Joy and sadness

Boy, nothing inappropriately caps off your adopted team winning the NBA championship like watching some Six Feet Under.

Back in the realm of manly melodrama, the Pistons-Lakers series followed a Star Wars plot, complete with an Empire Strikes Back game two, before the good guys eventually and inevitably won. Darko was even like a humongous, European Eewok.

I say inevitably because it was evident in the way the Pistons won their games, slowly and consistently pulling away in the second half, that they were simply the better team. I feared that the Lakers could perhaps string together enough great individual performances — like Kobe's game two, Rush's game six against Minnesota, or ______'s shot against the _____ — to somehow pull it out. But the Pistons' offense kept executing with greasy precision, like a revamped engine. And their team defense was graceful, like thuggish ballet. Larry even got his tie straight by game five, as Kevin pointed out.

Whether lanky or cast-off, misunderstood or underestimated, old and Elden or big and Nasty — they sure were a fun team to watch.

Which only saddens my heart a little when I think of how the Spurs will knock them off their pedestal next year.