s probably still all those things. But when will we start acting like the fictional Yankees fans did in For Love of the Game and just applaud this? A legend is forming in front of our eyes, but our dislike for Bryant’s personality blinds us.

After Game 4, a fan said that they hadn’t heard the Staples Center that loud since the 2000 Western Conference Finals comeback win over Portland. Sure, Smush Parker made a steal, Luke Walton forced a jump ball—but the success of this team can be credited to Phil and Kobe. They still haven’t won this series or anything else this year—and maybe they never will again.

But for this odd couple, maybe that’s the plan.

Although it's widely assumed I have a huge, awkward Apollo-Rocky style Man Crush on Kobe Bryant, complete with an "I heart Kobe" t-shirt, let me set the record straight: I don't. It's just I'm pleading to the masses to recognize greatness when it's in front of their eyes.

Something else be known here, as the inbox has flooded lately with e-mails all of the sudden calling me a Jordan-hater for yesterday's comparison, let me be the first to say I don't think Kobe Bryant's the Next Michael Jordan. What I am saying is he's the first Kobe Bryant and the only one who's come even close to filling the legendary Air Jordan's.

What I'd really like is to have the masses who debate these issues open their eyes for a minute, because I'm about to lay another one on you: Neither Bryant, nor Jordan, nor Magic Johnson or Larry Bird is the Greatest Basketball Player of All Time.

That distinction belongs to Pete Maravich.

For a moment, forget about NCAA Championships. Forget about NBA Championships. I'm talking about individually the Greatest Basketball Player we've ever seen--and he certainly peaked in college. You just can't put Maravich up against the others, like Jordan who won six rings, because Maravich never had a team like Jordan had, with great spot shooters, a key rebounder and a decent coach.

But he still put up the most impressive numbers we're ever going to see. You can say, "Yeah, Maravich was a gunner, just look at his nickname". But the Pistol was more than a gunner. He'd hit people in the hands when they couldn't even see the pass coming. Besides, like Jordan or Bryant, would you want anyone else shooting the ball at the end of the game? Why would you support the theory that LeBron James is a truly great basketball player when he passes off at the end of games? To be truly great, don't you need that killer instinct? You can only hit your team mates in the hands so many times before you realize the best option for your team to win is by you scoring.

Pistol Pete was "White Chocolate" before Jason Williams. He was the original Scoring Machine. Pistol Pete rarely made the same move twice; his wizardry left opponents confused, fans breathless and his own team mates amazed. He was the first Sports "Shock and Awe".

Pete Maravich's records are legendary: NCAA record for most points in a career (3,367), a 44.2 average; NCAA record for most field goals made (1,387) and attempted (3,166); NCAA record for most free throws made (893) and attempted (1,152); NCAA record for most games scoring at least 50 points (28). He owns NCAA single season records for: points (1,381), average (44.5 in 1970, 44.2 in 1969 and 43.8 in 1968), field goals made (522), attempted (1,668) and single season record for most 50 point games, with 10 in 1970.

He did it all playing for his father, Press Maravich, at LSU from 1968-1970. As a freshmen (when you weren't allowed to play varsity ball), the Pistol averaged 43.6 points per game. And while you may argue that Maravich played for his father, which made it easier, consider that the LSU was an also ran in the SEC before he arrived. And just answer me this: could you have done those things, even if you were playing for your father? Probably not. Maravich basically carried a team of mediocre basketball players to a 20-8 record in 1970 while being named College Player of the Year.

His single game feats at LSU are the stuff of legend. He hit 30 of 31 free throws against Oregon his senior year. His career high of 69 came against Alabama; he dropped 64 on Kentucky, 66 on Tulane and 61 against Vanderbilt. He did it all in just 83 career games. To this day, no one's even come close to touching his records.

In the NBA, Maravich played against better players, but he still was a five time All-Star, averaged 24.2 ppg (15th best All-Time) and did most of it while dealing with injuries and personal problems. Heck, if the Pistol hadn't been hurt near the end of his career, he'd probably be higher up the All-Time scoring list.

If you actually want to try and compare different players from different eras, consider this: Maravich scored 68 against the New York Knicks in 1977, a team that had Bob McAdoo, Earl Monroe, Walt Frazier and Spencer Haywood. So when you talk about Kobe scoring 81 on the Raptors or David Robinson scoring 71 to win a scoring title, how about a little credit to Maravich for doing it against a team like the Knicks that featured players with pride. Seriously, David Robinson doesn't score 71 points in 1994 without his team knowingly throwing their game (and passes) to him so he can get the scoring title?

