Rudy was a Friend of Mine

Ladies and gentlemen, would I could tell you that All-Star Saturday was monumental, pretty good, even. The truth is, save Allen Iverson cutting his cornrows*, it was a snorefest for the most part. I missed H-O-R-S-E, and I would blame myself for such a transgression were it not for the league's indefensible decision to air it at 5 p.m. (because nobody watches TV at 5 p.m. on a Saturday.) Shooting Stars was -- predictably -- awful; the participants in the Skills Competition were visibly bored and/or hungover; and we should probably drive away fast, hit-and-run style, from the roadkill that was the 3-Point Shootout**.

So by the time the Dunk Contest was set to begin, I was

(knee deep in cocaine and pussy)

more than a little drowsy, and that's an understatement. Still, last year's

(circus show)

Dunk Contest, if you believed the

(Sprite)

hype, was a precursor to sublimity. I was all set to watch Dwight Howard light himself on fire and dunk a basketball.

What I wasn't prepared for was a scripted event***. Let the record show that Rudy Fernandez got robbed like a fat kid for his milk money. JR Smith didn't deserve to be there in the first place, and despite my ever-loving mancrush on the dude, I had my reservations about Rudy; but those were quashed after his first two dunks. That he finished last in the first round is, to me, an injustice as egregious as Roy Jones Jr. losing in the gold-medal match at the '88 Seoul Olympics.

Look, I'm realistic; I know Rudy had -- word to Jonny Fontaine -- no chance of winning the contest. But in a perfect world, where Quarter Pounders and ketchup chips are sold in Seoul and Maria Ozawa won't stop pestering me for sex, he should have made it to the second round over Nate Robinson.

Enter: The Illuminati, the same New NBA World Order that -- rightly, I will admit -- shut Yi Jianlan out of the All-Star Game and accelerated Chris Paul's votes to make him a starter over *snicker* Tracy McGrady. Fucking China, man.

When Nate Rob showed up in the final round with a green Knicks jersey and neon-green sneakers, and the Superman-kryptonite metaphor was crammed down our throats, it was evident that this "contest" was decided long ago by the L and Sprite, much like the last presidential election was decided by Pepsi (and the two before it by the Illuminati. And Sprite).

Still, kudos to the Cell Phone Generation for choosing the right winner. After stealing the 2006 dunk title from Andre Iguodala, Nate Robinson deserved to win this year's Dunk Contest.

Anyway, I'm going upstairs to masturbate. Word to Joe Montana. My prediction for tomorrow's ASG: West 132, East 118.




* I think Donald Trump beat him in a wrestling match the night prior.

** Even though I'm patting myself on the back, Barry Horowitz style, for picking Daequan Cook as the winner.

*** Even though I was. Just check out my last post for my "tequila dunk" idea-prediction. If it weren't for foresight, I'd have no sight at all. Because of all the masturbation.