Turns out, all of that did, in fact, happen. Which Kobe readily admits a few pages later. Not a good start.

This Detective Loya is not going to stand for someone who doesn't remember the syllabus from middle school health.

To be fair, Vail, Colorado is a great place. Who wouldn't love it?

The NBA: Where quick happens.

Enter: guns. Where did they come from?

Because in the middle of asking a man if he sexually assaulted a hotel worker, it's important to get priorities straight. Detective Winters is just trying to get a heads-up for his fantasy basketball squad.

All the money in the world, and just one shirt to show for it.

Just another example of the absurdity of athlete autographs.

The highlight of the transcript. The pacing, the character development, the kicker — it's almost like this is a bad documentary about Kobe that will replay on ESPN for months.

"...in my opinion [inaudible] pants [inaudible]." Have fun with that.

First, sex-ed. Then Murphy's Law. Detectives doing work.

Prolific contrarian Allen Barra had a column in yesterday's paper in which he not only addressed the fact that Stan Van Gundy's looks fall somewhere south of the Greek ideal (maybe you've heard), but suggested that his average appearance was actually drawing in fans.

Stocky — the uncharitable might say portly — and with a mustache that appears to be borrowed from Dr. Phil, Mr. Van Gundy is pretty much indifferent to fashion and can often be seen courtside in a simple dark jacket and pullover knit shirt. His confrontational style owes more to perspiration than inspiration; his uncoiffed hair is tousled by the end of the game, as it was during Sunday night's thrilling overtime loss to the Lakers in the NBA finals.

[...]

But despite the absence of marquee superstars on the Magic, the ratings for the first two games of the finals have been surprisingly good, and early indications are that fans are finding a working-class hero in Orlando's coach.

OK, well, that's just ridiculous, not least because Barra seems to think so-so looks and an indifference to style are exclusively the domains of the working class. Most people identify with ugly (but fabulously wealthy) pro coaches just as much as they do with good-looking (but fabulously wealthy) pro coaches, which is to say, not at all.

But then Barra goes and talks to Pat Riley and things get really stupid. Maybe Riles feels guilty over stealing Van Gundy's first championship and wants to say nice things. Or maybe he, like every coach ever, thinks the job matters far more than it really does:

Mr. Riley, for whom Mr. Van Gundy served as a longtime assistant coach at Miami, calls him "the most important acquisition Orlando ever made. More than any single player, he's the one who turned the franchise around."

This story is as old as Clair Bee, and it isn't any truer now than it was back in those days. Coaches just aren't that important — James Naismith said as much. Far more important is having a very tall, very athletic man who can score 21 points on six shots. Enough about the guy in the bad suit.

UPDATE: Mr. Barra responds:

This is Allen Barra replying to Tommy Craggs. My piece in the Wall Street Journal was not, as you imply, a round table discussion on the brilliance of the coach. I did not, as you suggest, imply that Stan Van Gundy's "average appearance was actually drawing in fans." I did not suggest that "so-so looks and an indifference to style are exclusively the domains of the working class." These are things you seem to want to have a confrontation about with someone and chose to distort what I wrote in order to have that confrontation. I did not say these things, and I did not imply them.

I did describe Stan Van Gundy's appearance — accurately, I think — and quoted his brother, Jeff, to the effect that no one would confuse either of them with Brad Pitt. If you disagree with this, I'm afraid you'll have to take up the matter with Angelina Jolie.

My assessment of Stan Van Gundy as a working class hero was based at least in part on his own statement that he'd like to find a small school and "settle there."

I did suggest that people were tuning in after a lopsided Lakers win because they were identifying with Van Gundy's animated style. If I'm wrong, you will please tell me which charismatic superstars on the Orlando Magic people were tuning in to watch.

Finally, if Pat Riley's assessment of Van Gundy — that he turned the Orlando franchise around — is "really stupid" and that "coaches just aren't that important," please take time to present a reasoned argument instead of using the typical internet loud-mouth mode of yelling that something is so because you say it is so.

The Magic's Coach Just Looks Ordinary [WSJ]

Leading the charge today is the only writer Jason Whitlock hates more than Will Leitch, Page 2's hypnotic Scoop Jackson who gifts us with "Kobe Thrives On All Our Hate":

Hello, my name is Hate. I've been around for a long time. Thanks for creating me.

I'm here today to talk about Kobe Bryant. Yeah, you know, that dude. The one who keeps me alive, simply because of the way so many of you feel about him. You see, there's hate, and then there's the way millions feel about him. There's animosity, jealousy, anger … and then there's the way so many of you..."

