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Mel Kiper for President, Allen Iverson for MVP, and Skip Bayless for a sucker-punch right in the mouth

OVER/UNDER . . . RATED, THAT IS

If (typically) lacking in unpredictability, the 2005 playoffs have provided a compelling case study in the neverending tussle between Hype and Reality. On the one side is Yao Ming, the Rockets' novelty item who somehow conned basketball fans twice into voting him to start over Shaq in the All-Star Game (an absolute joke) despite the fact that he's still just a decent player who has an occasional great game (case in point Game 2 against Dallas).

Wow, people said. He has his very own VISA commercial. He MUST be a great player. Actually, he's a 7'6" giant who somehow plays like he's 6'7" - he's not a particularly good rebounder, he doesn't block enough shots, he's slow and can't run the floor, he's a great passer but never gets any assists, and he's as soft as crushed velvet, not to mention the fact that he still only plays about 30 minutes a game. I mean, you're seven and a half feet tall and you're getting bullied by small forwards? Really? And all this in a league where solid centers are an endangered species. (Quick - name three great centers currently in the league.)

But still, the Myth remains - that Yao is an elite player. After all, they're still airing that VISA ad. Yo!

On the other side - still, after all these years - is Allen Iverson. It's hard to argue with his numbers, his MVPs and his value, but some biases are just a bit too stubborn for their own good. In some minds, Iverson is still Public Enemy No. 1. You know all the labels by now - he's selfish, he's not a team player, he's immature and - heaven forbid - he has tattoos and cornrows, so he must be bad news. And, oh yeah, he's also the only reason the 76ers weren't a last-place team this year. In fact, he's the only reason the 76ers have been worth anything for the past decade. In the truest sense of the term, he's been the league's most valuable player for years now - Philly is nothing without him, and they know it. This year, with very little fanfare - what with Steve Nash and Shaq stealing all the MVP hype - he put together one of the most unbelievable seasons in recent memory. Another scoring title and eight assists per game (significantly more than other "elite" pass-first point guards like Mike Bibby, Dwyane Wade, Andre Miller, Tony Parker and Kirk Hinrich), 42 minutes a game, 2.4 steals per game. And it wasn't just the numbers. How does a 31 point-per-game scorer dish out eight assists a game without anybody else on the roster who can score? How does that happen?

How does a "selfish" player like Iverson steal Game 3 from the clearly superior Pistons with 37 points and 15 assists? He went out the next night and very nearly stole Game 4.

But postseason aside, the reason I'm going with Allen Iverson as my league MVP is simple: Without him, they'd be nowhere. He took a rebuilding team with a bunch of young'uns and a one-legged Chris Webber from last place to the playoffs. In a way, maybe that's a bad thing - without him, they'd be in the hunt for the No. 1 pick and might have been able to pick up Andrew Bogut or Marvin Williams.

For all the heroics of Nash and Shaq and McGrady and Nowitzki and the rest, Iverson stands above the field, and that includes Tim Duncan. Just imagine the Sixers without him - it's not a pretty picture.

As for the playoffs themselves . . . well, as usual, the first round, which started about a month ago, is monotonous and predictable, with only three series worth watching. Unlike the Stanley Cup Playoffs which, for those of us who enjoy a bit of postseason suspense, are being sorely missed right now. ( I hate you, Gary Bettman.) I'm relieved that Dallas finally rebounded to beat Houston in seven, because (and I don't think I'm alone here) I'd much rather see the Mavs shoot it out against the Suns than watch the Rockets try to slow down the most exciting team in the NBA. In fact, Mavericks-Suns has the potential to be one of the most exciting playoff series in years.

But I've said it before, and I'll say it again, and just so you know I'm serious, I'll use improper grammar: Ain't nobody beating the Spurs.

SKIP THIS

I've pretty much resigned myself to the fact that the profession of sports writer is deteriorating into a cesspool of self-endorsement and stupidity, as they fall further away from the intelligence and dignity of Dick Schaap and Rick Reilly, and closer to people like Pat O'Brien. The introduction of "Pardon the Interruption" was great, but its domino effect has been anything but. That show was (and is) effective because it was two likeable guys with genuine chemistry, who knew how to find the balance between analysis and humor. But then every sports writer decided they wanted to be on TV too, leading to a epidemic of stupid shows like "Around the Horn" and, ugh, "Cold Pizza." Now we've got sports writers making fools of themselves on a daily basis, singing stupid songs, making stupid jokes, talking less and less about sports and more and more about themselves. You can literally see their egos expanding on screen. The more I watch "Around the Horn," the happier I am that Jay Mariotti got beat up and stuffed in lockers in junior high. I wish his editor at the Sun-Times would do the same.

But at least Mariotti is a great writer - his columns are really excellent, you should check them out. The same, I'm afraid, can't be said of the man who I now deem my arch-nemesis. For years, ever since I first saw "The Sports Reporters," my least-favorite sports writer has been Mike Lupica, the smug, self-righteous weenie from The New York Post. But Skip Bayless has taken his spot. Congratulations, Mike, you're off my personal hot seat.

