Call in the scabs...the new NBA!

So, the owners and the players called off their Monday meeting to discuss the collective bargaining agreement, further endangering the season and making fans like me groan in disgust. After the high tide of the 2011 Finals, where the NBA's popularity skyrocketed to heights it had not reached since 2008, here we are...about to be locked out for the second time in David Stern's tenure. This is not a knock on Mr. Stern AT ALL. When he took over in 1984 for Larry O'Brien, he revived a league that was literally hanging by a thread. The NBA owes David Stern more than it could ever repay him. These lockouts are a product of greed amongst players and owners, the ever increasing number of street agents and entourages, television meddling in the affairs of the NBA and in my opinion, a complete lack of respect for the game. The "I'm Gonna Get Mine" generation has come home to roost and it has infected everybody in the League, except Brian Scalabrine, who is still sitting at the end of the Bulls bench looking to high five somebody.

If this season locks out, I don't know if the NBA can recover. Small market teams like Sacramento and Indianapolis could fold (or hopefully move to a better city for basketball, like Pittsburgh or hell, add another New York team). Imagine, the New York Kings. Play their games at St. John's in Queens (the Kings of Queens....thank you, I'll be here all week) until their new arena is constructed next to Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. That would give New York three teams in three of the five boroughs (The Nets will be in Brooklyn in 2012) and NYC would embrace it. I have no doubt. Cities like Atlanta, Charlotte, Memphis and New Orleans would suffer immensely, as they have a hard time maintaining a fanbase in SEC football country anyway. A lockout would give the fans all the reason NOT to ever go back. NewYork, Chicago and LA would probably be OK. Minnesota and Toronto? Probably not. Oklahoma City? They just learned what basketball was about three years ago. I really hate to imagine the fallout.

So, as a solution to this madness, what shall we do?

Mr. Stern....this is my official declaration.....I will be a scab for the NBA. I'm 6'4, 196 lbs after lunch, I have tendinitis in my left knee so I can't dunk anymore and my shot is off because I've done too many wall balls at Crossfit. I don't have any tattoos (thanks to Granddaddy), no illegitimate kids (Shawn Kemp, where you at?), and I will take the league minimum. I get by on hustle, a mean streak, a mean right jump hook, and a lack of fear of injury and/or technical fouls. Essentially, I'm Dave Cowens with a side of Kevin McHale and a dash of Rasheed Wallace. Not too shabby huh? The fans can rally around my beard too. "Fear the Beard," they'll say. I'll even wear a headband if it will sell tickets and keep the League going. I would request a sweet Jumbotron video of me diving for a loose ball, limping away from a sweet finger roll where I crashed into ESPN's camerman, and giving Lakers fans the bird at the Staples Center. I must play at least twenty minutes per game. I would also encourage you to hire other scabs like me, just one per team though. The other members need to be retired players who are still pining away for the spotlight (because they never won a ring, their career didn't play out or just somebody you can't live without), and the lone scab gets to handpick those players. So, since I'm the lone scab, I'm picking my team:

Starters
G - Tim Hardaway (often injured, wasted best years in Golden State, needs to remake his image)

G - Penny Hardaway (injuries derailed him early and he never recovered, he MUST wear the old Penny shoes from 1993, I had em and loved em)

C - Patrick Ewing (never won a ring, has a theory about losing named after him, holds the NBA record for sweating profusely and having the biggest knee pads ever)

F-  Me

F - Shawn Kemp (never won a ring, had 75 kids, never reached full potential. He would still keep his high top fade and all his kids would attend our games and have their own section)

Bench
F- Jack Haley (the greatest bench sitter ever, Rodman's best friend, Scalabrine wishes he was Haley)

F- Robert Horry (this guy is a four leaf clover, a rabbit's foot and your luckiest pair of socks all in one, has seven rings. If he and Steve Kerr went to Vegas with you, you would own Caesar's Palace before the night ended)

F- Charles Oakley (to protect me from all the fights I plan to start on the court, nobody wants a piece of Oak)

G- Trent Tucker (has an NBA rule named after him plus he has a beard too. And his name is alliteration, no brainer that he makes the squad.)

G- Muggsy Bogues (because I loved the Charlotte Hornets and Muggsy with a passion when I was 12. He is also 5'3 and had about ten blocked shots in his career, resulting in ten new oil changers down at Jiffy Lube)

G- Sedale Threatt (because I want to be able say his name a lot....See-Dale shoot, See-Dale run, See-Dale score, instant poster/rally cry)

C - Kevin Duckworth (simply a mammoth human being, like 7'0, 365 and had a wingspan of 11' 7" but it takes two minutes for him to run from paint to paint, when he fouls somebody they usually die on the way to the hospital)

C- Eddie Lee Wilkins (born and raised in Cassville, Georgia. Two guys from Cassville in the NBA at the same time. That's never happened before, strangely, but by God, it's happening now)

Could you imagine the fun we'd have? We would of course be the scabs for the New York Knicks, unless the Kings relocated. I can see it now, Trent Tucker and I in a barbershop (like the one in Coming to America) in the Bronx getting our beards trimmed at the same time. Me, Oakley and Duckworth going out to bars and I just try to start trouble so Oak can wreck somebody and Duckworth clears the entire place out with one swing. I help smooth things over with Tim Hardaway and the gay community by getting him a Prada endorsement. Penny wears his shoes everywhere. Shawn Kemp has three more kids during training camp. One of Ewing's kneepads is used to break the fall of a suicidal Wall Street tycoon who bet everything on a failed dot com and jumped from the Empire State Building, which is luckily next to Madison Square Garden. Eddie Lee and I stealing road signs off Broadway like we are on Cass-White Road all over again. What a season. I predict 79-3 with us sweeping the scab Timberwolves in their last season before they move to Fargo, North Dakota.

Alas, it will be a dream. It looks like a lockout, y'all. However, I hope Mr. Stern reads and considers my proposal. I will be on the horn with my team ASAP, ready to hit Manhattan like an '84 Camaro T-Top IROC-Z "gettin on it" in Pine Log, Georgia. Have my special Penny Hardaway shoes ready, a flat in the Meatpacking District next to James Gandolfini and a permanent reservation for me and Muggsy at Sparks Steakhouse after every game. Why Muggsy? Because I love Muggsy. And he's tiny, so he won't eat all his steak and that way, I get seconds for free. I told you, my appetite is legendary.