Yeah, yeah, yeah, we get it. Scoop Jackson's hollerin' at The Haters or whatever it is Scoop Jackson does. Fist-jab for Scoop. But he's not the only one who's come to pay early respects to Kobe prior to him winning this title. Here comes ornery Oregonian writer Geoffrey C. Arnold who does his own version of hollerin' at The Haters by letting everyone know well in advance that Kobe's already great — but he's going to be one of The Greatest after this victory because it's the first title he's going to win by HIMSELF:

Jordan played with Scottie Pippen, likely a Hall of Fame selectee. Chamberlain had Billy Cunningham (Philadelphia) and Jerry West (Lakers). Russell played with a bunch of Hall of Fame players, including John Havlicek and Bob Cousy. Johnson enjoyed the talents of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and James Worthy. Bird teamed with Kevin McHale and Robert Parish, both in the Hall of Fame.

Bryant's most talented teammate is Pau Gasol. Gasol is a two-time All-Star, but it's questionable if he'll be enshrined in the Hall of Fame. After Gasol it's Lamar Odom, Andrew Bynum and Trevor Ariza.

Sweet Google-y moogly, Geoff, you're right. Compared to the other Greatest NBA Players to win titles, Kobe's the only one to do it with such an inferior supporting cast. He's playing with the Filipino transexual team compared to what Jordan, Chamberlain, and Russell had to work with. Fist-jab, chest-bump for Geoff.

And here's NBA.com's Vince Thomas who is letting us all know that, win or lose, Kobe's got nothing to prove to nobody no more so let him holler at The Haters for a bit:

This is a public service announcement for Kobe Bryant. He is two wins away from his FOURTH ring, not two wins away from his FIRST ring. The rhetoric — for the five years since Shaq bounced from Hollywood to Hollywood South — has been revisionist, ignorant and misguided. "Kobe's never won a ring without Shaq." That's what they've said. What they've meant is, "Kobe only won those rings because of Shaq. Those were coattail rings. His rings were Scottie Pippen rings, James Worthy rings." Excuse the juvenile retort, but — shut up!

Jump back! Anyway, fist-jab-chest-bump-elbow-wiggle-bro-hug for Vince. You did Kobe right.

Magic/Lakers Game Three tonight (Skeets?). Oh and hockey. (Dash will update if the Wings win tonight, I am told. Hooray for Dash)

Kobe Bryant Police Interview Courtesy Of The Smoking Gun

*****

Thank you for your continued support of Deadspin, those of you still left to thank in this section. Who's out there? Can't see too well. Oh, hey UkraineNotWeak. Yeah, I see you. You got friends down there? Good. Enjoy the games.

My distaste for LA began early. As a Portland fan, it's just what you do. And since I grew up drinking out of Rip City cartoon glasses, with life-sized Clyde Drexler and Terry Porter posters on my walls, it's exactly what I did.

Inherited distaste became pure hatred in 2001, after the Blazers turned into the least family-friendly team since the '86 Mets, and the Lakers swept them in round one of the playoffs. While the Lakers aren't the REAL reason for the hardships we've faced since, I opt to bitch, moan, and place the blame on them, their fans, and their city anyway. This season is no exception.

Living in a state with only one professional sports organization means that bandwagon fans run amok during the playoffs. And, this time of year, that usually means putting up with a lot of temporary Lakers fans.

I watched the first game of the Lakers-Nuggets series at a bar on campus with the cheapest beer around. This was important, considering how broke I am (I'm in college, after all) and considering the general quality of the "fans" who would be watching the game around me. Cheap beer equaled a drunker (and thus more hateful and overall badass) me.

And sure enough, right after finishing a few pitchers of Bud Light by myself, the Laker hatred surfaced.

Was I upset that the Nuggets performed better at the Staples Center than usual, yet still lost because the shortest guy on their team in-bounded the ball and Kobe tried slightly harder in the fourth quarter than he had the rest of the game? Or was it that the Gotti-style fan sitting at the booth in front of me, with his overly tanned (and freshly shaven!) arms peering out from underneath his white linen shirt, had to look over to his friend with the Derek Fisher jersey and the high fade to figure out when he should clap? Why yes, I think that was it.

When he wasn't pretending to watch the game, he talked constantly about his worldly travels and how great it was to just enjoy a few ales with his friends and not have to worry about all the hot exotic women he had to pleasure. I'm not joking. Worse than hearing him swoon over himself was having to smell his awful cologne every time he waved one of his Livestronged wrists around. His stories were boring, his scent was giving me a headache, and he was exerting over-processed energy to cheer for a team he knew nothing about.

And then it got worse. Gotti Lite suddenly came at me, chest out, angry that I was trying to capture him on video in all his glory. I wanted to show the world what a huge douche he was. Obviously the world already knew this, and so did he. Upon threatening to break my camera, he stepped on my foot and told me to "grow the fuck up and put that camera away." I put the camera away (it was expensive, OK?) but I stood my ground when it came to my immaturity. Dick. I don't really remember what happened after this, but I woke up in my apartment with all articles of clothing and other personal belongings in sight. Despite a W for the Lakers, I deemed Game 1 a success.

