Peace, Kidd!

As one of the eight New Jersey Nets fans on this planet, I'd be remiss if I didn't spare a few words about Jason Kidd moving on from the Swamp.

I remember the Marbury for Kidd swap like it was yesterday. It was a summer night, I was out at a friend's house and I got a call from my homeslice Reason informing me of the trade. At first, I wasn't too happy.

It was just a month or so after Allen Iverson led his Sixers all the way to the NBA Finals. Moody shoot-first point guards could lead their teams to the promised land, I thought. But, a poor-shooting, wife-beating Magic Johnson wanna-be? No way.

Of course, I had yet to be convinced of the genius of Rod Thorn and less than a year later I was bounding around my dorm room as Ason dropped clutch-shot after clutch-shot against Reggie "Dunk Machine" Miller and his Indiana Pacers.

From then on, I was a true Kidd believer. I let his glaring character issues roll off right off my back. As long as he was clocking triple-doubles, he was the face of my proud underappreciated franchise.

But, before long, all of his bagge--the numerous trade requests, nightclub gropings, odd cliched press interviews, continual wife-beating allegations, T.J.'s freakish head--was too much. Just get this damn guard out of Jersey. And now, mercifully and with the help of the boy Keith Van Horn, Rod Thorn has.


Respect

But this trade comes at an unforseen juncture in my life. Like the aforementioned Starbury, I don't have much use for the NBA this year. I know that it's about as competitive a league as it's ever been. LeBron is the player nobody even dared to dream could exist. Nate Robinson is throwing cups of water in the face of fat self-destructive power forwards. And my Nets are flush with cash, draft picks and cute young point guards. Yet it's just not clicking anymore.

The new-look Lakers and Suns are tipping off in 45 minutes and I'd rather go swimming at the Y in Park Slope and watch The Bourne Supremacy.

I can't explain it. I'm sorry.