I woke up this morning like I usually do. Still half-asleep, I threw my cranky #### in the shower. Then I grabbed a bite to eat and started guzzling coffee like a Hummer does gasoline as I sifted through my morning sports news via the Internet. Typically, I do this without flinching. T.O. strained his tongue and will miss the preseason opener. Big surprise. Al Harrington still hasn’t gotten traded to my Pacers. Oh well. Men’s synchronized swim team banned. Big deal. 67 more athletes busted for performance enhancing drugs. What a surprise.

Then I saw something that really had me shook. Carmelo Anthony hurt his knee. A huge, gigantic, die-hard NBA fan and avid Team USA supporter, I didn’t even care that my boys barely pulled out an exhibition win over Captain Barbosa, Sideshow Bob, and Brazil. I was too caught up in what had happened to Melo.

Now? After all he’s been through? Why? Why?

After all, this is the guy who has seemed to just recently put all of his troubles behind him. This is the guy who legendary Head Coach Mike Krzyzewski, the coach of Team USA, has fallen in love with over the course of the last few weeks. This is the guy who has indeed been “on a mission,” outplaying even LeBron James and Dwyane Wade since joining Team USA. This is the guy that looks like he could score 30 a game next year, elevating his Denver Nuggets to contender status and himself to MVP-candidate status. This is the guy that can complete the NBA’s new Holy Trinity of King James, D-Wade, and Melo, this century’s answer to Magic, Michael, and Bird. This is the guy, with his charming smile and unstoppable offensive repertoire, that was becoming something truly special.

In today’s NBA, you can’t spell Holy Trinity without “Melo."

A lot of people have criticized Melo, and fairly so. He’s had some problems, both on and off the hardwood. However, he has handled superstardom at a young age extremely well. Maybe not as well as LeBron, but who has? Melo is a winner. Carrying the Syracuse Orangeman to a NCAA National Title as a college freshman proves that. If that’s not enough, legendary basketball icons Coach K, Michael Jordan, and Jim Boeheim all fervently vouch for the kid. That’s good enough for me. Plus, I like his style. He’s gotta be the coolest cat to slash and rain jumpers since Walt “Clyde” Frazier.

Early reports are claiming that Melo’s injury, sustained in a collision with Coach K, is merely a hyperextension. I’m hoping that those reports remain accurate. I would hate for arguably my favorite non-Pacer to be doing post-blowout rehab when the NBA kicks off right around Halloween. Especially when I’ve already gone out on a limb and predicted Melo to lead Team USA to a gold medal in this month’s World Championships, and then lead George Karl, K-Mart, Bonzi Wells (it could happen, folks), and the rest of the Denver Headcases to 55-plus wins on his way to earning MVP consideration.

I would be sad if I was wrong. I would be infinitely sad Billy Corgan-style if Carmelo Anthony, undoubtedly one of the league's brightest stars, fell from the NBA's sky because of this injury.

Cash Rules Everything Around Me

It's funny that I just heard that song at the grocery store, because all last week I had money on the brain.

I picked up a second job (or third, really), to pull in some extra “mean green.” After all, it’s L.A.C. out here, an acronym that not only stands for “Los Angeles, California,” but also for “Livin’ Ain’t Cheap.” Gas is currently 3 bucks and 30 cents a gallon and up here in the City of Angels.

I tried to move my mobile phone service career from Sprint to the nifty new ESPN Mobile service. I changed my mind when I learned that the move alone would have cost me in excess of $400. The funny thing is that the phone would have been “free.”

I went to see Superman Returns, a $200 million movie partially based around Mr. Clean’s evil twin Lex Luthor’s lust for wealth. The super-hero flick has raked in a cool $84 million in its first five days.

I witnessed my beloved Indiana Pacers lose recently acquired star forward Peja Stojakovic to the New Orleans Hornets hours after the NBA’s free agency negotiating period begun. It was just weeks ago that Peja’s agent said that his client “would like to finish his career as a Pacer." I guess the Hornets’ absurd 5-year, $64 million contract offer changed his mind.

Method Man said it best; Cash indeed does “rule everything around me.”

Killing Like Kryptonite

In the Superman series, Kryptonite is a green element lethal to Superman. Much like Kryptonite, money is the green element that can be lethal for both sports and the film industry.

You see, it isn’t the ESPN Mobile debacle, gas prices, or even the cost of living that has me outraged. I came to the conclusion long ago that the world does indeed revolve around money. It’s money’s influence of my two other favorite worlds, sports and the film industry, that’s put my boxers in a bunch.

The Stojakovic example was just the latest example of exemplary greed. I wasn’t pissed because he isn’t coming back to the Pacers. Honestly, he’s vastly overrated. I’m pissed that it only took him one hour to decide that money was more important than loyalty or success. It’s been going on for quite some time, and I’m sick of it.

The NBA is a financial train wreck. In last week’s NBA Draft the Seattle Sonics flushed a top ten pick down the toilet by selecting no-namer Mouhamed Saer Sene and the Phoenix Suns simply donated away two quality late first-round picks. Both moves were cost-cutting procedures. On the flip side, The Denver Nuggets just signed 23-year-old Brazilian forward Nene to a deal worth $60 million. Nene is coming off a season-ending knee injury and his career-high season averages are 11.8 points and 6.5 rebounds per game. Sounds like a $60-million investment to me.

The NBA isn’t the only sports league dominated by moolah. In MLB New York Yankees Owner George Steinbrenner has amassed a 2006 player payroll of $198.7 million. Meanwhile, David Glass, the wicked man that owns my Kansas City Royals, is cheaper than Wal-Mart, the company he used to run.

Dough has the NFL by the gonads, too. The owners of the Atlanta Falcons, Dallas Cowboys, and Washington Redskins annually shell out crazy cake in pursuit of the Super Bowl. Meanwhile, my Kansas City Chiefs, er, “Cheaps,” have a spendthrift owner in Lamar Hunt. Hunt only does enough to put a playoff contender out on the field. In Kansas City, where BBQ and football are king, that fills the seats. But the Chiefs haven’t won a playoff game in an eternity. Sign CB Ty Law already. The Chiefs have been a cash cow and the fans are dying for a playoff run.

Meanwhile, the film industry has been corrupted by cash perhaps even more than sports.

How else can you define an industry in which it is easier to get CHiPs starring Wilmer Valderrama greenlit than Best Picture Crash?

Hollywood is safe. Yes, great films are still being made, but only sparsely. It’s hard to make art when everything is based on projections and formulas. Hell, this is the industry that is giving us yet another Rocky movie instead of a biopic of Joe Lewis or Rocky Marciano. Do I really want to see a punch-drunk 60-year-old Sly Stallone don the gloves one more time? But Rocky 6 is guaranteed to make bank, so it gets shot, chopped, scored, and shoved down our throats.

I’m just sick of everything revolving around money.

Auteur Orson Welles didn’t compose his masterpiece Citizen Kane because of cash considerations.

Hall of Fame Running Back Jim Brown didn’t punish defenders aplenty for the purse.

The Man of Steel didn't slip on his suit because of a super-sized Metropolis salary.

They did it for the love of the game.

I guess I just long for a return to those days and still have that “love of the game.” For both sports and film. Sometimes I wonder—“does anyone else?”