*****Writer's Note: This post was actually written Friday afternoon, but because the writer is a moron of epic proportions, he forgot to post it and it was lost to his work computer all weekend. Please enjoy this entirely outdated and obsolete piece of sportswriting with that in mind.

I should be feeling fantastic today. It's casual Friday and I'm sitting at my desk without much work to do, an unobstructed window my portal to the Southern California afternoon sunshine. Labor Day weekend is looming, complete with a full compliment of quality College Football games. There might as well be friggin' leprechauns doing the Roger Rabbit all around me.

But if there were leprechauns doing the Roger Rabbit within leg's reach of me, rest assured I'd kick the crap out of every one of them. I'm in a foul mood. I'm exhausted. I'm barely functioning after only a few measly hours of sleep last night.

Why you ask? I decided to stay up until nearly 3:00 this morning to watch what will henceforth be known in the annals of American sports history as the Felafel Debacle. Greece 101 - USA 95.

Cue the basketball experts at all the publications and television networks. Cue Stephen A. Smith yelling at someone. Cue the excuses about the team not having enough time to practice together, not enough time to "gel." Get the FIBA rule book out and explain how the wider lane, different definition of goaltending, and restrictions on physical play serve as disadvantages for the American players and give international teams the edge. We'll be hearing all of that for weeks now as the basketball media looks for debate fodder in the basketball vacuum leading up to the opening of training camps.

We have a right, as American sports fans, to be a bit bitter these days. First the World Baseball Classic and now this. Our apple pie sporting institutions invaded by foreign hordes refusing to cower in in the face of our athletic superiority. Last night's loss was just another slap in the face, another slice of humble crow. We have a right to be embarrassed, and in turn, look for someone to blame. But we shouldn't look for scapegoats abroad. FIBA has nothing to do with it.

The reason our humble nation continues to stumble in international roundball competitions is as simple as the two foot jump-stop. It's no more complex than the three man weave.

It's all about fundamentals. At the risk of sounding like a crotchety old basketball purist (Bill Walton), I'd say you could reduce Team USA's pattern of international failure down to the disregard our developing players display for the simple things that make a team successful.

For those of you who braved the wee small hours of the morning to watch the game, think about what you witnessed. Can you recall a single moment in the game when a Greek player made an unnecessary behind the back pass or failed to make the extra perimeter pass to set up a teammate for an open shot? Can you think of a single instance when a member of the Greek team tried to dribble through their legs while surrounded by four defenders, losing the ball in the process? How many times did the superstars comprising Team USA commit these basic basketball faux-paus? I was too exhausted to count.

There were two particular aspects of the game that demonstrated the fundamentals gap in beautiful technicolor, the most obvious being the Americans' poor free throw shooting. While struggling to get the Greek lead into single digits in the second half, the American big three of Carmelo Anthony, LeBron James, and Dwayne Wade continuously failed to knock down precious free throws, while the Greeks were superior from the stripe. Last time I checked, the international free throw line is the same distance from the hoop as the NBA free throw line.

But most telling this morning (or was it last night? I'm so very tired), was the US team's complete inability to defend the pick and roll. Possession after possession, minute after minute, the Greek offensive story was the same: bring one of the big men to the top of key, and run the pick and roll with Houston-bound guard Vassilis Spanoulis. No trick plays. No elaborate motion offensive sets. Using a no-frills pick and roll philosophy the Greeks turned the second half into one continuous layup drill, getting to the hoop as easily as they pleased. A steady stream of gangly, awkward-looking players making some of the greatest athletes in the world looked like they were wearing cement shoes on the defensive end.

Essentially, the greatest collection of basketball talent on the planet was beaten because they couldn't do things I was taught to do in basketball camps before I even had hair under my arms (college). 

No disrespect intended to the Greek team, who were certainly impressive. The reigning European champions play a disciplined team game that is impressive to watch, even if it is rarely pretty. With only one (perhaps two) NBA-caliber players on their roster, the Greek team dominated the second half and played the game of their lives when that was exactly what they needed. But let's be honest. In the name of sweet Athena's ghost, there is no way we should have lost that game.

During the commercial breaks that were refreshingly infrequent during ESPN's coverage, Sony Pictures purchased a large portion of the thirty second advertising spots to promote the new film Crossover. The movie, which opened today to a critical bitch-slapping, appears to be the riveting story of a group of urban youths playing a rough and tumble brand of street ball that requires them to slam dunk over rows of Yamaha motorcycles and play in a massive chain-link cage, all the while subjecting themselves to the horror that is Wayne Brady, serious actor.

The previews for this affront to both film and sport got me thinking. I can't help but deduce that the recent struggles of the American national team and the rise of the street ball craze in this country can't be entirely mutually exclusive. Don't get me wrong, I like to see a basketball player dribble the ball off his opponent's face as much as the next guy. And I don't think Oscar Robertson or Bob Cousy could have tucked the ball under their jersey and sprinted down the court with the flair that the And 1 Mixtape players do. The street ball exhibition games are entertaining, and it's not difficult to understand why so many kids are enthralled with the brand of basketball that has given rise to players with names like Hot Sauce and The Professor.

But that's exactly what they are at the end of the day: exhibition games. As long as basketball is played with 13 people on the court (ten players per side and three referees), alley-oops off the shot clock are not going to fly. Somewhere along the basketball time line, probably midway between the four corners offense and Hot Sauce, American basketball passed the precarious point where fundamental skill and raw athletic showmanship met harmoniously. And now the international talent is good enough to expose that flaw in our domestic game.

Street ball alone is not to blame for the diminishing interest the young basketball fan seems to have for the more subtle aspects of the game. The American sporting public in general has become obsessed with the highlight play. The slam dunk, the homerun, and the one-handed catch are the types of plays that get the attention of obnoxious sports anchors. It's hard to justify yelling "Boom-Shaka-Laka," when a guy hits a 15-foot jumper, or "Siyanora Mr. Miyagi!" when he makes a perfect two-handed chest pass. That would be ridiculous. There are numerous factors that have contributed to the holes in American fundamentals, the street-ball phenomenon being only one of the more obvious contributors.

So where do we go from here? Well, I'm going home for the day, still bitter that I'll never get those hours of sweet sleep back. Team USA goes into the Bronze medal game in a matter of hours against an Argentinean group just as disciplined as the Greek team, but more talented and experienced in international competition.

And USA Basketball as an institution? I suppose that remains to be seen. Bringing in Coach K to instill a more disciplined approach was certainly a step in the right direction, but there's only so much he can do. It's starting to look like Wayne Brady will get an Oscar before American ballers dominate the international game the way they once did.