Yo, Lakers: You’re Cruising Toward a Bruising

HEY, YOU. Yeah, the guy the size of the tower on L.A.’s City Hall. I’m talking to you. And you too, kid. The one who scores 45 any old time you want.

Sorry to interrupt the celebration, but . . . fess up. That’s what you were doing around 7 Sunday night, Pacific Blackout Time, right? You got the 76ers, the plodding, pestiferous and plucky Beast of the East instead of the silky, three-ball-bombing Milwaukee Bucks, who beat you both times during that regular season you sleepwalked through.

Here is some advice, not that you want any from a baseball guy who hasn’t written any serious hoops since Mark Heisler was cutting his fangs at the long-gone Evening Bulletin. But I’ll pass it on, anyway.

After all, you might actually accomplish what America’s NBA cognoscente has handed you prematurely by acclamation. You haven’t lost since April Fools’ Day, and what a joke that must have been. Now, history beckons. Not even Michael Jordan and Phil Jackson’s Bulls ran the table.

Tell you what. A good way to get ready for the four or more games that lie between you and the next Staples Center parking-lot riot is to rent a copy of “Die Hard,” the Bruce Willis flick. Get used to seeing guys with shiners, deep bruises, pronounced limps and a variety of prosthetics designed to help the walking wounded drive the lane.

Those guys will be your opponent. They are the Marquis de Sade’s team. Beat them, kick them, gouge their eyes and bounce elbows off their windpipes. They love it.

First thing, check your egos at the door. I know this will be difficult given where you’re from, what you drive and who sits at courtside.

Eventually, you’ll have to come to Philly, where gas has yet to reach $2.20 a gallon and viewers often get through a TV news cycle without a high-speed chase, home invasion, hostage standoff or celebrity murder case and/or drug bust.

The crowd at the First Union Center is, well, just a little different than the Staples Center mix of front-running dot.commers, second-string supermodels and front-row icons.

And, yo, Kobe . . . Ballet class is over. Welcome to Windburn Tech and a workaholic named Aaron McKie, who will try to share your shirt with you.

June is the NBA’s cruelest month. That’s not news. And it took the team everybody assumes you’ll be brooming into the Delaware River in a week 102 games to get this far.

I could tell you more, but surprise is best served in small portions.

Larry Brown showed his team films of Willis Reed and Kirk Gibson in their painfully shining moments, a hokey serving of ham.

Jackson should show you guys Ali vs. Frazier, fights I and III.

That should get you ready for the Thrilla in South Phila.