It’s Not Hard to Imagine These NBA Stars In a Different Line of Work

I really didn’t care about the NBA’s silly little labor disagreement or the loss of basketball, because the poor quality of the game made it hard for anyone to miss. If I never saw the ball bounce once this season, fine. No big loss.

But all that changed after hearing Karl Malone on the radio. Now it’s imperative the NBA players resolve their differences and return to the court, and quickly, before others follow Malone and infiltrate the real world.

Rather than deliver the mail, which is what his nickname suggests he is most qualified to do, Malone chose to deliver messages over the air as a sports talk radio host. You’d think a guy like Malone, who’s actually thoughtful and refreshingly candid, would give this medium a badly needed dose of credibility. And at times, that comes across on the air.

But mostly it’s a jumble of mumbles while Malone and his sidekick, a guy named Vic the Brick, hoist airballs. And none missed more than the one Malone threw in the direction of his team.

Once the lockout is lifted, Malone announced on the air, he wants the Jazz to trade him. Evidently he feels unappreciated and underpaid and is ready to move on. Forget that it was Malone who negotiated his last contract with the Jazz without an agent, and that the people of Utah adore him, and that the Salt Lake media, a frequent target of the hyper-sensitive Malone, is the softest in the country.

Malone sounded like a poor, neglected superstar. Yep, that’s exactly what his sympathetic radio audience wanted to hear.

So that was enough for me. I decided right then I wanted Malone back on the floor where he belongs. I fear other players, feeling the financial pinch, will clumsily try to work jobs they feel they’re most qualified to do.

Imagine:

* Chris Webber, gardener. Sure, his green thumb has been documented here and abroad. But anyone who employs Webber runs the risk of seeing his or her garden become overpopulated with plenty of suspicious, healthy-looking weeds.

* Kenny Anderson, budget director. Give him $6 million a year and he’ll turn it into $5 million. He’ll keep the company fleet of cars down to seven, get good buys on jewelry, and just think of how happy the employees will be on $10,000 per diem. Or “hanging-out money,” as Kenny calls it.

* Greg Ostertag, sparring partner. Those heavyweights looking for someone to give them a good workout won’t find it here, not with this tomato can. Everyone, especially Shaq, knows Ostertag doesn’t slap back.

* Shawn Bradley, personal fitness trainer. You examine a list of trainers at the local health club and notice that an ex-athlete is advertising his vast experience in nutrition and body building. You decide to schedule an appointment. And then, through the door, walks the Calista Flockhart of the NBA.

* Clifford Robinson, ski instructor. This would be an appropriate job for Robinson, given how he always disappears in the spring.

* Patrick Ewing, White House press secretary. Before he left the job, Mike McCurry had mastered the art of saying something relevant even when there wasn’t anything to say. What Ewing has shown us during his tenure as president of the players’ union is his tendency not to say anything relevant or special.

* Isaiah Rider, video technician. The last job he needs is as a cameraman for the TV show Cops. Capturing all of those busts on tape might give him some bright ideas, you know.

* Latrell Sprewell, paramedic. Hopelessly inefficient at saving lives, unless 911 is dialed to save a choking victim. Then he’s your man.

* Shaquille O’Neal, director. This is no dis to the multi-talented Shaq. A much better rapper and actor than many give him credit for, Shaq may be proficient at many things. But after Steel and Kazaam, choosing the right script isn’t one of them.

* Charles Barkley, bouncer. The door, Sir Charles. Throw the drunken, ignorant slob out the door. Not through the plate-glass.

* Shawn Kemp, day-care worker. What better job for a man who loves kids? None, really. Kemp would seem to be a great fit among a large group of rambunctious runts. But imagine the confusion come Father’s Day.

The longer the labor dispute, the more the possibility exists for NBA players to move into the working class.

So for those who say you want the lockout to last forever, be honest: Do you really want them to become one of us?