War Criminal: The Heart Pound

With the epic struggle of the Chicago Bulls this NBA season, I didn't catch much basketball this season until the playoffs started. After watching some of the approximately 1,834 games it takes to complete the playoffs, I'm glad I didn't.

There are certain things that happen in our society that I just don't understand and probably never will, like an old man that wakes up every day only to be confused and bewildered by such crazy things as the internet and pornography and this damn YouTube thing I keep hearing about. For example, when did it just become "ok" to talk at the movies? Not just a quick whispered comment, but people having full on conversations on their cell phones in the middle of movies! Who approved this, and where was I that day?

But this isn't about the movies. This is about the worst thing to happen to basketball since Bruce Bowen: The Heart Pound.

Now if you hit the game winning shot of a series clinching win, then yes, I don't mind a little excessive celebration. But when you're up by 40 points and you hit a meaningless jumper and start performing CPR on yourself, I have to draw the line. Kevin Garnett, I'm looking at you.

I'd much more have the "jersey pop" make a comeback over this bush league crap.

Here's a list of things I'd rather do than watch all 12 guys on an NBA team constantly punch themselves in the circulatory system:

1. Sit through Sex And The City: The Movie.
2. Make out with Sam Cassell.
3. Have someone pull out my intestines with a barbecue spit contraption like in the movie The Cell.
4. Actually watch The Cell a second time.
5. Walk through broken glass with no shoes on a la Die Hard.
6. Punch myself in the groin. Repeatedly.