Maravich led the NBA in scoring that year, at 31.1 ppg. His stats weren't just about scoring. His ball control and the tricks he could do with the ball were never seen before and rarely since. His career assist average is 5.4, with seasons of 6.9, 6.0 and 6.7--so he could pass the ball too. The Pistol loved the flair of the game he helped create. He said, "If I have a choice of whether to do the show or throw a straight pass and we're going to get the basket either way, I'm going to do the show."

Even better, after Maravich was criticized for his flashiness, "They don't pay you a million dollars for a two handed chest pass." Pistol Pete was the player he was because of drills he practiced daily from the age of 7, basically inventing behind-the-back, over-the-shoulder and no-look passes.

His assist average is comparable with other greats. Michael Jordan's assist per game average is 5.3, Kobe's 4.4. Bird averaged 6.3, Magic Johnson 11.2, but only 19.2 ppg. But how many of those assists thrown by Magic landed in the hands of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, the NBA's All-Time leading scorer? Or James Worthy? In Bird's case, how many passes ended up in the hands of Kevin McHale for a lay-up, Robert Parrish for a dunk or Dennis Johnson for a jumper? See, Maravich, as I said earlier, didn't exactly have a team of Scottie Pippen's, Jabbar's and McHale's to play with.

It's not like it was easy, Pistol Pete was smart--he not only scored a lot of points, but knew how to score. He drew fouls and got to the line. He attempted a mind-boggling 501 free throws in 1977 and had other seasons of 485 in 1973 and 469 in 1974.

So let it be known that my only admitted Man Crush is on Pete Maravich. A gangly looking kid who wore funny gray socks, long hair and had the greatest skills I've ever seen. You can talk about the Next Michael Jordan all you want, there won't be anyone like him, though guys like Kobe and LeBron can come close. The reality is there will never, ever be another Pete Maravich, no one will even come close. Though he will always be remembered for the scoring, the flashiness, the individuality and the losing records, Pistol Pete he should be on the list of those eligible in the debate for Greatest Basketball Player ever. If you don't think so, you're as daft as the defenders who tried to stop him from scoring.

Note: Maravich's life is documented well in the film The Pistol, which is a must watch if you're thinking of building your son up to be the Next Great Basketball Superstar. I watched it as a kid and I slept with my basketball off and on from the ages of 12-16 because of it. The book written by Maravich is even better. Sadly, we no longer are graced with Maravich's presence. Oddly, he had said during his pro career in the 1970's that "I don't want to play in the NBA for ten years then die of a heart attack at age 40." He played in the NBA for ten years, and died of a heart attack at age 40 in 1997. Pistol Pete was always ahead of the game.

(This can be read at Sports With Moore) 

Since Kobe Bryant scored his 81 points against the Toronto Raptors on Sunday, we've been bombarded with opinions ranging from Bryant not being an MVP candidate, not being as good as Jordan, not being as good as LeBron and not making his team mates better. We've also heard he's fulfilling his destiny.

This all goes back to what I've been saying for months: as a society, as a Sports culture fan base we don't like Kobe Bryant anymore than Paris Hilton enjoys a job.

It's sad and shortsighted to think that we can't see beyond our own views of a man and what we perceive to realize he's doing something great.

I guess it's not completely our fault. We've been branded by coverage in the media of events like O.J., Jayson Williams and many others. We automatically assume guilt when we hear that Kobe Bryant was accused of raping a young woman in Colorado. Assuming guilt against a celebrity is a behavioral pattern we've been trained to accept, because we've seen it all before, so we think.

I'm guilty of this thinking process, too. Ron Artest must be crazy, because I've seen Dennis Rodman and Terrell Owens do this before. So what if Artest is off the reservation, he's still entitled to prove it to me.

Kobe's always had factors working against him, like:
1) He's not really "from" anywhere. His dad, Joe, played in Philadelphia for awhile, but was all over the globe, notably in Italy.

2) He didn't endear himself to the fans by going to college. That tells the average Sports fan that you're better than them. No, not in the athletic sense, which is obvious, but in a "Have To Pay Your Dues" short of way. Bryant, truthfully, didn't need to go to college for the education--he's fluent in three languages and scored enough on his SAT's (1080), that he wouldn't have been the Prop 48 that most other NBA High Schoolers would have been if they'd all gone to school.

Furthermore, Bryant's considered more "Cosby Show" than street.

3) He tried to be Jordan early on. When you're shaving your head, jacking up air-ball threes and trying to be "The Man" your first couple years, you're going to lose some of your audience.

