This Page 2 thing may open a whole new chapter for him

I am T.J.!

I’m home watching TV, which is what NBA writers do when we’re not making up Kevin Garnett trade scenarios, when the phone rings.

It’s the boss, Randy Harvey. (I know you didn’t have to know that, but they love to see their names in the paper.)

He says T.J. will be gone for a week and I get to write one of his columns.

Thank you, Great Spirit.

You may think T.J.’s a little out of the ordinary. In the biz, he’s a giant, who has expanded his format to the sportswriting equivalent of a B-52 strike.

Twenty-two first-person column inches to rip anyone, just because I feel like it.

Of course, I can’t compete with T.J.’s joy in confronting his targets, but then, who since Genghis Kahn could?

T.J. and I go way back, so if I have some fun while he’s off hanging upside down in a cave or wherever (actually his surgical procedure went fine), I should note it’s purely out of respect.

Also out of fear he’ll spend the rest of his life zinging me like Plaschke.

Not that the NBA ever rests, much as you’d like it to.

Suspensions have become so common, they’re barely news. Now they just put out a daily list:

Diaw, Boris, one game.

Horry, Robert, two games.

Stoudemire, Amare, one game.

I have a question for David Stern, Stu Jackson or whoever’s on the hook for this one:

Have you lost your ever-loving minds?

You just messed up the terrific Phoenix-San Antonio series, which is tied, 2-2, by taking Stoudemire for Game 5 ... because he took a few bunny steps off the bench?

I just saw a replay of the classic 1984 Lakers-Celtics Finals and there was Larry Bird, hip-checking Michael Cooper head over heels into the photographers.

Bird didn’t even get a technical, much less a suspension. If you’d been doing this prissy nonsense back then, you legal eagles would have found it fast enough on one of your innumerable video reviews and he’d have been gonzo.

I don’t know what you think you’re preventing, but here’s a scoop: The NBA’s solution is worse than the problem.

Curious about what’s going on outside my asylum, I thought I’d take this opportunity to see a Dodgers game.

I was on the beat in the ‘80s, but I guess things have changed. Happily, Vin Scully and Jaime Jarrin remain and they haven’t renamed Dodger Stadium, although the book may not be closed on that one.

The Dodgers I covered were royalty ... back before you could draw 3 million people in the No. 2 market and be a second-tier power, behind the mega-market teams that didn’t sell their local TV rights at a bargain price to Fox.

My Dodgers were also hard to beat for entertainment. I remember Tom Lasorda climbing on his desk before a game to get away from a lobster on the floor, which one of his friends had brought in.

Grady Little’s a tad drier. Asked about the move pushing the World Series into even colder weather, he said, “I don’t know any team that wouldn’t show up.”

I always thought baseball writing was the hardest job on the paper aside from being a war correspondent, and that was before Barry Bonds.

The writers beat themselves up for the steroids thing, but they did what they could. The real problem was the players’ union, which has ruled with an iron hand since 1994.

Someone could have pointed this out -- union boss Don Fehr got a pass until he was finally hauled before Congress -- instead of piling on poor Bud Selig, who stood still for it to maintain the illusion he was in charge.

Of course, anyone who feels like rocking the boat now could take baseball’s obscene payroll discrepancy seriously, instead of accepting it as a given.

Personally, I’d say if the Yankees are

$50 million ahead of the No. 2 Red Sox, $75 million ahead of the No. 3 Mets and $85 million to $90 million ahead of the No. 4 White Sox, No. 5 Angels and No. 6 Dodgers ... and then give Roger Clemens a prorated $28 million ... it’s not “competing” as much as “shopping.” The problem in getting a salary cap, which all the other leagues now have, is ... the union.

News item: Dirk Nowitzki named MVP.

Comment: Of what league?

Oh, yeah, mine. It’s a shame because Dirk is a stand-up guy, but rarely has there been a better example of why the MVP is such a dumb award in any sport.

Is it for being a) The greatest? b) Most valuable to his team? c) The best player on the best team?

The answer is d) all of the above.

“A” was Kobe Bryant, “b” was Steve Nash and “c” was Nowitzki before he and his 67-win Dallas Mavericks collapsed in the first round of the playoffs.

Dallas owner Mark Cuban, who’s entitled to be a little emotional these days, got choked up, speaking after the MVP presentation by Stern, who kept a straight face.

The best comment came in a letter to the New York Post, suggesting Stern turn it into one of those Southwest Airlines commercials asking, “Want to get away?”

Today’s last word comes in e-mail from t.j.simers@latimes.com:

You go to a game, don’t get your life threatened once and call that a column?

You got it. Get well soon.

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mark.heisler@latimes.com

T.J. Simers is taking time off.