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Game 6 in the NBA Western Conference Finals accomplished the goal of sports bringing the world together in agreement of something. Well... all except one small portion of the world.. .
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WHAT I HATE MOST ABOUT LOSING

Hedosfanclub

What I Hate Most About Losing

I hate that the Kings lost, I mean I really, really hate it. I hate that I have to listen to my Dad and Bro--both dyed in the gold Laker fans--tell me how they weren’t scared, not even for one Horry second. I have to listen to people tell me how the Kings are done –that this was their one and only lifetime shot like this is the amateur Gillette three point shot at the half : one miss and then it is rocking chairs and should haves. I hate that I have to listen to Sports Columnists who have NEVER believed tell me how to feel about this series. I hate that when I go online now I have to listen to the taunts-- of SportsCenter fans who can only repeat these self same doubting Thomas columnists and announcers instead of seeing the game for themselves, of bandwagoner fans who have liked winning teams their whole lives--taunts of how now that the Kings are done I can shove my cow bell THERE and return to my extracurricular hobby of cow tipping (which I don’t know about you all but I was saving that for WHEN we WIN).

I hate that the Kings lost. I hate the conspiracy theories. I hate that the world that only watched the Kings for 2 secs believes that Peja always hits nothing but air--when we have heard the swish so many times that we STILL can’t believe that he missed. I hate that I have to keep saying things like Hamstring and Ankle and only one practice and no rhythm… I hate having to listen to the Laker fans talk about MY MAN Bibby giving him the only credit they know how to give a King by coveting him and telling me that he will be in GOLD next year, as if it is expected that he would leave. I hate that people still try to tell me that Kobe’s “inadvertent” elbow to Bibby’s nose was good basketball. I hate that the only thing anyone remembers about Hedo’s heroic run at filling Peja’s shoes is 0-8 and one pass into traffic. I hate the flopping jokes because it is becoming abundantly clear that Vlade played Shaq better than anyone else and that the only thing that can truly stop Shaq is a whistle. I hate that people don’t understand how good Chris Webber played. I hate that some fans say things like TRADE when clearly a team that got this close needs to age like fine wine-- not be torn apart like a condemned building. The foundation on this house of ball is solid—don’t change a thing, I love it the way it is.

I hate the word that starts with C and ends with T because it makes this beautiful series seem dirty. The next person who says that word (or its cousin C-H-O-K-E) to me about THESE Kings is going to see what choking really looks like. I hate that I have to smile and wax Pollyanna about next year and how this was a REALLY huge step up for the Kings. And just wait until next year and…But what I hate most about losing is that there are no more games. No more Bibby money shots, no more Vlade hitting the floor, no more Hedo skipping joyfully down the floor, no more Webber playing so well that he makes it look too easy… I hate that it is over for another year. I hate that I do have to wait...

Because this was a really huge step up for the Kings and I can’t wait until next year.

Gaijin

Thanks...

to Doug Christie, eight hands, floor burn, all heart;

to Vlade Divac, that "wily flopper" - who can play Shaq straight up? Vlade can!;

to Chris, who carries the weight of the world's expectation to battle every night and wins (but never
enough to keep the vultures away);

to Peja, our Hawkeye, who won't miss next time;

to Mike, the new star in an already dazzling firmament, who shone brightest of all,

to Bobby, unbounded by the laws of physics or common sense, like MJ, only his coach can stop him;

to Brother Hedo, who plays the whole court, all the time and at four positions, the Turkish Michael Jordan

Thanks to each and every one of you, our Sacramento Kings!

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PETA has issued a statement rebuking Shaq for taking part in "Canned Hunts", where old zoo and circus animals are bid out to "trophy" hunters to kill in closed areas.

Here is an exclusive photo of Shaq just before taking aim at a recent "hunt".
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samurai girl 31

Men fly and crash into glass
Hands hook over heads
Silken numbers and names ripple over muscles
And the wooden floor, slick like a glossy photograph,
reflects every spiral, pattern, triangle,
every pump-fake, fade-away jumper, no-look pass,
every rotating body and floating arc.

The young couple sits in front of the screen,
bathed in light like a laser show.
And just then an 18-footer goes up,
hits the rim, gets slapped away, off the glass.
"That's called goaltending," the girl says.
"It counts for two, like a regular basket."
The guy beside her "hmphs" but doesn't look up
from the magazine sitting on his lap.

His eyes sneak a glance at the screen,
but he only sees boys being boys, running around
"like chickens with their heads chopped off,"
heads worth more money than he'll ever see
because he can't put a ball in a hoop
and doesn't see the point of trying.

She knows he doesn't care, as he checks his watch
and sighs, because he'd rather be watching the news or
music videos or a cooking show, but she tells him
the rules anyway, and keeps him updated on the score.
Feeling his eyes on her back, she feels a little ridiculous
when her throat constricts and her limbs tingle
and fill with fast-pumped blood as a bounce pass, too low,
turns into a beautiful steal, and the ball gets run down the court
at jetfighter speed to be smashed into the basket
for a two-handed dunk to tie the game,
and the crowd erupts like fireworks
as the scorer hangs on the rim, swaying like a flag.

"Is it over?" he mumbles as a commercial cuts in.
She moves from the couch to the floor and sits
Indian-style, folding her hands together tightly,
letting them sweat. She remembers waiting in the cold
for hours with her dad, watching the line for tickets grow,
sharing a soda and later a beer, watching the men fly and run,
sometimes crashing into each other, sometimes floating
around each other like circling hawks, and she remembers
the clock running down to zero, sometimes the pile-up
of bodies hugging, sometimes the quiet stride to the
locker room; but always the walk to the car, the ride
home under the moon. "Not yet," she says..

SWEEtness

I'm so distraught. It's like when you get the rug pulled out from under you and all you can do is stare at the ceiling and hope the head trauma doesn't cause any permanent damage and the blood spewing from your head doesn't stain the carpet.

Okay, now that time is passing, it's not all that bad. I guess I have you guys to thank for that.

All season y'all have helped me keep things in perspective. The last few days have been a prime example of that. We had a awesome season. We have an awesome team that shows it's class and heart even through tough situations. No one can take that away from the fans. Our guys showed their stuff and it's good to know that just about everyone with eyes around the world knows what this team is made of. They have the heart of champions and you can't be anything less than full of pride for these guys. Sure wish it would have gone their way this time.

We have seen the Kings grow before our very eyes to surpass all of our expectations. We set our expectations higher and higher as the playoff series went on. I wanted it all, darn it!! It just didn't happen. A couple times it coulda and maybe shoulda, but it didn't. I don't want to get overly mad about it. I just want to enjoy what we've had and how far we've come and bask in the thoughts of things to come, cuz it's just gonna get better, baby!

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.(Photo JRedd)
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