4) He had more given to him at a younger age. Kobe was the youngest starter in NBA History at the time he first came into the league. Is it his fault that Del Harris started him?

But for all those who want to say Kobe's no Michael Jordan, consider that Bryant had more NBA Championships than Jordan did by age 25. And yes, Bryant may have won those titles without Shaq, but Jordan didn't win any without Scottie Pippen.

The fact is this: Jordan gets more of a free pass regarding issues dealing with his personal life than Kobe does, with Jordan's history of gambling and claims of an affair.

I started thinking recently of my short period of time as a athlete. There are certain things people aren't aware of. Whether it's on a small stage (like a little town in Indiana) or a huge stage like L.A. and the NBA. Fans don't know what happens inside the huddles, the practices and the film sessions. They don't know what it's like for a player to carry around the burden of being the one who has to score 20-30 or maybe even forty points a night for their team to have a chance to win.

It's like that for some people in high schools and Division III players, as well as D-1 athletes and NBA stars. That's an enormous amount of pressure. Add to that the mentality that fans want to be entertained. They jumped all over Kobe for sitting with 62 against the Mavs, but are now riding him for being a "selfish ballhog" and "Showman". They labeled Michael "great" and "Air Jordan" for doing the same things.

Consider, for example, that in '86-'87 Jordan averaged 37.1 points and 4.6 assists per game. This season, Bryant's averaging 35.4 points and 4.3 assists per game. These are, as of now, the most comparable teams and stats of Jordan and Bryant's careers.

Now, you might be interested to know that that '86-'87 team went to the playoffs as a 40-42 squad. That's right, they were sub-.500. They got swept by the Celtics in the first round, comparable to the Lakers possibly getting swept by the Spurs later this spring.

Jordan made his team mates better? Can you even name those teammates? How about the second leading scorer? It's Charles Oakley at 14.5 points per game, followed by John Paxson at 11.3, Gene Banks at 9.7 and Brad Sellers at 8.5. The roster was filled with incredible players like Sedale Threatt, Dave Corzine and Elston Turner.  Jordan took 2,279 shots, more than 1,200 more than Oakley. Jordan also grabbed about five rebounds a game and shot a paltry 12-66 from three point range.

Now look at Bryant this year. Is there a difference? None, really. The Lakers are right around .500 in the W-L column, Bryant grabs 5.6 rebounds a game and here's his team: Lamar Odom, averaging 14.5 points per game, Smush Parker averaging 11.5, Chris Mihm at 10.3 and Brian Cook at 6.6. He's taken 1,082 shots at the half-way point of the season, more than double Odom's.

You don't score 81 against the Raptors if you're trying to make your team mates better, just like you don't score 63 against the Celtics in the playoffs if you're trying to make your team mates better. It works both ways, but to us, it doesn't.

The Detroit Pistons created The Jordan Rules, (highlighted beautifully in a book by Sam Smith) in order to defeat the Bulls every year in the playoffs. The double and triple teamed Jordan, effectively forcing the other guys on the Bulls to beat Jordan. But no one blamed Jordan for his mediocre team mates not being able to hold onto the ball or convert a pass for a score. They just heaped praise on him once team mates like Scottie Pippen and Horace Grant arrived.

You're only as good as the people around you. It's easy to call someone a ball-hog or a "selfish" player because he scores a lot and you think it's easy. Except most haven't ever done it, not even in a rec league or a pick-up game. So until you've held the burden of scoring 30 points a night while playing with team mates that not even someone from MTV's Road Rules would have, you don't get it.

The prevailing thought is Kobe can't carry a team like Michael.  Isn't that what Kobe Bryant's trying to do now? We're witnessing new rules though, that apply personal history and feelings of betrayal toward Shaq, our want to find the next Michael Jordan and have it not be him. We're so terrified that Kobe really is going to be as good as or better than Jordan that we're creating The Kobe Rules, other teams don't have to worry about stopping Bryant. Nobody does that better than us.

About three weeks ago, I sat on the edge of the bed with the TV on, stunned. The Monday night of Thanksgiving week brought me something to really be thankful for--one of the best games and performances of the College Basketball season between Gonzaga and Michigan State in the Maui Invitational. It was better than 90% of the games you'll see this entire season, including the NCAA Tournament. For 55 minutes--two halves and three overtimes--the 'Zags and the Spartans traded baskets (and more) until Gonzaga had won it 109-106 behind star forward Adam Morrison's 43 points.

Delusional, either from lack of sleep or excitement from the game, I watched the highlights and Morrison's post-game interview--and could have sworn I saw Larry Bird.

