The KG Asterick, Or Reason #8,234 Why The World Loves Boston Injuries

Oh, the things I do for you, dear reader. It's taking years off my life, this exposure to such unabashed and unblinking douche- baggery. It's also speaks to the workday's length and my interest in cultivating a low level of rage to help me get through it.

Which is all a roundabout way of getting to the point of yet another Bill "Bad Tooth" Simmons podcast on the World Wide Lemur page, in which we learn that if Kevin Garnett can't play in this playoff, as head coach Doc Rivers has indicated, it means that the eventual non-Celtic champion will own a tainted title.

You know, with an asterisk.

First, let's go into the nature of the Asterisk in the first place. There is, really, no defense for it on the Jerk Meter. If you go here, you're a jerk, plain and simple; you have to ruin someone else's happiness to have your own. Not to put to fine a point on it, but you make decent people spit. (And yes, that goes for the father of the Asterisk Title, the wildly overrated Phil Jackson. But that's a whole other kettle of hate.)

Let's move beyond the odiousness of the tactic and talk about the actual merits of how wildly sad, unfortunate and unexpected it was to lose a big man with over 1,000 NBA games on his odometer. The simple fact of the matter is that the devil's bargain that the Celtics made for last year's title has already paid off, and isn't likely to be paid again. When you build a team around three ticking time bombs of high mileage second banana superstars, this is what you get. Comfort yourself in your championship, knowing that most teams that make this dice roll come up craps on every pass.

In your best possible year, the injuries are timed to stagger out in the regular season and allow you to make a deep run, a la the Spurs going every-other year (prior to this year's Manu-ectomy, of course). When the stars don't align, you lose. Please, at the very least, have the self-respect that the Allmighty gave to a leech and accept this about yourselves, OK?

But wait, there's more. And I won't even get into the massive turd that Simmy Boy dropped in another sock-ruining podcast as to why the A's are the worst team to ever win 2 out of 3 at home against his Red Sox, or how awful A's Fan is to not come out to support their team in an old stadium in bad weather, with the knowledge that the person in the seat next to them is very likely to be Red Sox Fan. Anyhoo...

You see, we also get to learn from the master that Good Cleveland Fan *hates* that Garnett won't be able to go this time around. Only Bad Cleveland Fan is happy to have ducked the bigger baby. (What, I'm just giving props to Glen "Big Baby" Davis. Shame on you for seeing more into that, Celtics Fan.)

By the way, I'm still pretty much expecting Garnett to arise from Paul Pierce's Wheelchair of Miracles and throw down double-doubles while the Bad Tooth pleasures himself for a few thousand words. Meanwhile, my Sixers will lose in five against a Magic team that will get swept in the second round, with three of those games being tossed away in the last minute. In other news, I've just learned that in a past life I was one of those camp guards that enjoyed their work in eastern Europe in the low '40s. I'd feel bad about that, but I'm holding out hope that in Simmy Boy's past life, he was in my care, which would make all of this even. Moving on.

You see, Good Cleveland Fan doesn't want to have their possible championship cheapened by the Asterisk That Only Boston Fan Can See. Good Cleveland Fan wants to earn their first professional championship since the pre-Super Bowl Browns the *right* way, which is to say, while giving Boston Fan and his half dozen or so parades in this decade every possible chance. Good Cleveland Fan has simply shrugged off the close calls that the Jose Mesa Indians, Bernie Kosar Browns, LeBron's own Finals sweep moment, and the 40-plus years of being one of America's most tortured sports cities to think about how bad Boston Fan must be feeling about KG. Only Bad Cleveland Fan sees this news and thinks, happily, that the Lord may be finally setting up the breaks their way.

No, I'm not making this up. I don't even think the Bad Tooth was doing this as one of his periodic tired wrestling heel bits, either. It's just the way they are -- utterly freaking clueless as to how anyone on the other side of a sports argument might see things, or how his Boston Uber Alles apologies and hopes makes him an all-day tool.

Here's a small clue from the rest of the nation, on the off chance that any Boston Fan has gotten this far into the post... when Tom Brady got hurt last year, it was the best day of the NFL season for a large percentage of the NFL fan base, because it made you that sad. And the rest of us only enjoys your presence when you are that sad.

When Brett Favre cemented his legacy as the worst Last Season In The Wrong Laundry Guy Ever by keeping your Pats out of the dance, that was also just what we wanted for Christmas, preferably with one of those stocking-stuffer online petitions from you people to try to get the rules changed after the fact. Celtic Elimination Day, assuming that it arrives, will be one of the happiest days in the NBA calendar for everyone who doesn't root for your team. And there are more of us than there are of you.

So, to sum up:

You are hated.

Not envied.

Hated.

Not special.

Hated.

Not unique.

Hated.

I'm saying this in really short sentences so that you understand it.

Even if all of your teams go into the tank at once for the rest of my lifetime, with the Celtics being the best candidate to circle the drain given how likely it is that Ray Allen will soon succumb to the brittleness that kills off every aging jump shooter, no one will ever feel sorry for you again.

In any matchup with even the most odious of opponents (i.e., the Yankees), the rest of the world will see you as equally distasteful. Especially for people who have, you know, paid attention to baseball in the last decade or so. (This, by the way, is my explanation for why Oriole Fan and site contributor Dirty Davey still has his reflexive Anyone But The Yankees thing going on.)

Which, of course, you will completely ignore, given that your heads are so far up your Asterisks, it's a wonder that you can watch the games at all.

Oh, and if you want to go down the path of how Simmy Boy doesn't speak for you? Um, no.

Own him, like all of the other mewling celebrities in your fan base.

Own him, like your Nixonian football coach and your riverdancing closer, your roll out the ball commuting basketball coach and your increasingly lily-white baseball team and fan base.

Own him, along with the simple and persistent fact that PEOPLE HATE YOU BECAUSE THEY SHOULD.

And in other Site News, this is Post #2,000.

Apropos, don't you think?