I never read much of Bayless' stuff until the last six months or so, and I'd only rarely seen him on TV. Now, I regret doing both. I just can't stand him - and it's not just because of his penchant for pastel dress shirts. It's because he's a phony. And a whiny little ninny.

I have the utmost respect for people with the gumption to speak out against the status quo, people who aren't scared to express a contrary opinion. In Bayless' case, however, that's not the case. You see, Bayless always has to have the exact opposite opinion as everyone else. If everyone said the sky was blue, he'd dig in his heels and write an entire column claiming it was orange. That's how he works. When "Million Dollar Baby" started getting Oscar hype at the beginning of the year, he wrote a laughable column picking apart every single detail and bashing the movie as a whole. That particular column brought a whole new meaning to the word 'tedious.'

When the Cavs fell apart in the second half of the NBA season, Bayless put almost all the blame on LeBron, not his lackluster supporting cast, or lame-duck general manager, or lousy coach. He put it all on LeBron's head, and even said that without James, the Cavs "aren't that bad." Bayless pointed to the fact that the Cavs had such studs as Drew Gooden and Tractor Traylor, which I believe was the first and only compliment ever paid to Traylor's NBA career.

He even tried to argue that March Madness was overrated. I mean, come on. His opinions are so contrived, he makes Ann Coulter sound reasonable by comparison. It's like he disagrees with the crowd just for the sake of doing so, just for the sake of being contrary. Why? Well, this is just a theory, but I assume it's because it makes him feel smarter than everyone else. I should know - I went through a phase just like that. In ninth grade. We all did, didn't we? Apparently, Bayless is stuck there.

I never thought I'd say this, but give me Mike Lupica.

SANTA CLAUS IS REAL, AND HIS NAME IS MEL KIPER, JR.

I can't explain it, I really can't, but the NFL Draft has been my favorite 18 hours of the year since I was a kid. I've grown up as much on Mel Kiper, Jr. as anyone else. Every year for who knows how long, my buddy Abram and I have made this special day the event of the year. We spend weeks poring over draft previews and combine reports, formulating our own mock drafts and anxiously awaiting the inevitable idiotic moves by the Chargers (Bobby Beathard era), Bengals, Jets, and Mike Ditka.

And when the day finally comes, we wake up early in the morning, like children on a cold winter morn in late December, and we spend far too much money on food and drinks that will last us the weekend. And, in what has become an unofficial tradition of Draft Day, Abram always gets monstrously sick Saturday night, due to excess snack food consumption. It's like clockwork.

But I can't explain exactly why I love it as I do. For those of you who feel the same way, you understand. But I can't go much further - it's like trying to explain why I enjoy breathing.

But here's a few examples of why I feel the way I do:

I love the draft because of moments like 1999, when Ditka traded his entire draft for Ricky Williams, then donned a Hawaiian shirt and enormous fake dreadlocks while smoking a 24-inch cigar and singing during his post-draft interview.

I love the draft because of the annual recap of the Jets' draft history, which even for the most passionate Jets hater, has to just make you weep in sympathy.

I love the draft because of moments like last year, when everyone was enthusiastically calling Philip Rivers "the next Bernie Kosar," as if that was supposed to make Chargers fans feel good.

In keeping with the Chargers' 2004 draft, I love the draft because of the Eli Manning saga of last year. The highlight came when ESPN interviewed Eli and Archie Manning, who both made it clear in no uncertain terms that Eli would not, in any scenario, agree to join the Chargers, only for Marty Schottenheimer to come on just minutes later and flat-out lie on national television, claiming that the Mannings never said any such thing.

I love the draft because, at one point this year, a friend of mine posed the question that was just begging to be asked, "Which is worse - Merril Hoge's rug, or his analysis?" To be honest, that one was a toss-up. His analysis was (as usual) awkward and idiotic, but his rug looked like it had been put on crookedly and at the last minute by a blind stagehand.

I love the draft because for two years running it proved everyone's opinion of Mike Tice and the Vikings. Three years ago, the Chiefs missed their pick, and the Vikings had a chance to jump ahead and pick the player they wanted, Ryan Sims. They failed to do so, and missed the pick. They settled on Bryant McKinnie, whom they couldn't even sign to a contract until NOVEMBER. Then, two years ago, they missed their pick altogether and two teams passed them before they finally drafted Kevin Williams. Ah, the sweet smell of ineptitude.

Most of all, though, I love the draft because of Mel Kiper, Jr., the man with the best hair on this planet and the undisputed expert on the NFL Draft, the font of all Draft knowledge. I mean, the guy published his first draft guide when he was 19 years old. There was no such thing as a "draft guru" before Kiper - he created his own profession! Who does that?

The man's genius knows no bounds, and I will gladly bow at his feet and be his man-servant . . . and no, I'm not obsessed.

Copyright © 2005 by Chris Bellamy

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