Now on to the topic at hand — the appropriate team attire to wear to a sporting event, whether watching in person or at a bar or wherever. I would be lying if I said I was perfect. While I am pretty damn close, it's important to remember that everybody makes mistakes occasionally. In the spirit of self-improvement, I'm putting some of my bigger ... regrets up for scrutiny. I'd characterize these choices as "drunken thrift-store free-for-alling," at best. With maybe a touch of "whatever the guy from last night left at my apartment." Mock away:

Damn. That Niners outfit is just ... damn. Anyway, It's nice to meet you, Deadspin. I think we can get along, maybe even grab a drink and watch the Finals together. Now send me shit or just send it to tips@deadspin.com.

Even the Magic fans watching this game with Orlando Sentinel cheat sheets knew it was over very, very early. Kobe, playing on Black Mamba "stun" setting, went 40/8/8. Look at that expression. That's Kobe's mindset right now. In or out, NBA fans.

PHOTO: Jeff Golden

****

Good morning. Welcome to Friday. Guest Editor intro post in 15 minutes. Now dance.

The Magic coach's tendency for bug-eyed screams is a popular talking point pre-Finals and it turns out that Shaq's "master of panic" label wasn't that far from the truth. Stan Van admits he's often stricken with an awful case of the spazzies, but it's just because he always feels like his job is never,ever done. He's also trying to limit his Diet Pepsi intake to four cans per day, according to USA Today:

I'm just always worried. Making sure we're prepared for everything. You don't get any time to enjoy it or get any satisfaction out of it. When one game is over, you immediately move on to the next one.

Even if your self-induced angst has transformed you into Serena Williams. Hope it's worth it.

*****

Good morning. It's Thursday. Throwback Philly.

Breen seems to have something of a following out there, and the only possible explanation is that he appeals to the kind of glowering basketball fan who secretly hates basketball. As usual, Free Darko has the definitive take:

Mike Breen sounds as though he'd prefer to file a book report about lacing sneakers and holding the ball high rather than to actually think about the fluid, emotional, athletic, personality-driven sport of basketball. ... [C]onservative, judgmental, preachy, sufficient, and bland. That is Mike Breen, an unimaginative man who peers out at the basketball world through a colorless lens that precludes the sort of expansive, emotional, romantic vision that best and properly captures the NBA.

Nuggets-Lakers, Game 4 — Dahntay Jones shakes loose and finds himself on an easy breakaway and, instead of a layup or a simple dunk, opts for a big, bright, dunk-contest, fuck-you of a windmill. You can watch it here. It was a wonderful, prideful moment in a very big game. It would've been a wonderful, prideful moment had he clanged the ball off the back of the rim and into the loge seats. It was the sort of thing that briefly made the Nuggets the best, most unconstipated thing about the playoffs. Breen's response: "It still counts as two."

This is already shaping up to be a mostly colorless finals, unless you're the sort of person captivated by storylines involving the Van Gundy brothers and candy. And now here comes Mike Breen, with his "Bang!"s and his "Blocked!"s, who will primly usher the whole damn show into ratings oblivion. I fear for these finals. People seem to be on the verge of turning them into a morality play about sportsmanship and teamwork, and Breen (who is a sure bet to share his thoughts about LeBron's Psych Heard 'Round The World) will be right at home here.

The NBA: where moralizing happens.

Toothpicks Do Not Add up to Salvation [Free Darko]

James' Cavaliers lost Saturday to the Magic, and 24 hours later, the game was yesterday's news, disappearing from headlines quicker than James stormed out of Amway Arena. James avoided the customary post-series handshakes and declined to answer dais questions about his future, which made him easy prey for any columnist. Journalists were going to write about James anyway. He's the story. Given James' magic on the basketball court — the fact that, for two rounds, he conned people into thinking a one-man team could make the playoffs look like exhibitions against Akron U. — the press was going to be positive, no matter the outcome of the series. There was nothing to criticize.

But James' refusal to shake hands with the Magic proved that he is not, in fact, above criticism. Columnists have pounced on the blatant lack of sportsmanship, contrasting James' post-game demeanor with that of the superstars before him. The irony here, though, is that it wasn't leaving the floor that has doomed James. What's drawn the preachy lectures and fleeting controversy was his defense of it the next day:

"It's hard for me to congratulate somebody after you just lose to them. I mean, I'm a winner. That's not being a poor sport or anything like that. Somebody beat you up, you're not going to congratulate them on beating you up. I'm a competitor. That's what I do. It don't make sense to me to go up and shake somebody's hand."