On the surface, Morrison looks the part--guiding a mid-major power team with a good jump shot, floppy hair and a 7th grade mustache.  Just like Bird, he drops 40 plus on teams, including those "dagger" shots which just buries the opposition late in games. If you look hard enough, you can even see Morrison hold ball a little bit like Bird did on his jumper.

For the next two weeks I kept tabs on Morrison, including watching hit the game winning "Bank-Is-Open-On-Saturday's" three pointer against Oklahoma State last weekend. For the season, he's averaging 28.5 points, 6 rebounds and 1.4 assists per game. Bird's senior year at Indiana State, as College Player of the Year, he averaged 28.6 points, 14.9 rebounds and 5.5 assists per game (Basketball reference.com). Besides the points, there's no much similarity in their games. But Morrison could be the next Larry Bird, right?

The problem isn't necessarily our infatuation with finding the "Next Michael Jordan" or the "Next Larry Bird"--it's that we're only looking for the next white Larry Bird and next black Michael Jordan. Why do we automatically compare all athletes with former players of their own race? What if, for example, Adam Morrison's really more comparable to Michael Cooper than Larry Bird?

For years, even before Michael Jordan retired the first time, we started comparing every hot college prospect with him. I remember it starting with Kendall Gill when he was at Illinois in 1989. It really got going with USC's Harold Miner a few years later--so much so that we aptly nicknamed him "Baby Jordan". Turns out, that as a pro, "Baby Jordan" stunk worse than a baby diaper.

Did we learn our lesson that there wouldn't be another Air Jordan? Of course not.  Since Miner, we've given the "Next Michael Jordan" tag to Michael Finley, Vince Carter, Tracy McGrady, Kobe Bryant, Korleone Young, Darius Miles and most notably, LeBron James. (Bonus points if you know who Korleone Young is). 

In 1998, as Kentucky was winning its second NCAA Basketball Championship in three years, I compared UK's star guard Jeff Sheppard, who is white, with former Lakers star Bryon Scott, who is black. I thought they were both great leapers, good shooters and had similar quickness. No one agreed with me. Maybe I was wrong, or maybe it was because I was comparing two players of a different race.

In the NFL, Michael Vick is an "original" at the quarterback position. For all my complaining about Vick as a quarterback, I will agree, he is special. But when he's compared to other players, no one comes up with a comparison likes this: "He's got Steve Young's legs and Joe Montana's arm!" Can't he be a cross between two white players? Brian Urlacher of the Bears is never compared to Lawrence Taylor--but they both knocked the opposition into next week.

What makes us so uncomfortable with comparing athletes of a different race? We should be able to look at the stats of a player and compare him with anyone from that sport--it's disrespectful not to, really.

In 1999, I read an article comparing then University of Miami (OH) star Wally Szczerbiak with Larry Bird, without specifically mentioning which parts of their game were alike. To the best of my knowledge, Wally's World involves shooting three's and lifting a lot of weights. The only thing it looks like Bird ever lifted off a rack was a basketball.

If you compare the stats of Bird over his career with other players, know who he's most similar to? Try Kevin Garnett, Magic Johnson, Clyde Drexler and Dirk Nowitzki (Basketball-reference.com). Of that group, only Nowitzki, who is white, is compared to Bird.

Last spring, as the NBA was debating the MVP Award, many argued that Shaquille O'Neal was the most dominate player in the game since Jordan. He was more valuable than any other player by far. While I agree with that, it doesn't mean he automatically wins the MVP every year (especially when he missed more games than Steve Nash).

If the argument is always who's the Most Valuable for their team overall in any year and not any given year, then Shaq should have won over Nash. By that policy, Jordan should have been MVP for every year from 1989-1998, even the years he missed while playing minor league baseball--because it proved how much the Bulls needed him. 

But the reality is the MVP is given to the player who's Most Valuable to his team in a given year, which is why Karl Malone won the award over Jordan in 1997 and Charles Barkley won over Jordan in 1993. It's why Allen Iverson won the award as a point guard for the Sixers in 2001--but no one really had a problem with it then, even if Shaq was more valuable to the Lakers that year than he was the Heat last year. How are Steve Nash and Allen Iverson's MVP wins over Shaq any different, aside from race?

As basketball fans, we're always craving the "Next", whether that's Magic, Michael or Larry. Why don't we just enjoy what we've got--which is the first LeBron and the first Dirk. These guys, like all others, should ultimately be judged on their stats and their performances, not on their skill level as it compares to former players of the same race.

Maybe then we can put down the binoculars, enjoy each player for who and what they are, and ultimately end the "Bird" Watch.