The Name of the Game Is Nothing

And so another professional sports season has started without the games, without nightly dramas both life-giving and breathtaking, without the splendor of triumph and lessons of defeat, without the athletes, without the sourness, without the slackers, without Latrell Sprewell.

I miss the NBA.

And I don’t.

Miss Jack Nicholson.

Don’t miss Jack Haley.

Miss the Laker Girls.

Don’t miss mascots addicted to mini-trampolines.

Miss George Karl in a dress.

Don’t miss Marv Albert in panties.

Miss “Ed-die, Ed-die, Ed-die.”

Don’t miss Ed-die, Ed-die, Ed-die in the playoffs.

Miss Bill Fitch.

Don’t miss whomever the Clippers have hired to replace him. They have hired somebody, haven’t they?

Miss Corie Blount.

Don’t miss Elden Campbell.

Miss Rick Fox.

Really, really don’t miss Elden Campbell.

Miss Mario Bennett.

Don’t miss Elden Campbell the way I don’t miss having every tooth extracted by a dentist whose anesthetic of choice is whiskey.

Miss the big trade for a power forward that Jerry West will surely make when the lockout ends.

Don’t miss Chris Webber (hear that, Jerry?).

Miss the days when Karl Malone’s words of wisdom had to be endured only by people living in Utah.

Don’t miss John Stockton.

Miss Maurice Taylor.

Don’t miss Keith Closs.

Miss the Chicago Bulls at the Sports Arena.

Don’t miss 28 other teams at the Sports Arena.

Miss Shaquille O’Neal on the break.

Don’t miss his chicken dance at the end of that break.

Miss Derek Fisher showing up three hours early to shoot.

Don’t miss courtside ticket holders showing up 30 minutes late to watch.

Miss Clipper fans.

Don’t miss Jazz fans.

Miss Donald Sterling sitting at midcourt.

Don’t miss Donald Sterling sitting behind a checkbook.

Miss Kobe Bryant in January in Vancouver.

Don’t miss Kobe Bryant in June in Salt Lake City.

Miss Brent Barry’s passes.

Don’t miss Alonzo Mourning’s punches.

Miss Jeff Hornacek.

Don’t miss Jeff Van Gundy.

Miss Rex Chapman, from downtown, off the glass.

Don’t miss Charles Barkley, from downtown, through the glass.

Miss Bill Walton (OK, so sue me).

Don’t miss Bill Wennington.

Miss “I Love L.A.”

Don’t miss “I Love L.A.” being played with 10 minutes remaining in the fourth quarter and the Lakers leading by only 10.

Miss Tim Hardaway.

Don’t miss Penny Hardaway.

Miss Avery Johnson, Eddie Johnson and Kevin Johnson.

Don’t miss Larry Johnson.

Miss players who admit it when they choke.

Don’t miss players who sue when they choke.

Miss the Lakers against the Supersonics on a Friday night at the Forum.

Don’t miss the Grizzlies and Mavericks on a Tuesday night anywhere.

Miss Del Harris’ game-day attire of black and white.

Don’t miss Del Harris’ inability to add a little color.

Miss all the starry-eyed kids who hang over the Forum tunnel showering their heroes with gratuitous compliments in hopes of gaining an autograph or a handshake or any sort of brush with greatness.

Don’t miss Ahmad Rashad.

Miss watching the development of Michael Olowokandi.

Don’t miss worrying whether Mike Bibby is going to be better.

Miss Stuart Scott describing a dunk (OK, so sue me again).

Don’t miss ESPN announcers who end their NBA shows by pretending to dribble and shoot.

Miss Dyan Cannon.

Don’t miss Spike Lee.

Miss the old David Stern.

Don’t miss the old Rod Thorn.

Miss Reggie Miller’s dome.

Don’t miss Scottie Pippen’s feet.

Miss Ervin Johnson.

Don’t miss “The Magic Hour.”

Miss Chick Hearn.

Don’t miss any of this stuff nearly as much as Chick Hearn.

Miss Bob Hill and Brian Hill.

Don’t miss the fact that I still have absolutely no idea which guy is which.

Miss fathers sharing the game with their children.

Don’t miss NBA fathers who don’t take responsibility for their children.

Miss Vlade Divac.

Don’t miss Stojko Vrankovic.

Miss Phil Jackson.

Don’t miss Tim Floyd.

Miss Googs.

Don’t miss Riles.

Miss Allan Houston.

Don’t miss Allen Iverson.

Miss following Nick Van Exel’s career in Denver.

On second thought, nah.

Miss Steve Kerr dialing long distance.

Don’t miss Isaiah Rider messing with cell phones.

Miss Jalen Rose.

Don’t miss Juwan Howard.

Miss watching Shaq inspire the crowd when he takes the floor during pregame warmups.

Don’t miss listening to Shaq’s rap songs accompanying him.

Miss Michael Jordan.

Don’t miss everyone talking about how much they are going to miss Michael Jordan.

Miss writing an NBA column today that would contain actual player interviews and game action.

Don’t miss working.