Yes, after the game, James should have done what columnists have retrospectively advised. But none of that would have mattered if he had woken up Sunday morning and texted one reporter that he regretted his actions, that he was wrong to act like a prissy Little Leaguer. Doesn't matter if he meant it, nor does it matter if he felt no remorse. Athletes say a lot of things they don't mean.

The moral of the story isn't to be gracious in losing, even though that's fine and dandy. It's that James should learn to stop the PR blaze before it gets really hot — that's when he was burned.

LeBron didn't shake hands; so what? [Newsday]
Hey LeBron, it's time to grow up [Fox Sports]
LeBron needs to take a lesson from another Cleveland icon [NBA.com]
LeBron should know respect is not a one-way street [Associated Press]

SI's Richard Deitsch plopped the quote into his Media Power Rankings column and, not surprisingly, Chuck got another wrist-tap for his comments:

"While Charles often makes jokes about his producer during our telecasts, he used poor judgment on Saturday during our NBA coverage. His comment was inappropriate and TNT apologizes to our viewers. We have spoken with Charles privately about it and will not have any further comment."

Strangely, he's only ranked number 8. Given how impressive Charles' ability to remain in the good graces of the public, his peers, and his employers throughout many of his (sometimes embarrassing) indiscretions, he should always be perched in the number one slot.

Media Power Rankings [SI]

I hate to skewer columnists from regional newspapers unless they really, really deserve it, but this is one of the lamest goddamn things I've ever read in my entire life. (Also in play here: it's too nice outside for me to be sitting here on this couch, so I might be more annoyed by that more than anything else. I'm aware of this. Moving on...)

Now Orlando isn't used to winning at championship level on a regular basis so the premise of penning a seminal column to commemorate such an occasion is one most of its writers are probably ill-equipped to bang out on short deadline. I still pity the Magic fans left with this putrid crap for their championship scrap books. This column has it all: tired cliches, rhapsodic platitudes, rhymes, autistic children as good luck charms, emphasis by way of silly repetition, horrible puns, and imaginary curses.

Oh and column title: "Magic Task: Beat LA!" Of course it is.

Here are some of the more noteworthy snippets of uninspired shit-stained ugh:

•"LeBron is LeGone and now the Orlando Magic - your Orlando Magic, our Orlando Magic, the entire sports world's Orlando Magic - are going to the NBA Finals."

• "You heard me: the Magic are going to the NBA Finals"

• "Witness this: Orlando Magic 103, Cleveland LeBrons 90?"

• "I'm sorry, who was the MVP?"

• "So long, all the jokes and jabs about Orlando being a Mickey Mouse franchise that once hired a hockey player to run a basketball team."

• "Mission accomplished."

•" It's been a long time since we felt this way about the Magic. Too long. Too many years, too many tears, too-many-crying-in-our-beers. We've endured the abandonment of Shaq and the desertion of T-Mac. We've experienced Weisbrod the bad cop and Billy with his flip-flop."

• "Let's make 7-year-old Gina Marie Incandela, the little autistic girl who sang the national anthem Saturday night, the official good luck charm of the city. The Magic are now a perfect 6-0 when she sings."

• "What about Orlando's tortured sports past? What about the Magic losing the biggest free-agent departure (Shaq) in sports history and signing the biggest free-agent bust ( Grant Hill) in sports history? What about Penny's palace coup? And who will ever forget that sad, depressing day when the Orlando Solar Bears folded?"

• "Say good night to LeBron vs. Kobe."

• "LeBron is LeGone."

• "Bring on the Lakers."

• "California, here they come."

Now let me go grab some lunch before I start opening up my own forehead with two salad forks. (Sorry for linking to that again.)

Magic Task: Beat LA! [Orlando Sentinel]

This is a step down on the insult chain for Kiely, who's had to put up with Barkley insults throughout most of his career at TNT, going from "big fat obnoxious boss" to pussy. Reggie Miller's "What's wrong with you?!" reaction after Barkley's p-word is also pretty amusing and another reason why this show continues to be one of the most entertaining sports broadcasts in history.

Charles Barkley Lets Cat Get His Tongue [You Been Blinde]

He made a camouflage Cavaliers shirt "for when you don't want anyone to see you while you're in the desert, but you still want to support the team." Then there's the original Let's Get Z-Tarded shirt "showing support for the big guy." Also, a plain white tee depicting Delonte West "dunking a whole Popeyes chicken into a Popeyes bucket, just one of the many talents of the Renaissance Man Delonte West," and a Ben Wallace portrait on a paper towel because "he's always cleaning up messes for us." Art nouveau!

And now, Alex presents what might be his magnum opus: a Mo Williams tall tee to "send some energy his way."

Where can I order one?

*****

That's all for today. The boss is back tomorrow, and I'm headed outside to verify that it is, indeed, as sunny as it looks. Treat this as your open thread for the LeBronathon tonight, and do everything else you usually do here. Thanks for your continued support of Deadspin.